Please Submit All Thoughts For Approval

 CW: The following story is perhaps the darkest one and involves hard topics and subject matter that may be too much for some beings. These content warnings include: Violence, Blood, Gore, Abuse, Abduction, Classism, References to Pregnancy, Abortion, Gun Violence, Sexism, Racism, Homophobia, Transphobia, and Hateful Language Towards Religious Groups. Listener discretion is advised.

{Intro Music}

This is Queer Ghoul. An anthology of short queer horror stories written and produced by me, Adriana Oister, pronouns she/her and they/them. 

With various tales of horror, suspense, mystery, and science fiction, I in the role of “The Narrator”, will introduce you to a diverse set of characters each of whom trapped in their own hellish landscapes, and teeth-clenching nightmares.

{Intro Music slows down…then picks back up}

Monologue: James Baldwin was a prolific black queer writer, and one of his most famous quotes is “Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.” I ask you to keep this quote somewhere in your mind for the duration of the story. For today I’m going to allow you a glimpse into a world cradled in its own sector of the multiverse. In this world, which is only a decade or so years ahead of ours, is a country whose government is referred to as “The Institution.” The Institution is solely led by eight elderly white, cis, straight, men. Four of which decided in one way, and the other four pull towards the other direction. They are called “The Supremists.” What they all have in common, other than the use of premium healthcare only available to them to keep them alive and in power at over a hundred years old, is the uncanny desire to watch, listen, and see everyone else’s thoughts. But as you’ll soon discover, what they truly desire, what they’re truly capable of, is far more chilling. Let me introduce you to this country. Known in their dimension as: The States of America. I now present to you…PLEASE SUBMIT ALL THOUGHTS FOR APPROVAL.


Please Submit All Thoughts For Approval

            The golden room was a theater of life to the hellish men. It was treated as a cathedral and spacious as such. The eight senior white-haired men all sat in a group around a horseshoe shaped table, in high end leather chairs which resembled the thrones of royals. Each of the men could hardly be considered alive, as they were closer to carcasses on the brink of decay. They were kept breathing and blinking because of the scientific advancement of the times and their implanted artificial organs. They squinted their cataract eyes at the different sceneries, and the moving images that decorated every inch of the room with the aid of electronic screens. Their hearing aids were cranked up to the highest level as they soaked in each muscle movement, every pursing of the lips, and the sounds that flowed through them. And even the words that did not.

            Sprinting across the far-left corner of the wall, a man watched as a mass of police cars pulled up outside a building. A crowd of sobbing onlookers surrounded them. “We need gun control! People are being slaughtered!” He thought.  Another man interrupted him from the right side of the wall, in a country background in front of a makeshift bullseye. He was dressed as though he belonged to a militia and had a symbol of hate patched on his right breast. He thought “People are saying guns are the problem. What these kids need is more religion!” The front wall, next to the bulletproof doors in the room, showed a transgender teenager, crying in a doctor’s office, seated in front of the doctor herself, who was shaking her head. “I’m sorry, but the state says no more.” She said to the teen, the image bleeding into another room of that same hospital, where an older man was screaming at a security guard. “I don’t want that needle and they can’t make me get it! The state says so!” which flashed into another picture of a twelve-year-old girl, eyes red, leaving an OBGYN with her crying mother’s arm resting around her shoulders. “We need to go camping out of state.”The mother thought.

            “Computer! Turn the volume down! I want to talk!” The man on the left side and end of the table said. His name was Edward Evans.

            “Shut up! You don’t have to scream so loud! The system can hear you just fine!” Another man on the right side of the table, towards the middle, yelled back. His jowls flapped as he did so. He pushed his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose, which was about as long as a beak of a bird. Out of one of the nostrils was a group of gray hairs that stuck out and hooked like a claw. His name was David Killinger.

Evans raised himself higher in his chair. “All your side of the table wants to do is cause an argument! While our side wants to have a conversation!”

            The doors in the room opened, a woman in a button-down gray uniform, a black belt tightened around her middle with an attached gun holster, approached. Her long black hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her gloved hands rested behind her back. 

            Steven Marsh, who sat next to Killinger on his right side, shot his head up. “What did they say!”

