

The Weed War

By: Duke Kell

Smashwords Edition

The Weed War, By Duke Kell

Published by Two Ton Productions, at Smashwords.

Copyright © 2013 by Two Ton Productions.

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The Freedom Files

Class 2

University of California, Berkeley, 2191

I showed up to class early to make sure I got a good seat, but apparently I wasn't the only one excited, because the auditorium was nearly filled, With a half an hour before class was supposed to start. Some of the younger people were already in a heated discussion about the story.

"It's sad that they have to use drugs to get their point across," One of them said.

Another fired back, "What you're calling drugs is nothing more than a weed and the main ingredient in that green mush they serve us to prevent cancer."

A silver-haired beauty popped her head out of the crowd and said, "That green mush is called Canniboid, named for the Cannabis plant that in the past was viewed as a drug and called marijuana. We obviously know better now, right?" She looked at the original commenter with a motherly stare.

He put his head down and said under his breath, "Yeah, I guess so."

I made my way over to the silver-headed siren. "Hello, I'm Dax." I stuck out my hand."

"Hello, I'm Abby." She smiled warmly.

"Is this seat taken?" I asked.

"Oh, no..." She shook her head and grabbed her stuff that was piling over into the seat.

"So did you get the chance to read the whole thing?" I asked, and then felt dumb as soon as it left my lips, of course she had.

She didn't seem to mind as she gave me the breakdown of her feelings about the book and how much it resonated with her. I was lost in her words and drawn in by her beauty. The time must have flown past us because before I could even respond we were standing up applauding the former President as she started the class.

"Who can tell me which constitutional amendment we wrote after this book was used in the Continental Congress?"

"The 28thamendment. Section one states that health care is a basic right for a developed nation and should be shielded from open market factors," Abby said before anyone in the room could answer.

"Excellent, Ms. Lennon." She smiled at her and then asked, "Can you tell us why the cancer culture helped us come to that conclusion?"

Abby sat up looked at me out of the corner of her eye and cracked a slight smile before answering, "Madam President. I think the story highlights what can happen when we allow profit to drive our decisions about healthcare."

"Yes. Now can anyone expand upon our decision as it pertains to the story?"

A young man on the other side of the room was called on and explained how healthcare for profit led to inflated prices and limited access to those on the lower side of the economic scale. He insisted that the man who died of cancer did so because of his own ignorance and suggested that what had been known as the Conservative Brain disease made the whole country go mad.

The President stopped him and explained how he was just perpetuating the propaganda the corporations used to separate us and conquer us. She explained how they first used the conservative machine against America, not by some brain disease but by simple conditioning. They found what the conservatives deeply cared about and they just attached their agenda to it. Every time some would mention Abortion, they would attach the government is killing babies mantra to it, implying that the government is evil. Outsourcing became a rallying call for fewer regulations and the abolition of taxation, by implying that corporations moved off shore because our government was trying to control them or take away their freedom. She went on to explain that the reality was far from the truth and to blame any single group was wrong. What the people failed to realize was that the government is the people.

"Look in the mirror. That is the government."

She paused and the room fell silent as we thought about her words.Then she changed the subject. "Has anyone here known anyone who has died of cancer?"

No one said anything, but I raised my hand.

"Yes, Mr. Dukain, please share your experience."

"My grandfather was one of the last known cases. I was seven at the time. He and a group of people refused to take the daily canniboid slush because they thought it was used to control their minds." I chuckled a little at the absurdity of that statement. It was widely publicized that Canniboid was made of wormwood, turmeric, whole cannabis, pectin, and spirulena. The corporations of the world had started requiring the daily sludge because it completely prevents cancer from forming.

"I assume you chuckled because you realize that Canniboid is a perfect example of the baby and the bathwater analogy," she stated.

I nodded.

"OK, then, it's safe to say that cancer as they knew it did not have to exist, yet it did, why? I'll tell you why because sometimes the biggest questions are solved with simple solutions and simple solutions are often hard to control and profit from. Many of the solutions to the energy crises were found in the work of Nicola Tesla 150 years after he first wrote about them. I could go on and on. What we found was that in certain parts of the economy we just couldn't allow open and free markets such as Health, Education, Defense, Prisons, Postal Services, Infrastructure. These are things that can't be outsourced or privatized. This story helped introduce our newly elected officials to ideas that were different and flew in the face of their upbringing and education they had been exposed to during the corporate years. It also gave them a small glimpse of how easy it is to push people into radicalism and gave us a baseline for where we want our people to be.

