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Note from author: The story posted below is a work of complete fiction and one that has no bearing in reality. Some names have been slightly changed to assume a more symbolic stature. The author has no bias to any political party. This work is a fable reflecting on how communal Genocide rises.

The Present

"Let the bodies hit the floor!"

"That insane chanting – those fools.  Hadn’t we seen the warnings signs?"

Aaron Oxford stood over the middle of it all. The pile of burning bodies was growing ridiculously high now. Among the trashed food booths, among the unorganized looting and the hectic lunacy that surrounded him, he was alone. Blood. Lots of it. Tons of it. It was everywhere. So common now, and in plain view, that people barely noticed its deep color of sadness.

"How did it go this far? Wh-why? Why did we do this!"

Those small broken sentences fell from Aaron’s mouth, as he stepped over the dead corpse of a trampled two-year-old girl. His body ached all over and his left eye was sealed shut in swollen flesh.

"My God. Could it have been different? Could it have been any different?"

Aaron collapsed on the cement floor of Grant Park and watched the red glow of the sun set in the summer sky. The waves of Lake Michigan rushed back and forth, much of the sandy beach line was now dyed in a grim red sauce of human blood. The scene was a grisly reminder of the surreal violence that spawned from the vast riots. No one was standing anymore. Those who fought had either left in shame, were too injured to move, or were simply dead. Dead like the millions that littered the park’s floor.

Earlier That Day

"Let the bodies hit the floor! Let the bodies hit the floor! Let the bodies hit the floor!"

Outside the marbled gates of Chicago’s Planetarium. Barack Obama,  44 Secret Service men, and 281 local police, guarded the front end of the wide entrance way, while scores of violent mobs shouted out in wild rebellion.

"What does that mean? Why do they keep saying that - let the bodies hit the floor?" Asked Obama still nervously twitching from the roaring crowd outside.

"It’s a line from a rock song. ...It was in that new Rocky movie - it’s from Drowning Pool, I think."

"A rock song?" Asked the Presidential candidate curiously. "I don’t get it. Why are they using that line?"

"Beats me, Swarzengger used an old Twisted Sister song for his governor’s campaign. Remember that song, ‘We’re not gonna’ take it’? Maybe it’s something related. Who knows; those freaks outside are all riled up. It could mean anything, sir."

Obama paced the slick floor of the dark planetarium and bit his nails compulsively.

"I can’t believe it. I -  I - just can’t believe it’s all coming down to this!." Said Obama.

"Garcia, what’s the statistics now? Have you gotten any new numbers from the CPD yet?"

"Yes," said commander Garcia. "It’s getting worse...a lot worse. 376000 dead - over a million more injured. The local police have lost control and the national guard...well, you know what happened there."

"I know; I just can’t believe it – they joined the mobs. They’re now part of this madness!"

"What about John? How’s McCain doing?"

"According to air support, not much better. The Democrats have him sealed up pretty well at the Field Museum. He’s under the same protection as you, but frankly, sir, I don’t see how any of us could hold out much longer. Maybe we should start working on another evacuation plan. The last three didn’t work out, but now that we got the Air Force over us, things may have changed."

"Well, then maybe we could ---"

While Obama spoke, he was cut off in mid sentence as a huge door broke down and the roaring crowd’s voice grew in power like some angry god bent on unyielding vengeance. In an instant, Garcia and his Secret Servicemen rushed Obama to the elevators, in hopes of getting the senator to the safer second floor level. Quickly running into the elevator and pressing the lift buttons as fast as they could, Barack’s eyes widened in fear and shock, as he witnessed a group of fifty or more aggressors pushing past the police. Within mere seconds, they were at the elevator doors, and while the doors closed and the elevator lifted up, Obama released a sigh of quivering relief as he never had before. Just then, between his panic and grim astonishment, he thought back – back to how this whole thing started.

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