            Killinger bent over and screamed into his ear. “They said we want to cause an argument, while they want conversation!”

            “Finally, we can agree on something! I’m also in favor of conversion therapy!”

            “Conversation!” Evans said. “Conversation is what we need, you four are fools!”

            Other men on the left side joined in. “You’re only for conversion therapy because you’re getting money to say so!”

            Marsh shrugged. “Of course, don’t we all?”

            Another man on the right side, waved his shaking skeletal finger at one of the corners of the screens. “That man, who said he wanted to protest me? I want him brought in and punished!”

“Enough!” The one towards the middle of the table from the left said. His name was Leo Browne. His thin hair was disheveled, and his ears were lined with hard chunks of earwax. “Clearly, we’re not going to get anything accomplished today. Let’s just let each of the states do what they wish, and we’ll pick up on discussion another day.”

“Excuse me, Sirs.” The woman said.

The men silenced themselves and turned to face her. A few of them, including Killinger, titled their heads up to look down at her through their bifocals, while the others just stared forward, momentarily trapped in their own blank minds.

She stepped forward, inserting an electronic drive into the port in front of Browne, before backing up and folding her hands behind her once more. “I apologize for the intrusion, but it is currently time for today’s assigned case per your request.”

“Oh, of course. Thank you, Miss Price,” Browne said. Electronic documents popped up on each man’s personal screen built into the table.

Killinger adjusted his glasses, pushing his face closer to the screen. “I can’t read this damn thing!” He said.

Ashlyn Price nodded in return, before stepping to the side. Her body faced the room. “Today The Supremists will be hearing the case of King and Stuart vs The States of America.”

The doors opened again, and officers in armor brought into the room two separate people, each placed next to each other in front of the men on a glowing blue circle. Once they each stepped into the circle, their bodies stiffened. The only abilities left were to move their mouths and blink their eyes.

Ashlyn continued. “Emma King is accused of conspiring with her doctor, Hugh Stuart, to surgically remove the government issued microchip inserted into her brain. Emma King, how do you plead?”

The woman blinked. “Not guilty.” She said.

“The doctor in question, Hugh Stuart, is being accused of agreeing to this conspiracy. Hugh Stuart, how do you plead?”

He grinded his teeth. “Not guilty.”

Each of the men’s bulging eyes looked at the woman and her doctor despicably. 

Killinger was the first to speak. “I don’t understand why we still go through the trouble of such things as pleading not guilty or guilty, we know what was said and thought.”

Emma looked at him. “For years you all repeat that you know what we say and think, but you really don’t care unless it’s a threat or a gain towards you.”

Browne leaned forward in his chair; the leather squeaked. “Mr. Stuart, and Miss King, if you’re so well versed on what we say, then you are aware that citizens including yourself have no say in the mandated microchips.”

            The doctor swallowed. “In all due respect, Supremist Browne, every one of your colleagues including yourself point out that matters should be of choice to the person, especially when referencing health care. Although none of you can seem to agree on, or even know, what exactly freedom is. The eight of you yourselves, all have used the best healthcare and technology available to keep yourselves from dying. Then, what makes this any different? Other than what Miss King speaks is the truth?”

“We have the right to privacy!” Emma said.

“And if these mandated microchips of yours actually improved the health of the community and lowered the rate of disease and such, I would agree with it, for freedom to thrive we must act with responsibility. But they don’t and you all know it!” The doctor shouted.

“How dare you be so disrespectful?” Killinger tapped his fingers against the desk. “The microchips inserted into everyone’s brains are designed for the welfare and safety of the community. We monitor every sight, every thought, every action for the wellbeing of the people we serve. We do so because we are about the protection of life! The protection of the truth! Anyone who says differently and has ideals such as yours are members of The Radical Party!”

Browne poked out his dentures, making his teeth look like those of a horse, and pulled them back into his mouth. “And we can’t have members of The Radical Party remain in society. They’re too dangerous.” He leaned back into his chair. “Guilty.”

Killinger sneered. “Guilty.”

            Each of the other men, declared one by one. “Guilty.”

            “The Supremists have found the both of you guilty of your crimes against this country.” Ashlyn said. “Supremists, what shall their punishment be?”