Can anyone tell me the three things we believe people need to feel content within society?"

Someone two seats down was called on. "Autonomy, purpose and mastery," the student responded.

She smiled, and said, "I see you all know, so what do the words mean and why? Let's start with Autonomy."

A girl in the back yelled out, "freedom," but the young man in the front had a more precise response, saying, "It's our desire to use the ability to reason and to make decisions on our own without being coerced."

"Yes," the President said. "Immanuel Kant wrote, 'Have courage to use your own reason! That is the motto of enlightenment.' Make no mistake about it, we are attempting to build upon the age of Enlightenment and the work our founders did in perpetuating the best of what western philosophy has produced."She paused and looked down at her notes then said. "Now 'purpose,' can someone tell me what we meant when we added 'purpose' to the second declaration?"

I raised my hand, but someone behind me was called on.

"The reason something exists," he blurted out.

"Yes. We found that Aristotle, Aquinas and Kant all wrestled with the question about the meaning of life. In the end, we used the word 'purpose' instead of 'meaning' to explain what we intrinsically want. Purpose was missing in the corporate cog model and it was replaced with duty and survival. People want to feel like they are a part of something important that will go beyond their day to day grind. The jobs in the late twentieth century and early twenty-first century lost creativity and purpose. Duty and survival became the only reason for a job. In this destructive circular model, the employee or wage slave needs to make money because they need to pay for the right to live. Unfortunately duty and survival do not mean purpose and the populous therefore always felt oppressed. Sadly the ruling class also started an all-out attack on the professions that inherently had purpose in them, like police officers and teachers, subsequently destroying those professions. This was one of the determining factors in our living wage argument and our favoring tax incentives for small businesses, but we'll get into that after we read Corporate Control and discuss the expansion of the antitrust laws. The idea is that we wanted to help foster and develop a climate of purpose where small business and small farms could take over the void the corporations left. Now, can anyone tell me what 'mastery' means and why it's important? The president asked.

I responded, "Mastery is the knowledge and skill that allows you to make, use, or understand a subject very well or have complete control of something. Why is it important? Because we are creatures of habit, and for most of human existence we survived by becoming masters of a skill that we either used directly in acts like hunting or we used them indirectly by trading or selling our skill in order to gain sustenance," I said after she called on me.

"Exactly, and just like 'purpose,' 'mastery' was lost in this age. They couldn't keep up with the rapidly changing environment and corporations forgot about their workers' well-being for short-sighted gains. People were unhappy, angry, and frustrated, and that is when the corporatists struck, driving a deep wedge into the country which ultimately led to the corporate takeover. We used this story and the principles of autonomy, purpose, and mastery when we wrote all of the protective amendments as they have come to be called, including Health, Education, Defense, Police, Corrections, the Postal Service and Infrastructure. It was with this understanding that these professions and departments also be rewarded be paid well, so that they need not worry about money. We showered them with praise, for it is they who nurture and defend our right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. We also made it clear that the pursuit of happiness as we interpreted it, is the drive for autonomy, purpose and mastery."

The class hung on her words as if she controlled our involuntary bodily functions like breathing and our heart rhythms.

She looked at her watch, and said, "With that I'll have to cut class short today, because I have an interview in fifteen minutes. Please read The Weed War and be prepared to talk about money in politics and the separation of church and state as it pertains to the second constitution and declaration of independence."

She ended class, but I stayed afterwards to talk to Abby. She gave me her number and we set a date to meet up this weekend to discuss our takes on The Weed War before next Tuesday's class. I was so excited I sped home and began reading The Weed War.

The Weed War

Chapter 1

The year is 2161, and the world is under one government: The United Corporations of the World. Land is divided into provinces and each province is represented by the number of corporations that preside within its borders. After the fall of the great twentieth century experiments like the U.S.S.R and the USA, a new more streamlined approach of governing developed. People still needed basic necessities regardless of the system, so corporations stepped in and began an entirely new kind of government, one that has no separation between private and public sectors. They seized the properties they needed to increase their profits and made laws that banned anything that didn't further the bottom line. Every legal institution in the world answers to one bank, and the bank is run by a special committee appointed by the top ten corporate CEO's in the world.

