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Gloria Horton-Young's avatar

This country, once a grand, teetering beast, has been gutted like a prizefighter on his last legs—spitting blood, staggering, barely aware the fight was rigged from the start. The coup didn’t come in the dead of night with tanks in the streets; it slithered in through the front door, grinning like a used car salesman with a Bible in one hand and a ballot shredder in the other.

And now, here we are—sitting in the wreckage, wondering how the hell it happened while the architects of the fall feast on their spoils. The ballot box was abandoned, democracy left to rot like a carcass in the desert sun. The fools who cheered it on, who stood idly by, will choke on the ashes of what they let burn. And they should.

Let it sink in. The republic is gone, snuffed out with a whimper and a Fox News banner. The only question left is how deep the wound goes—and whether there’s any goddamn way to sew it back together before the infection sets in.

I’m willing to fight for my country. Are you? Or will you stand there, slack-jawed and docile, watching as they carve up what’s left of the American experiment like a hog at slaughter?

Tom, It’s been a long time since I cried as hard as I have today.

Keep writing. I’ll keep reading. ❤️

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Elyse Cregar's avatar

Thank you for your powerful writing. My dad was in the Air Force in WW2. I am a student of the American Civil War. The sacrifices that these stooges dishonor cannot be measured.

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