            They all looked and turned to each other, nodding in agreement with a smile. “We believe some mental disassociation will be plenty.” Killinger said.

            “As you all wish.” Ashlyn said. “Computer. Activate disciplinary protocol number one-six-twenty-one.”

            Emma looked out from the corner of her eyes at Ashlyn. “Traitor!” She said. “You were supposed to help us, not go to their side!” She winced as a force brought her and the doctor down to their knees.

            “Silence! It is the law that citizens are forebidden to speak to our Patriot unless prompted to do so!” Killinger said.

            An electronic voice resonated through the room. “Preparing disciplinary protocol number one-six-twenty-one. All others, please distance yourself from the blue light while punishment is in progress.”

            Both the woman and the doctor huffed; their eyes rolled into the back of their heads. Their bodies soon shook violently, they screamed and writhed, spewing vomit and foam onto the floor. Blood leaked out from their ears and nose, and at the same time, with one loud pop, they collapsed down to the ground. Unresponsive. Blood and brain matter oozed out from a corner of their broken skulls.

            Ashlyn stared at the sight, a bored look in her eyes. She had no idea what the woman had meant.

            Killinger was the first to let out a little laugh among his group of men. “Oh well, I suppose that was just as effective a punishment as any.”

“Miss Price?” Browne said, gesturing for her to come forward.

She walked right by the mess, mindful to not step in any of the substances in her black polished boots. “Yes, Supremist Browne?”

“Miss Price, our perfect prized patriot. Please plan to address the nation tonight during their designated evening news time slot. Something upbeat, something unifying, but still a warning. Also, get the janitorial staff in here, soon that’s going to smell up the room.”

            “Of course, Supremists.” She said, raising one of her fingers into the air in a salute. Her boots echoed against the floor as she left the men to continue their discussions.

            That night at six-thirty sharp, every citizen’s vision grew fuzzy with static as video footage took over. Ashlyn looked into the camera, wearing a blue blazer and black pants as she stood behind a podium and microphone. A warm smile adored her face as she read off a teleprompter behind the camera. Her speech made itself known in the heads of the millions of people in the country.

            “I know many of you right now are scared, frightened of the future as they gaze around at what looks like your present. But let me reassure you, that the great leaders of this country have each one of you as their first priorities. All your concerns are being recorded and analyzed in a thoughtful manner…”

Ashlyn found herself the next day, walking the streets of the capital city by The Institutional Building, an area of the city destinated for the lower and middle classes. To even leave she had to go through a secret escape tunnel, as the front was bordered up by wood planks and a tall electric fence with barbed wire strung along the top. A line of armored officers stood side by side in front of it with guns drawn. Snipers stood on top of the building; assault rifles pointed down to the streets. 

She walked past the dilapidated buildings, the sinkholes in the roads, and up and around the cracked, unstable sidewalks, and caught the eyes of cowering people cocooned in sleeping bags in their tents. Ashlyn pulled out a remote transmitter from her coat pocket and toyed with the dial until she got the setting she was looking for. A listing of registries with names of people placed in various categories of race, gender, religion, sexuality, illness, and income. She pointed it towards the homeless, and after a few long moments when the transmitter didn’t shriek, which would have alerted her that there was a name missing from the registry, she continued her patrol. 

She stared at the dull gray sky where black smog glided through the infected hot air in convective clouds which left behind a thick scent of burning plastic, and she thought about how disgusting people were to choose to live in such filth, instead of investing in a stable career and living in an actual house and not setting up camp on the side of a street. The thoughts intensified when a plastic bag drifted in front of her, and an empty tin can rolled along the road until it was stopped by a hill of rat corpses, that had been dissected and mauled by human teeth. She grimaced, walking in front of an electronic sign connected to an unclean bus stop. The sign let out a quick buzzing sound before the screen zapped to life. It displayed a picture of a man holding up a bottle of disinfectant. “Worried about germs! Then make sure you clean them away with Germ Away!” He said.

After a few more blocks she stopped again, playing with the transmitter.

Footsteps approached her from behind. “Stephen Ng!” The voice belted out.

