it stop them from stealing their time in the sun, not while they
still had light to shine upon. But not everyone dismissed their prevention
efforts. Civilian labor workers installed metal roofing panels, sun-guarding
glass and giant overhead tarps to protect our city streets and buildings.
Guards wore polarized goggles and specialized, ultraviolet resistant uniforms.
It worked in their favor. It only made them appear more authoritative.
The
next morning, the aged American flag flapped violently in the wind above City
Hall. Standing up out of the car, the torn appearance of it chilled me to the
core. With military guards and police already waiting on the sidewalks, I
deliberated how I would sneak past the protesters lurking in the shadows of the
building. I swallowed before taking my first step. Protesters held up flags and
cardboard signs that referenced government and constitution. For others,
religion was a key influence in their decision to be there. Regardless of their
expression, we all had one thing in common—our lives were being threatened. But
as corrupt as it was within these borders, I knew it wouldn’t be any better on
the outside.
After
enduring their shouts, I noticed the entire lobby area had been converted into
a processing station. A long line stretched through the surrounding corridor.
There had to be at least a hundred people waiting.
I
sighed impatiently as the line inched closer, revealing a bearded man at the
clerk’s desk who appeared to be in distress. And before I could blink again,
the entire line became witness to his outrage.
“No,
this can’t be right! I have two boys at home to support! This number has to be
wrong! How in the hell do you expect me to feed them with this?” he screamed at
the clerk in a loud crescendo, slapping the paper he had in his hand against
the platform in front of him. I winced in surprise as his words pierced through
the hallway of people like a domino effect. And without warning, the sound of a
young child’s cries impaled me, setting off an eerie, nervous energy that
trickled down my spine.
“I’m
sorry, sir, but I don’t make the rules. Someone will go over the DOA’s
allowance standards with you in there. Now please find your seat in the waiting
room,” the clerk snapped, pushing her glasses up her long nose. After glancing
to her left, she gave him a stern look as he studied her answer through the
protective glass window.
“Next!”
Her voice echoed through the lobby. The man pounded his fist into the window in
an angry sulk before facing the line. I kept my eyes on the floor as he dawdled
toward the exit doors, examining the faces in line. Not far ahead of me stood
an older woman, pulling the whimpering child close beside her in protection.
She shook her head, her scolding eyes stalking the man. That’s when his echoing
footsteps stopped, and he turned around to confront her. With his uncontrollable
temper, he leaned his face into hers.
“What
the hell are you shaking your head for? There aren’t enough resources to go
around because they’re withholding them! My four year old died of pneumonia
because I wasn’t given the proper dosage of medicine. You think your kid is
safe? Just you wait.” He spit out his words with conviction and pointed a
finger as tears formed in his eyes. My head snapped up in shock before armed
police guards near the door flung toward him, pulling him away from the woman
and her child. Everyone was silent with fear. The man put up a fight before
tearing the number on his card to shreds, giving the guards one last hateful glance
before accepting his circumstance. I swallowed, looking over my shoulder at him
cautiously. The shouts outside amplified as the doors to the entrance opened.
When they closed, the force of their slam created a bouncing shudder throughout
the hallway, signaling he left. I let out a breath, but the relief of his absence
didn’t ease my anxiety.
“Hi.
I need to get an updated citizen
still had light to shine upon. But not everyone dismissed their prevention
efforts. Civilian labor workers installed metal roofing panels, sun-guarding
glass and giant overhead tarps to protect our city streets and buildings.
Guards wore polarized goggles and specialized, ultraviolet resistant uniforms.
It worked in their favor. It only made them appear more authoritative.
The
next morning, the aged American flag flapped violently in the wind above City
Hall. Standing up out of the car, the torn appearance of it chilled me to the
core. With military guards and police already waiting on the sidewalks, I
deliberated how I would sneak past the protesters lurking in the shadows of the
building. I swallowed before taking my first step. Protesters held up flags and
cardboard signs that referenced government and constitution. For others,
religion was a key influence in their decision to be there. Regardless of their
expression, we all had one thing in common—our lives were being threatened. But
as corrupt as it was within these borders, I knew it wouldn’t be any better on
the outside.
After
enduring their shouts, I noticed the entire lobby area had been converted into
a processing station. A long line stretched through the surrounding corridor.
There had to be at least a hundred people waiting.
I
sighed impatiently as the line inched closer, revealing a bearded man at the
clerk’s desk who appeared to be in distress. And before I could blink again,
the entire line became witness to his outrage.
“No,
this can’t be right! I have two boys at home to support! This number has to be
wrong! How in the hell do you expect me to feed them with this?” he screamed at
the clerk in a loud crescendo, slapping the paper he had in his hand against
the platform in front of him. I winced in surprise as his words pierced through
the hallway of people like a domino effect. And without warning, the sound of a
young child’s cries impaled me, setting off an eerie, nervous energy that
trickled down my spine.
“I’m
sorry, sir, but I don’t make the rules. Someone will go over the DOA’s
allowance standards with you in there. Now please find your seat in the waiting
room,” the clerk snapped, pushing her glasses up her long nose. After glancing
to her left, she gave him a stern look as he studied her answer through the
protective glass window.
“Next!”
Her voice echoed through the lobby. The man pounded his fist into the window in
an angry sulk before facing the line. I kept my eyes on the floor as he dawdled
toward the exit doors, examining the faces in line. Not far ahead of me stood
an older woman, pulling the whimpering child close beside her in protection.
She shook her head, her scolding eyes stalking the man. That’s when his echoing
footsteps stopped, and he turned around to confront her. With his uncontrollable
temper, he leaned his face into hers.
“What
the hell are you shaking your head for? There aren’t enough resources to go
around because they’re withholding them! My four year old died of pneumonia
because I wasn’t given the proper dosage of medicine. You think your kid is
safe? Just you wait.” He spit out his words with conviction and pointed a
finger as tears formed in his eyes. My head snapped up in shock before armed
police guards near the door flung toward him, pulling him away from the woman
and her child. Everyone was silent with fear. The man put up a fight before
tearing the number on his card to shreds, giving the guards one last hateful glance
before accepting his circumstance. I swallowed, looking over my shoulder at him
cautiously. The shouts outside amplified as the doors to the entrance opened.
When they closed, the force of their slam created a bouncing shudder throughout
the hallway, signaling he left. I let out a breath, but the relief of his absence
didn’t ease my anxiety.
“Hi.
I need to get an updated citizen
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