On July 4th, of 2025, it became illegal to not work for a corporation, the penalty: death. As harsh as this may seem, after martial law for four years, and massive social upheaval, most people wanted security and safety. They gave up on many of the common practices that they saw as the downfall of democracy. Entrepreneurship was abandoned and now everyone is required to work 32 hours a week starting at the age of 33.

People needed someone to blame for the financial situation the world found itself in. The finger was pointed at people who didn't contribute before, like children and moms, so the education system evolved. All people are to attend appropriate mandatory schooling until the age of 33. School starts at birth to allow mothers to meet their own work obligations.

Every year students test to determine what track each individual will be on. Most schools for people past the age of twelve are for studying trades at vocational schools. They put the students to work while giving them the tools it takes to function at a low wage job. There are still jobs for people that robots still can't perform.

The system is a computerized aggregation program dubbed "Selection," because it selects the best life path for individuals. In the old system they tried to make everyone equal. Selection understands that people are not equal; instead they are given exactly what their aptitude deems. Individuality has been slowly legislated away. Every person in each province wears the uniform of the corporation they were indebted to when their parents filed for a new birth permit. They all have the same unisex hairstyle as well.

In one province that was once the northwestern portion of the United States, just outside of Apple, the largest metropolis is AELA. AELA is Apple's Educational Leadership Academy and the destination for the province's brightest students.

AELA -ROOM 22, 20th Century History, 18 to 20 years old Gifted and Talented students.

A bright white classroom with neat rows of desks is empty with the exception of Mr. Borinski, who sits at the only out of place object in the room, a large worn-out wooden desk. He leans forward, takes a sip of his steaming hot caramel macchiato, turns the page on today's holographic newspaper and presses the highlighter function. He circles a headline.

"Another Teacher Arrested for Subversive Acts of Treason"

He scans down the page and stops dead center. "Ah ha, treason, teaching Jefferson..."

As the bell rings, he shakes his head, places his palm on the highlighted section, and pulls the article into the air, where it hovers freely. His eyes scan the screen until they fixate on a file in the bottom right of the floating screen. Pinching it between his fingers he drags the article into the file. The file automatically opens and the article shows up next to thumbnails of hundreds of other articles with titles about teachers being arrested. He presses a red button and the file minimizes back into the screen.

His eyes rise up to an already half full class. The nineteen-year-old students are all presented in the same exact dark blue, one-piece uniform and they all have the same haircuts, a standard military flat-top. When Mr. Borinski looks down at his uniform, his large belly makes it look like a balloon; he shakes his head and walks over to the board to write something down. The bell rings.

Two boys who are running late bump into each other as they both try to fit through the door. Students are feverishly writing.

"Just in time," Mr. Borinski says, swirling around. "Make sure you get the date." He walks over to the door and pulls the blinds on the window down, "OK move 'em." The students, in an orderly fashion stop writing and move the desks into a circle. Mr. Borinski grabs an extra desk to join in. Once settled, he points up at the two words he wrote on the board.

"USA" and "Weed War"

He looks around the circle. "Can anyone tell me based on the article last night, what these two represent?"

A light skinned 19 year old young woman with big thick glasses raises her hand. "Yes, sir," she squeaks.

"OK, then give it a go." Mr. Borinski flashes an encouraging smile.

"Um, well, the USA, is well, it was the last vestige of democracy, and a failed social experiment. And the Weed War was the war that exposed the vile truth that brought down the country."

"Bingo, great job Harley. Any other opinions?"

No one says anything; they all look away, trying not to make eye contact.

"Did any of you make it to the web last night and check the archive?" He reaches up to the corner of his desk and presses down. A hidden button depresses and a hologram pops up in front of him. A voice asks him to log in, so he opens his right eye and waits. The hologram in front of him shoots out a laser, scanning his eye.

"Verifying," a calm female voice from the bottom of the desk announces. "Welcome, Mr. Borinski."

"Good morning, Siri, I need my class files please."

"No problem, sir."

He thumbs through a number files before stopping on the one labeled Class Check In. He opens it and his eyes get big, "It says here only three of you read the article. Anyone want to tell me why?"

One of the boys in the back yelled, "It's boring."

Mr. Borinski drops his head and shakes it before he pops up and smiles. "What if I gave you something you've never seen before?"

"Like what?" the same boy yelled, as he lifted his head up off the desk.

Mr. Borinski jumped up and scurried over to the closet door. He rifled through to the very back before emerging with an old brown box. He set it down and a cloud of dust exploded out in all directions.