Ashlyn turned around, her eyebrow raised as she stared at the young woman in front of her, appearing to be in her early twenties. She wore a gray baseball cap, holed jeans and sneakers, and a white shirt stained with mud. Her greasy blonde hair was kept short, her round cheeks housed dimples. Her eyes a sapphire blue. Ashlyn took note that her clothes were in code with their state’s ordinance. “What?” She asked.

“You’re addressing me, correct?” The woman said.

“Of course.”

“Then I have been granted permission to speak to you. You’re Stephen Ng, right?”

“Of course not. Do I look like a man to you?” Ashlyn raised her hand to her chest.

“There’s not a certain look to a gender, or lack thereof.” She said. “You have to be Stephen Ng, I recognize you. I don’t understand why you’re working for The Supremists, especially under a different name.”

Ashlyn backed away from her. “I have no idea who you’re referring to. I’m Ashlyn Price. The Patriot. I’ve worked for The Institution for all of my adult life, and you’ve seen me address the nation for most of yours. Now get lost, I have proper work to be doing.” She spun around and walked in the opposite direction.

“That’s not true!” The young woman said.

Ashlyn froze.

            “Either you’re playing an act, or something’s wrong.”

            Ashlyn grunted. “Something is definitely wrong, but not with me, with you!  What act do you think you’re playing to go up to me and tell me that I’m wrong? I know who I am, and if you don’t stop with your nonsensical claims then I’ll be forced to have you apprehended.” She laid a hand across her gun holster. Her eyes drifting towards the transmitter. Its screen did something that Ashlyn never saw it do before. It went blank.

            The young woman raised her hands up in defense. “Please let me explain, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m Lori, Lori Levine. I know that what I have to say sounds crazy. But you’re not who you think you are at all.”

“Don’t you understand that whatever garbage you spew to me is not a private conversation?”

            “I’ve decided to take my chances. I’ll explain everything if you’d just come with me. It would be doing your job, wouldn’t it? A citizen making such claims?”

            Ashlyn’s mouth tightened. “Fine. But you’re going to be punished regardless.” 

She followed Lori down a few streets, down behind a townhouse in a lawn with dead grass and dry dirt, where a storm shelter’s doors were protected with a chain locked around the handles. “I don’t understand.” Ashlyn shook the transmitter in her hand. “How are you scheming such things and just getting by the transmitter?”

“I can’t tell you until we get inside.” Lori said. She bent down and pulled a key out of her pocket, inserting it into the lock and it fell to the ground with a clank. A cloud of dirt drifting upwards. She opened the creaking rusted doors and let each side flop down to the ground. “Follow me,” She headed down the dark staircase.

            Ashlyn followed. When they both got deeper down into the shelter, Ashlyn grazed her hand against the shimmering walls. She felt the crinkling material under her palms. “What is this?”

“Oh, my uncle designed this place decades ago.” Lori said. They both stepped down off the final stair. Lori fumbled her own hand around, looking for the light switch. “It’s only aluminum. It makes us safe in here. A sort of Faraday Cage I think he called it. They can’t watch us when we’re surrounded in it, that’s why your transmitter didn’t pick me up.” She lifted the hat off the top of her head, the lining inside coated in aluminum. She put it back on. “I discovered that’s why the stuff isn’t available to the public.”

“Then how did you get any?”

            “My uncle had a stockpile before the ban.”

            “I’ll make sure that it’s confiscated, and you and your family thoroughly searched and punished.”

            “You can drop the act. I told you this place is safe.” Lori’s fingertips found the switch, and once she flicked it on, the room was lit up with florescent lighting from bulbs on the ceiling which buzzed in monotone.

            Ashlyn sneered. “This is not an act!” When she studied the room, her eyes widened in shock. The basement looked to be a bunker; aluminum covered the steel walls. It was crowded in shelving stocked with abundant literature that she only ever saw in shredders. “You are in huge trouble! You’re clearly not in your right mind if you think showing me such things is appropriate. As if I would just let you go!” She stomped her boots forward, her finger flicking through each spine of the hundreds of books which lined the shelves. “This is highly illegal contraband! It is very apparent even to those with the thickest of skulls that there is a book censorship in every state in this country, including the one we’re in right now. And it’s there for good reason!”

            “Then what’s the reason? Please tell me, I’d love to know.” Lori held on to Ashlyn’s arm, for fear of her running back up the stairs.

