When Night Falls on America

When Night Falls on America

This is a little something I felt compelled to write. You may think this a conspiracy theory or some other anti-Obama, anti-government nonsense but you would be wrong. The truth is, this is faction. Technically, it’s fiction because it hasn’t happened. However, we have the technology to make this fiction fact, hence the term “faction.” With a few more pushes in the wrong direction, this could be “U.S.” I do not think it will be, but it could be. The future is a tricky thing. That said, enjoy! Please leave your comments below of what you think!

“Students, please pass forward your assignments,” stated Ms. Blanche. And as they did she added, “Now please take out your copies of Utopia and start reading.” They did so and she settled down to sort the newly turned in assignments.

She sat down with two highlighters--one green, one red--and marked each with a large check mark in one colour or the other.

It was a new school year and this was an exercise that she had never given her students before in the past, yet it was firmly suggested by the Children First curriculum and its enforcers. It actually had nothing to do with her teaching subject. It seemed more informational than anything else.

“Maybe the school just wants to update its records of the students,” she thought to herself. “But I can’t imagine why they’d need all of this information.” She continued scanning and marking, green and red, green and red. There seemed to be a larger group of green. Ms. Blanche had strict instructions to mark all the papers that reflected left-voting, non-Christian or non-religious, and Evolution-accepting views represented as green while the others were marked in red. She didn’t know why, but this made her uncomfortable. Very. But she put her conscience aside and did her duty to Children First.



It was two o’clock in the morning and someone seemed to be literally trying to break down the door. Dave rushed out of bed, his wife scared and pushing him on his way, and ran down to the door. Turning lights on as he went, he could hear multiple voices outside the door.

“You Dave Reynolds?” queried the closest man. He was in uniform, part of the local Army Guard Reserves, apparently on duty.

“Yes,” said Dave extremely confused a fearfully, “what seems to be the problem sir?”

“There doesn’t have to be any problem sir, but that will depend on you. We’re here to confiscate your firearms.”

“My firearms?” said Dave beginning to understand. “Every single one of my guns is licensed--legal. What do you want with them?”

“Sir, just show us where they are or we’ll find them our self.”

Thinking quickly of his wife and four small children, he quickly acquiesced. “Okay, okay, I’ll go get them. Just wait…”

“Good, then you won’t mind that Reynolds and Johnson here go with you,” said the superior.

“Why do they need to go with me? You don’t trust me?” Just then shots rang out from the house across the street. Screams followed. Then yelling.

“Sir, like I said. There doesn’t have to be any trouble, but we will get what we came for, all of what we came for with or without your assistance. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice?”

Terrified for his life and that of his family, Dave chose what he felt was the safest way. He motioned to the two uniforms indicated and headed upstairs.

His wife who’d been standing at the top of the stairs listening started backing away and toward the baby’s room. “Dave, what is going on??”

“Ma’am, I’m gonna need you to restrain yourself,” said Reynolds. “If you’ve got any kids around, then it’d probably be best for you to keep them in their room.”

She stood in the doorway of the nursery. Thankfully, none of the other children seemed to be awake. Meanwhile, Dave led Johnson into the master bedroom closet and reached for a box pushed back at the top. There above his valet was a “Don’t tread on me” picture framed. Reynolds eyed it when he came to the closet entry, but said nothing. Dave handed over his two guns and started to head out.

“This it?” asked Johnson.

“Yeah that’s it.”

“You better be right,” said Reynolds. Just then they heard commotion coming from downstairs. Doors opening, drawers slamming. They were being searched and hadn’t even seen a warrant.

“Do you have a warrant to search my house?” Yelled Dave as he rushed downstairs.

“Don’t need one,” said the superior, Simons. “We’re here by presidential order.”

“This is America d*mmit! Not some monarchy or oligarchy.” Dave was fuming now. Especially so because they’d found his shotgun.

“America is changing,” said Simons. Better get used to it.”

“Dave, what’s happening??” yelled his wife, from above.

“Stay upstairs Lynne!”


“I said stay upstairs!”