"What, you got a mummy?" One of the boys asks as the rest of the class snickers.

"No, what I have here is..." he pulls out two books, "...is books."

Gasps fill the room and whispers follow. One of the boys raises his hand and Mr. Borinski calls on him, "Yes, Zack?"

"I thought they burned all the books?"

"Obviously not."

Harley can't control her excitement. She had heard about books from her grandmother, but she had never actually seen one. She raises her hand and shakes it like a flag in the wind. Call on me, she thinks to herself, so excited she is wiggling in her seat.

Mr. Borinski calls on her, "Yes, Harley?"

"Can we touch them, Mr. B?"

"You are all going to take them home tonight."

Her jaw drops. "What? Really?" She looks around the class at the shocked faces in the room. "Is that legal?"

"Of course, but..." he looks around and then whispers, "...it's against school policy, so maybe I shouldn't." He starts to close the box.

Harley jumps to her feet, "Oh no. You can't do that." She hurries over and holds out her hand, "Mine please."

Mr. Borinski hands her a book. She can't believe it. In her hands is a book, something that changed the world, but then was lost. She thinks to herself, between the pages is a world of the unknown. She brings it up to her nose and inhales the dark musky smell that lends to its mystery. She examines the title.

The Diary of Renee de Garcias, A Weed War Tale

"Huh." She feels the embossed green leaf on the cover, its seven points protruding out like fingers on a hand. "What is this leaf?" she asks, looking up at Mr. Borinski.

"That is the leaf of the Cannabis plant, sometimes called weed."

"That's the plant that destroyed a country?" One boy asks as he takes his book.

Mr. Borinski smiles, but shakes his head. "It wasn't the plant as much as the principles that it represented."

"What do you mean?" another boy asks.

Mr. Borinski looks up, and sees everyone in the classroom is hooked. "I can't tell you. We'll have to read this, and find out what each of you thinks; only then will you understand."

The boy steps forward and sticks out his hand. "All right then, give me a book."

Harley's best friend Olga rushes over to Harley to compare books. "Can you believe it?"

"No." Harley shakes her head as she stares at the cover of the book and runs her fingers over the leaf. "I never could have imagined," she said, her smile glowing with excitement.

After a brief discussion about how to treat the books, the bell rings, and Mr. Borinski hands out the last book. The students scramble to pack up and move the desks back. Mr. Borinski yells over the commotion, "Read the forward and the first entry tonight and be prepared to discuss it tomorrow."

Chapter 2

Olga walks into the apartment her family lives in, places her jacket on an old wooden coat rack, and steps over her little sister, who at nine months old is a crawling machine, bouncing from one object to the next. "I'm home," she says as she walks into the kitchen.

"Holamija." her mom responds, smiling.

"Mole and chicken again?" Olga rolls her eyes and sticks out her tongue, "Yuck."

"You should be thankful, mija, this is the same recipe your great-grandma learned before the fall." Her face becomes stoic and her eyelids drop.

"Don't be sad." Olga leans in and hugs her mom. "They're in a better place now. Right?" She taps on the cross that dangles on a chain around her neck.

Trying to hold back the tears, her mother turns around and changes the subject. "How was school today?"

Olga shakes her head. "You can't just ignore your feelings. You have to face them."

"What do you know? You're only a kid."

"I'm 19, so I'm not a kid any longer, and I know if some government guy came and killed you like he did your mom I'd..."

Her mom swings around and slaps Olga. "Don't you speak about that."

"Fine!" she turns around, and scurries away holding her face, crying. "Be that way." She walks into her bedroom and slams the door.

Olga can't understand why people would allow the killing of anyone over 75. Sure, it saved money, but to her it was genocide even if it was voluntary. She throws herself down on the bed and looks at her backpack. "Let's check out this book." She opens it and begins to read.

The Diary of Renee de Garcias, A Weed War Tale, Forward and Entry 1.

Forward

"It is said, that even the mightiest waterfall starts with one drop of rain. My sister understood this and lived her life by it. The following is her account of the passing of legalized marijuana and the chaos that followed.

Entry 1

My name is Renee de Garcias, I am a 18 year old college student at Denver University. I haven't decided what my major should be, but I'm not sure it will matter. I was born with the ability to see connections in things. What you see as coincidence is a web of connections that always points to some major event. I have to admit, I'm often wrong about the end result, but I am never wrong about there being something that will happen. Yesterday, I believe the pin was pulled on the grenade, and it's just a matter of time before it explodes. Let me explain, the legalization of marijuana was passed by popular vote in two states, Washington and here in Colorado. The year is 2012.