            “The Supremists are the protectors of truth! Such material in the hands of those from adolescence to adulthood is enough to corrupt, torture even, the human mind.”

            “I can’t believe you’re saying such things! What’s wrong with people being able to think for themselves! To be educated! To build a sense of empathy?

            “You’re blowing this way out of proportion! Besides, everyone is allowed to have The Bible, that should be enough for anyone. It’s the one book The Supremists could agree upon.”

            “Not when it’s indoctrination.”

            “The Supremists aren’t indoctrinating anyone. If a person wants to read it, it’s there, if they don’t want to read it, it’s still there in case they do.”

            “Then why do numerous states in the country demand that all students in school read it as part of the curriculum, while the others don’t? Why do half of The Supremists make their decisions based off it and encourage their appointed state leaders to enforce it?”

            Ashlyn rolled her eyes. “Because that’s just how it was ruled! You’re overreacting.”

            “Then it is indoctrination! This is all indoctrination! Everything is! Not just the books!”

            “You need to keep quiet, you’re already in deep trouble.”

            Lori’s eyes watered. “You know why I wish The Bible wasn’t the only book we could have? Because it’s a Christian Bible! The Institution acts like there’s only one, but there’s more. And what the hell is my family supposed to do with a Christian Bible when we’re Jewish!”

            “Convert.” Ashlyn said.

            “No! You’re not listening! This isn’t you! We’re not allowed to have a Hebrew Bible, we’re not allowed to have a menorah in our house, we’re not allowed to have our own church, we’re not even allowed to celebrate Hanukkah because of the censorships!”

            “Convert.”

            “Even if we did, it wouldn’t make any damn difference! I bet you don’t know anymore, but I found out that schools used to have a history class. Do you remember that? You should, you’re old enough to remember. Now we’re not allowed to learn our own country’s – our own heritages - histories. There even used to be science classes teaching us about our bodies, our minds, and our environment! You’re offended by all the books in this room, but there used to be buildings loaning them out to anyone for free. But they’re gone too. And I know that was by their own design, to hold us in ignorance!” 

            “The only ignorance is your obliviousness to why things are the way they are.”

            “I know ignorance because I’m looking at it right now! Ashlyn Price is ignorant! Stephen Ng knew the truth! And that’s because Ashlyn Price speaks words that are not even hers, and has thoughts that aren’t hers either. They were put there by others who want to control you!”

            “Will you stop saying that! Stephen Ng is not a real person! I am a woman! I’m Ashlyn Price! The Patriot!

            Lori sucked in a breath. “I’ll prove it to you.” She walked over to one of the many shelving units, and pulled out a thick leather-bound book, placing it open on the nearby desk. “These are news clippings that came out right before The Supremists decided to control all the media.”

            Ashlyn came over to her, leaning in closer at the articles of stories collaged together on the pages. Looking back at her, she saw her own face, except it was sharper, with a clean-shaven black beard, and hair that was much shorter than hers. It was also her own eyes. All above a caption that read “Stephen Ng Speaks Out Again!”  

            Ashlyn looked over at Lori, who only nodded before she went back to reading the articles. “It says here that Stephen spoke out against The Institution, and The Supremists. He called them hypocrites, liars, dictators, pure evil.”

            “I know it has to be hard,” Lori said. “But I needed you to know. We need you to know. I don’t know what happened exactly. But you, Stephen, scared them. You were a threat to their power. So, they took away your identity, and replaced it with something they liked better.”

            Ashlyn snapped her head away from the book, resting her head in between her palms. “I can’t remember. I can’t remember a childhood; I can’t remember a family or friends. I can’t remember stories or traditions. I don’t remember ever being an activist. I don’t remember ever being Stephen. I don’t remember ever being an Ng. I can only remember working for The Supremists, being The Patriot, and now I know that I never cared to remember anything else.” She wiped at her eyes, before continuing. “I don’t know what good it’ll do, against them, but I know a way to get answers, selfishly maybe for me. But I need you to know that we’ll both be good as dead.”

            Lori’s face softened.

