#abac

ahead by a century by @demotu ✩ fic cover by me

When I finish General Dynamics, so... July, I imagine. It's been a rough May for me so I'm a little more behind on GD than I anticipated, and I think it's probably *pokes it* 38 chapters at minimum, which would mean IF that's right and IF I post a chapter a week through June, chapter 38 will go up June 30th and I'll be posting the first chapter of AbaC July 7th.

Alpacas, Bobbins, and Cheese – a short story

Genre: Comedy

Rating: General audiences

Word count: approx. 10,362

Series: Tales from the Town of Blue Jay

Summary:

When Delia Duncan realizes that she's missed her husband's birthday, she finds herself zooming around the tiny town of Blue Jay to try and find him a present.

I may not be black, but I’m with you. I may not be black, but I hear you. And I’m furious with you, and will continue to hear and listen and be with the people who continually show that this world can do better.

I will be with the people who try to show that the only way we can be pushed forward is by the brave protestors who keep shoving it down the bigot’s throats that they are disgusting and cannot be tolerated in the slightest. Black Lives Matter, Indiginous People Matter, Brown People Matter, Immigrants Matter, and fuck anyone who says otherwise.

All Lives Matter is irrelevant because people are dying and you’re focused on whether we’re dipping our toes in favoritism. Shut the fuck up and listen.

You grew up watching the news with your parents.  Every night you curl up in front of the television and watch as news casters bring you stories of the world around you, as well as worlds far away.  You love every minute of it and trust the news to tell you of all that you can’t see for yourself.  The news anchors are all familiar faces, and when one is replaced, you almost feel an acute sense of loss.  The point is, the news is a resource, a voice to be trusted, and you know the reporters wouldn’t lead you astray.

You trust journalists the same way you trust cops.  Your dad is a cop, and he’s wonderful.  Sure, like every daughter, there are moments where you hate him passionately.  But he’s a good guy, a good dad, and you assume that he’s probably a pretty good cop. And if he trusts the police, you trust the police, because your dad is a good person.  Whoever he likes must be good people too.

When you first learn about Black Lives Matter–when you first see the horrors a cop can commit– you ask your dad about it.  Ask him if he’s ever shot a random kid jogging home based on the color of his skin.

“Of course not!” He replies, offended, and that’s the end of that. You never meant to imply he was bad, or that you didn’t trust him! He’s your dad.  You know he’s a good cop.  And you decide that maybe some cops are bad, but certainly not all cops. And so you support BLM, you repost the various petitions and fundraisers, but you certainly don’t hate all cops.  And those ACAB signs never sit quite right with you.

But then, it’s 2020, and you’re in college.  Constantly thinking about the world, wondering how to behave, wondering who has the right of it.  And the country has gone crazy.  There’s a buffoon in office, and constant threat of disease, and the media is lying to you about so many things.  Journalists–once a constant in your life– are now an enemy to question.  And in the middle of all this, your city begins to protest.

You see the signs advertising, the posts on social media encouraging everyone to take action, you’ve always been politically conscientious. But on the day of the protests, you see your dad’s grim face as he dresses for work.  And you decide not to go,

Later, you’ll wish desperately you were there, if only to pour milk on the eyes of your dear friends, as tear gas was turned against them.  You watch on the news, horrified, as the police turn on the protesting crowds.  You see pellet guns and water tanks and hope desperately for everyone’s safety.  At one point you see your dad.

He’s holding a pair of handcuffs, and places them on a protester, who’s face is pale with milk and pain and fear.  And then you see your dad’s face.  The hard, uncompromising lines.  And you know he’s a good cop.  He’s just doing his job.  Of course he is.