At face value it seems like a pretty simple issue: the people have decided that the prohibition of a natural plant was not in the best interest of those states. It is one of the few issues that people on both sides of the political divide agree on, yet something has kept it from happening in the past. That something isn't just going to roll over and let weed just take all that they have away. Who is "they"? They are any entity that profits from the plant being illegal: private corrections, big oil, electric, big chemical companies, and a host of others. These companies control commodity markets that produce products that hemp, a direct relative of marijuana, can easily replace.

Despite the millions of dollars spent annually on negative propaganda, somehow the momentum has switched, and like a slow methodical tsunami, it is spreading out across the country. This type of spreading is scary to those in charge; they could lose the grip they have on the neck of this great nation. My dad was a conservative and a professor of history so I have a pretty good grasp on the subject. Never in history have those with the power willingly given up their power without a fight, and that's what scares me.

I saw all of my friends running around like it was Christmas yesterday, and I couldn't help but join in. They smoked hundreds of joints, passing them up and down the halls of the dorms as if the law had also overturned the school rules. My friend Vince kept rolling them up and passing them out. I thought back to Dec 5, 1933, the day the 21st amendment was ratified, ending the prohibition of alcohol. How they must have celebrated, with drinks in the halls and parties all night. The situation was different for them, because prohibition of alcohol was lifted by the federal government and alcohol can't replace any of the commodities that make hemp so dangerous.

Four years ago, if anyone would have asked someone in my family about legalization of marijuana they would have scoffed at them. We were brought up to believe that drugs were bad and they were all painted with the same brush. That was before cancer, the ugliest word in the dictionary. I remember sitting in the doctor's office, watching the doctor's lips move but no sound coming out. My dad just hung his head and my mom wept. No one wants to hear they only have six months to live, but that's what they told him: my dad was dying of cancer and had six months left.

He had no intentions of just giving up, so he dove into the most aggressive treatments he could find. The problem is, every treatment had the same effect on his stomach, and he couldn't keep any food down. An alternative doctor we found online suggested that he try medical marijuana. He had already lost over 50 pounds, and he needed nutrition, but when we asked his primary care doctor about using medical marijuana, she dropped him as a patient.

I was flabbergasted. How could a doctor drop him just for asking a question about a plant. I soon found out that surrounding the little sticky plant was a host of negative associations, planted by a systematic and continued campaign against it. Still skeptical, we researched every aspect of marijuana we could find and as a family we decided to give it a try. Within minutes he was able to eat, and after a week he had gained nearly ten pounds back. To us it was a miracle. To be fair, my father still died at the six month mark, just like the doctor said, but over the last three months one thing gave him more relief than any other, weed.

No one from my family is a regular pot smoker, but after our experience with cancer we all became advocates for medical marijuana. To be honest, I'm still not sure it should be used for anything other than medicine, and just like any other prescribed drug it shouldn't be abused. I'm obviously not in the majority, at least here in Colorado, but I'm OK with the outcome.

The outcome is new, different than anything we have ever seen before. Sure, slavery and prohibition of alcohol were both changed despite the strong historical significance. They both nearly destroyed the Union and that was before the Internet, before TV, before Facebook. The world is different now, and the Feds know it. Already this morning there is talk of federal interference into Amendment 64. I have a funny feeling about this so I sat down and decided to add it to this journal; hopefully it can serve as an unbiased look into the weed issue."

Chapter 3

Harley closes the book and looks up at her empty cold room. She leans over, presses a button on the wall and says, "Call Olga." A dial tone is heard, and a strange ring begins. Olga answers, and a 3D image of her head pops up.

"Hey, chica," Olga says.

"Did you read the first entry?"

Olga's eyes get big, "OMG, yes... it's... so, exciting."

"I know, right, and this Renee, she's our age."

"Can you imagine, living in a world where you could paint, or write, or sing, a world where..."

Harley cut her off, "You could choose who you get to marry."

Olga rolls her eyes, "Now you're talking crazy talk." She busts up laughing.

Harley drops her shoulders, "I'm serious, look at our lives, everything is predetermined by Selection. Maybe I don't want to marry a guy with the same IQ as me."