            “Once we leave this place, you may have your hat, but you’ll have to take it off eventually. And they’ll have all their eyes and ears all over me. I’m sure they’re questioning now why I’ve disappeared off their radar. The only way to buy us some more time, would be to not think anything more but good thoughts. Good thoughts about the world on fire. Good thoughts about them. That’s the only way we’ll know the truth, and once we do. We can’t think about it further. Because they’ll kill us.”

            “Because we’ll be part of The Radical Party?”

            “Yes.”

            “I read a quote from you in one of those newspaper articles, one of the ones that wanted to make you look like a villain. You said: ‘For us to become whole again, we must face our greatest challenge, ourselves.’”

            “I don’t remember saying such a thing.”

            “It doesn’t matter right now if you don’t remember, what matters is you’re willing to open your eyes to what’s being done.”

            Ashlyn bit her lip, silence drifted between the two of them.

            Lori smiled. “You said you have a plan? Because if you do, I’m willing to the opening of my eyes.” 

            Ashlyn’s grimace left her face for only a moment. “I do. But remember, only good thoughts, and they need to be even better to cover up the actions.”

The two women walked down the empty hallways of The Institutional Building. Their footsteps echoed against the walls, bouncing back on to them and causing a small vibration to crawl up their backs. They both had wide, unnatural, smiles on their faces.

“It’s your lucky day today, Miss Levine! Very few young people such as yourself get such a private tour of our great country’s capital!”

“I still feel ever grateful Miss Price that you, The Patriot, and the great leaders of our country have privileged me with such a tour!”

Ashlyn turned her head, looking around the hallways. She gestured to the large door to their left. “And this is the center of operations here at The Institution. Every piece of data that registers through each citizen’s government mandated microchip is stored into its own computer system which is housed in this room!”

 “Would I be allowed to take a look at such an extravagant room?”

“I’m not sure, The Supremists find this room very sacred.”

            “I understand. But I just feel like a system designed by such wise men should be able to be celebrated!”

            Ashlyn hummed. “I suppose they wouldn’t be able to argue with that.” She said as she swiped a data card into the terminal. The red light blinked to green as the door unlatched. “This way!” The women walked inside. The room was sleek and silver. Individual square computer screens lined the walls, along with lit up control panels with buttons and switches and levers.

            “Wow.” Lori said. Her first true thought since being sneaked in.

            “It is marvelous, isn’t it?” Ashlyn smiled, although Lori saw the corner of her eye flinch for a quick second.

            “Can you give me a demonstration?”

            “I suppose so,” Ashlyn went over to one of the control panels, tapping her fingers along a keyboard. “For this purpose, I’ll just use…my name.” Her fingers stopped, her face drifted away from the screen.

            Lori swallowed. “And your name is Ashlyn Price, right?”

            Ashlyn's eyes snapped back to the lit-up database screen. “Yes, of course. I’m very happy that we have such a smart individual among us.” She said, typing the name in and sending it through.

            The computer displayed her work photo onto the screen, Ashlyn scrolling down to see the available files. Her eyes widened slightly. “You see when it comes to these files how there is a list of them, and then there happens to be this break between them before we get into a list of these older files?” She moved the mouse, which was an orb, and clicked on one of these older files.

            A video came up, from a man’s point of view.

            His eyes were opened, staring up at a blackened ceiling. He tugged his bruised arms upwards, fighting the tight restraints on his limbs. “I gotta get out of here!” He thought. The bright light hovering over him caused him to overheat, his skin became red and sweaty.

His face snapped over to another man at his side, wearing a clean lab coat, and a white mask that covered his neck and half of his face. His eyes were covered with black goggles. The man tapped with his gloved fingers the end of a needle, some of its contents flicking out into the air. “Don’t worry Stephen, this will be all over soon enough. You won’t remember a thing.” In one fluid motion, the man stabbed Stephen’s skin with the shot. 

Stephen winced.

The man went over towards his computer station and threw the shot into the trash can. “Don’t worry, nothing harmful. Just your first large dose of estrogen.” He said as he came back to Stephen. He placed across his forehead a cold, thick metal band. The right side of which had attached a thicker circular section, which he snuggled deeper into where they both knew the chip was placed in the brain.

“Let me go!” Stephen said. “You can’t do this, no matter what they’ve told you! You can’t detransition me!”