He could see his elderly neighbor, Karen being forcefully taken from her home by the uniforms there. Moments later, the limp body of her husband, blood seeping from him, was carried out and allowed to fall on the lawn. He was an Alaska native. She was from the back country of Texas. There was no way they would have given up their guns. And Old Tommy, he paid the ultimate price.

The next day, Dave decided to stay home from work. He had no idea whether or not he should expect another visit from the military. Just then the doorbell was heard. One polite ring.

It was Johnson.

“What do you want?” spat Dave. He viewed the large black man, built like a football coach’s dream standing on his stoop without his uniform.

“I’d like to apologise for what happened last night.”

“Yeah and what was that exactly? Where do you get off barging in people’s houses, confiscating our arms, and shooting fine, upstanding senior citizens like Tommy across the street?”

“Sir, I don’t understand it myself. Those were our orders. It was either follow them, or be honourably discharged.”

Dave softened a bit.

“Well,” said Johnson a bit uncomfortably, “that’s all I wanted to say. You be careful.”

Two hours later, Johnson drove back to the street and left a vase of blood red roses on the old couple’s stoop and vanished.


“Mama, where are we?” asked Hadassah.

“We’re home, Honey.”

But it didn’t look like home. It was dreary, colourless, painful to see. Plain stone apartments buildings as far as the eye could see. No cars, only bikes predominantly and a public bus or two taken from the streets and newly renamed after its new home, “The Correction Center” emblazoned in red.

And the people. They were everywhere! Jews, Christians, those from communist folds of Eastern Europe, even a few notable leftists who, though they may have despised the peoples crammed in with them, despite what the government was doing even more. All of them, packed in like sardines were being brought in by van, bus, plane, and even armored car for some of the more prominent figures. Their monies were taken from them, plastic and cash. They would be given a new currency while in the TCC. Their gold and silver bars and even notable jewelry pieces were taken, never to be replaced. Their Bibles, prayer books, Torahs, Talmuds, and even early American historical documents and texts were taken from them.

And why were these people here you might ask? In a short time, almost overnight, these peoples were removed from their jobs, schools, homes, and places of worship and declared Enemies of the State. Most of them middle class, some poor, and fair amount upper class. Doctors and scientists, educators and historians, politicians and uniforms of all sorts. Men and women, boys and girls. It didn’t matter if they lived in the most cosmopolitan of cities or most back-country dwellings, they were found, apprehended, and brought to this, their new home. If you could call it a home. Each family was assigned an apartment. Townhouses for the larger families. Single bedrooms and studios for married couples and singles. There were even singles forced to live with individuals they didn't know depending on availability.

Each dwelling had the barest necessities and anything else they needed, would have to be applied for. They lived under a curfew and law enforcement patrolled the streets frequently and in large numbers. None of the constitutional rights applied here. None at all.

Construction was ever ongoing. It would seem the government had not thoroughly anticipated the actual housing need for the TCC. It was much the same in all of their locations: California, Nevada, Arizona, Utah, Pennsylvania, Iowa, and yes, even Detroit, Michigan. The centers could not be built fast enough.

Soon, the Second Choice clinics which initially lent their services by bussing their workers to the centers, would begin setting up shop on the center grounds. Their birth control and abortion services were, of course, free and many times even mandatory for the female inhabitants of these centers.

The homes, businesses, places of worship, and properties of those rounded up were confiscated by the government. At times, fights would break out over who had rights to them between the federal government, state government, local government, or a private corporation with secret designs. One thing was certain: the former owners and inhabitants, would not be allowed back in their former positions unless converted or desperately needed by the federal government.

In some places, where large communities had largely been cleared out, zealots from the poor and lower-middle classes would come occupy them by force. This disease would quickly spread to taking merchandise at local businesses, even from the delivery trucks themselves.

Healthcare was a joke.

Mass graves were dug.

Seniors, special needs individuals, and any other patients with incurable diseases began to disappear. Little by little at first, then in greater numbers as the powers that be became intoxicated with their utopian ideals.

More mass graves were dug.

Private prison backers now had new investment opportunities in the The Correction Centers.

And with the death of the peoples, the precious peoples, we the peoples, the sun set, the ominous blood moon arose, and at last--to the grief and laughter of the great world--the night of America had come.

God help us all!

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