Death of the American Dream

For decades, it stood there crumbling; a decrepit monument of hubris.

The concrete barrier bore tattoos of another age, colorful graffiti depicting exaggerated figures and clever insults. Messages of hope were scrawled into the wall, inspiring revolution and change. But now those words are painful to read.

Bullet holes pockmark the concrete barricade, a cruel reminder of our harrowing past.

It's ironic how it was intended to keep out migrants, desperate people searching, dreaming of something better.

When the Uprising of 2020 set the nation on fire, we thought a new age had finally come. We were tired of corruption, sick of secret back-room deals and shady corporations writing laws for self-benefit. The wage gap was abysmal and things were growing progressively worse by the second.

“Trust us,” the politicians said. “Rome wasn’t built overnight.”

“We care about you,” the corporations said. “Consumer satisfaction is our greatest priority.”

“Nothing is wrong,” the media said. “Just look at this unrelated topic.”

Our patience was thick, padded by comforts of the digital age and mass produced luxuries.

But the cracks were showing.

The spark that lit the flames was an audio recording.

Damning evidence that couldn’t be spun in a different light, proof which refused to be squashed as it spread on the information highway.

Riots erupted as the pent up anger consumed everyone. Like ants, we crawled out from beneath the boots of debt and bit at the wealthy calves. Businesses lay empty while employees walked out, joining the massive crowd.

Years before, this might have had the effect we wanted. Back when governments feared the people, when truth and facts were accepted and the American Dream was a tangible thing.

Our hopes were crushed when news stations began attacking our movement. “Violent rebellion breaks out across the nation. Could this be a new form of domestic terrorism?”

Nobody will believe it, we said to ourselves. Only an idiot would be fooled by that blatant smoke screen.

How wrong we were.

Not only did the brainwashed masses eat it up, but it also served as a pretext for deploying the National Guard. Blood ran in the streets, bullets punching through protesters as they tried to fight back and flee.

People began calling it the Boston Massacre. How fitting, I thought. History truly repeats itself.

Open warfare broke out, the obscenely rich fighting the irate masses with mercenaries. The FBI tracked down the figureheads of the revolution, deploying anti-personnel drones to their location. With the push of a button, we were crushed beneath their thumbs.

Seeing the writing on the wall, the populace tried to flee. But the barricade stood in our way. The massive slab loomed over everyone, shadowing us with regret.

It was the only campaign promise to come true; a decision haunting those who voted for it and those who didn’t vote at all.

I can still hear the gunfire and the screams...

America reached greatness that day.

The greatest dictatorship, this world had ever seen.

(495 word count)