“Just remain still.” He sat down in front of the computer, typing on the keyboard, sliding his card against a scanner. It emitted a high-pitched beep. “It’ll be quicker that way.”

“What are they planning?” Stephen thought.

A minute passed. “Goodbye Mr. Ng,” He said, not even turning around to face him. “You’ll be gone in three, two…”

The screen went black.

Ashlyn tensed. Her body heated up as she just stared at the main screen that had loaded back up.

Lori came forward and tapped her. “Miss Price, that was a remarkable demonstration!”

            “I’m not Miss Price,” Ashlyn said. She backed away from the screen. “I’m not Miss Price.” She said louder, her hands rubbing her face. “I’m not Miss Price! I’m Mr. Ng! I’m Mr. Ng and they took that away from me!”

            “Miss Price, please!”

            But Miss Price was officially no more.

            “Stop it with the act! I’m not Miss Price, let me at least suffer with that knowledge!”

            The room swelled in a light blue hue. Stephen and Lori found themselves casted in a glow and pulled down to the cold floor. Lori’s head collided with the hard enamel. She was knocked unconscious.

            “Lori!” Stephen said, fighting against the light.

            Two of the computer screens came back to life. One showed the ugly face of Supremist Browne, while the other brought forth the equally distasteful presence of Supremist Killinger.

            Killinger adjusted his glasses. “Miss Price, how dare you interfere with such practices? It’s unbecoming of you. I’m disappointed.”

            “Shut up! I’m not Ashlyn Price, we both know that I know that now. I’m Stephen Ng, and I’m not going to put up with your abuse anymore!”

            “Think about your words carefully,” Browne said. “For we won’t honor the luxury of giving a member of The Radical Party a restart again.”

            “Fine, see if I care! It isn’t a luxury to have anyone think for you, nor should it be a luxury to be able to think for yourself. I know who I am, and I also know what I am. I’m proof that your system, your brainwashing system, is not as foolproof as you think. You only put a cover over a person, but you're powerless once they figure out how to rip it away. The two of you, and your group of what you call leadership, are nothing but hypocrites unfit to hold any power. The only thing that binds you all together, is your agreeance of fear for the concept of individualism!”

            “Enough of this!” Killinger said. “Computer, we order a shut down!”

            “Fine!” Stephen said. “I’d rather die who I am and knowing how vile you are, then allow you to force me into living a lie. Instead of conforming to how you think society should be. The only truth you’ve ever told, was that I was The Patriot. Because I love the notion of freedom and independence for everyone, what this country was supposed to be. Not what people like you turned it into.” He took a breath, lowered his head, and closed his eyes. “Lori. Thank you.”

            Foam flumed out of his mouth; his eyes rolled up into the back of his head as his body shook. After one pop, he thumped onto the ground. A stream of red and gray dripped out of his skull.

That night at six-thirty sharp, a young woman with long blonde hair, with round cheeks and dimples, stood behind a podium in front of numerous television cameras. A gray background behind her. She wore black pants, a blue blazer, and a smile wide on her face. 

            She didn’t even need a teleprompter.

            “I’m your new Patriot and Institutionalist Representative, Alice Parker. I’m here to let you all know, citizens of this great nation, that our leaders, The Supremists, are passionate about your wants and needs. They have their best of interests in mind and are currently monitoring all your thoughts for approval.”



{Outro Music}

Outro: For the written version of the story you just heard and other Queer Ghoul originals, visit QueerGhoulPodcast.com.

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If you’re frightened by this episode’s story, then that’s a good thing. Because that means your able to sense right from wrong. The events in this story are horribly wrong, but unfortunately there are many out there that don’t feel anything by them except pitiful glee, even in the reflection of their own hypocrisy. If you are one of those individuals, I suggest you start by putting the assault weapon down and begin reading books instead of banning them. For everyone else, keep your eyes and ears and mind open and focused on the events and people around you, especially the people who are meant to represent you, and be sure to show up to your polling place on every Election Day. It may be a steep, upwards climb of frustration and sadness, but the absolute worst thing is to allow hate and ignorance to win. We all must unite. Allow your voice to be heard, and scream. Until next time, thank you for listening.