She stood up on the soapbox and screamed fury at the world.
Now a continent away from her country of birth, but still tethered to it -- some notion of history and ideals, the founding of a nation that would promote liberty and representative government. Freedom and good governance. She'd loved history class with Mrs. Currie and her hefty junior high-school textbook with its 1950s narrative. Flawed with ideals.
Every morning, her right hand over her left heart, she, along with two thousand others within those walls, pledged allegiance to 48 stars. She thought of it as a kind of religion: you could partake and bear witness simultaneously. You did not have to believe in 'under God' (added in 1954); you simply said it and let it pass like a foreign language you didn't speak.
This was her bond of loyalty - her country was an entire world, a moral, social and industrial giant, winner of a terrible war,
More than sixty years later it had cut its own wings, condemned women's rights and legalized weapons that slaughtered everyday people.
The soapbox was soggy. Between sleep and non-sleep the box creased and collapsed. No strong wooden slats from another century propped her up.
She reached for her phone, contemporary life-support system, opened Notes and typed:
You Sanctimonious Bastards
