The Death of Free Speech

Final word count for Monday: 33,107.

Excerpt of the day:

“Fighting doesn’t have to mean using violence,” Gainor said. “I’ve fought plenty of battles and never once have I hit or shot someone.” He walked back to the cabinet and sorted through the drawer until he realized that he had no idea what he was looking for and couldn’t think of a reason to be looking for anything. “Hell, I’ve never shot a gun at all.”

“This is a different battle you’re fighting now,” Bill said. “This is the battle that happens as a last resort, now that all the lobbying and protesting you’re used to has failed. We’re past the point of peaceful dissent. Staging a protest and speaking your mind will get you locked up these days.”

“Locked up?” Gainor asked. “I remember what Jamie said about the constitutional rights, but I can’t imagine the police are really going to blindly enforce everything the government feels like handing down.”

“What police?”

“Huh?” Now thoroughly confused, Gainor asked, “What do you mean, ‘What police?’ The people in blue uniforms that make arrests and hand out speeding tickets. I don’t know of any other police.”

Bill crossed his arms and stared Gainor down. “Good luck finding your police these days,” he said.

“Finding them?” Gainor demanded, growing impatient. “All I have to do is go to the police station, or call 911, or drive ninety miles an hour down the interstate. I’ll find them. Though usually I try to avoid them.”

Bill shook his head. “Go to the police station tonight,” he said.

“Why?”

“Just go. Find your police, and I’ll show you the death of free speech in America.”