Death of the American Dream


by Jeremiah Keen

deathamStrange and violent vibrations on this windy March morning. I couldn’t figure out why. Then suddenly it hit me! What were these strange looking swine type creatures jabbering on about on my tv screen? One of them had tiny beady eyes not unlike that of a rodent or your typical male hog. His hair was also swine like in detail down to the little blond fibers on his back neck. I felt nausea rising in my mouth at the sight of the horrible bastard! But there next to him was an even more repugnant creature, like something out of a Lovecraft pulp story! Sagging jowls and sharp eyes with a maw full of sharp teeth ready to devour any poor bastard brave enough to get near it! I believe it was some sort of female of its species. “JESUS MAN!” I screamed at the idiot box, “THE HELL IS THAT?!!!” Another creature, where were they coming from? What did they want? I could smell the blood and death on them through my screen. They were shouting at each other about wars, and men in black who were beheading innocent civilians and children. It was almost a debate of some kind. It was clear to me now that they were fighting over some great seat of power whilst the slack-jawed buffoons at a desk just kept lobbing questions at them. “What are your plans if you become leader of the free world?”

“Free world?” I thought as I took another sip of my whiskey on the nightstand next to me, “my God man, there’s no such thing.” It was obvious to me now that the American dream had died long ago, and with it all hope of the world ever being peaceful again. I shut off the the television with a heavy heart and an even heavier head. “Wake me up when the nukes begin to rain down.” I said to my dog who looked at me questioningly. “We’re all doomed.” I sleepily said as I passed out again.


It was midnight when I stirred from that horrible dream. I was again all alone except for my faithful dog, Gonzo. I rose shakily the effects of the booze hitting me hard as I rose. I made my way down the hall. when I reached the bathroom I noticed the mirror had been violently smashed to pieces and scrawled in red paint on the wall in huge letters was wrote, “DON’T GIVE IN TO THE SWINE!”

“Not again,” I said vengefully as I picked up my last blotter of acid and downed it with a warm beer. The days of freedom were now done and I had work to do. I had no idea why I had been sent here to my old home or what had smashed the mirror. perhaps I was still dreaming. Hell aren’t we all just dreaming? Months after months of our heads up our asses staring into tiny devices in our hands telling us our every move, what to think, what to say and how to say it. “We’re all just giant pussies now,” I said to myself. People too afraid to stand for anything anymore. Too afraid to leave their homes for all the fear-mongering going on in the world. Indeed the dream had died, but so were we all dying, just a bit, day by day. An entire generation being let down by the one before. I’ve always been a bit afraid of how fast we have advanced as a society. Now instead of some bigot going door to door with leaflets, he just builds a website to spread the hate and recruit all manner of angry young people too dumbed-down to think for themselves. “Damned chickenhawks,” I said. It appeared that my message would reach no one so why was I even bothering to stay in the fight? Questions unanswered, just like always.


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