Olga laughs again, "You want one of the huge brutes we see swinging sledge hammers on the maglev tracks."

Harley turns red. "Have you seen the muscles on them?"

Olga flashes a sheepish grin, "You know I have."

A loud bang in the background draws Harley's attention. "Uh oh, my mom is home...got to go...see you tomorrow." She presses the button, Olga disappears, and she pulls the grey blanket over her head as her mom opens the door to check on her. "Goodnight, Harley."

"Goodnight, Mom."

Chapter 4

The class of students sits quietly waiting. Mr. Borinski comes through the door and looks down at the digital clock built into his sleeve, "Is my suit's clock off?" he asks the class.

One of the tall boys in the front named Mark says, "No sir, we're all here early."

He smiles and places a box on his desk, walks up to the board and writes down, "Forward" and "Entry 1."

"So, the Forward and the first Entry, can I get a show of hands of those who finished reading these sections?"

All the students in the class raise their hands. "That's everyone. Wow, that's pretty impressive! How did what you read make you feel?" He walks over, turns a seat around and sits on it backward, crossing his arms and resting them on the chair.

Olga, a stellar student, raises her hand. "It made me mad."

"Why?" Borinski asks.

"Because I thought, how could they let some plant destroy democracy?"

Mark Pena, the tall boy from earlier, is an opinionated young man with a chip on his shoulder. He doesn't raise his hand, but he wants his opinion to be heard, so he cuts in before the teacher can respond. "Damn sister, you know what democracy led to, everyone knows that."

"What's that? What did it lead to? "Harley asks defiantly.

Mark is delighted by the challenge. "Democracy led to debauchery and greed, "he states, as if by rote. He smiles as if he had just thrown a knockout blow.

Harley laughs out loud and looks at Olga. "You believe this guy?" She turns back to Mark. "You may have a hard time understanding this, but democracy led to freedom and liberty."

Mark rolls his eyes. "Freedom and liberty are illusions."

Mr. Borinski interrupts them. "Ah, freedom and liberty! Can I get a show of hands of those who believe that those words are negative." All but two students, Olga and Harley, raise their hands. "Wow, OK, so who can tell me why you think that freedom and liberty are negative concepts?"

Zack, a blond motorcycle rider, raises his hand and Mr. Borinski nods at him to answer. "It's negative because, like Thomas Hobbes said, people can't be trusted to make the right decisions, and every time in human history, when given this so-called freedom or liberty, humans go wild."

"How do you know?" Olga asks.

"It's in every history book I've ever read," Zack replies.

Mr. Borinski continues, "OK, so let me ask this question: what does the saying 'history is written by the victor' mean?"

Harley turns to Zack and Mark and raises one eyebrow. "Well?"

A girl in the back who usually doesn't say much raises her hand.

"Yes, Tanya?"

"Well, it's just..." She looks up and her deep brown eyes are a stark contrast to her pale white skin.

Zack cuts her off, "Spit it out... stu...pid."

"Give her a chance," Harley interjects.

"What class rule did Zack just break?" Mr. Borinski asks. He doesn't wait for an answer, he points his laser pointer at rule number two. "Respect others. Now where were we? Tanya was answering the question. OK, Tanya."

Her nervousness begins to waiver. "I think it means that it would be foolish to think that our history books are anything more than propaganda for the winning side." She throws Zack a crooked smile causing her right cheek to dimple swallowing her beauty mark.

"Are you listening to this?" Zack asks Mark angrily. "So what are you saying, Mr. B?"

Mr. Borinski raises his shoulders and holds out his hands. "I'm not; I'm asking the questions. The answers are yours."

Harley comes to Mr. Borinski's defense, "What are you scared of?" She asks Zack.

Zack responds, "Scared? I'm not scared."

Olga pipes in."Sounds to me like your greatest fear is freedom."

"Girls, I think you need to back off and remember it isn't Zack that we are discussing but rather the issues," Mr. Borinski admonishes. He raises his arm and twists his wrist band counter clockwise twice, and clockwise once, activating his suit watch. He stares down at the digital numbers, shakes his head.

"We're running low on time, so why don't we try to come up with a couple of prediction questions for tomorrow. You have thirty seconds." He stands up, walks over to the board and writes down in the assignment section, "Entry 2". He turns and watches the seconds tick down on the sleeve he is using as a stopwatch. "OK, give me some questions."

Harley has her hand up first and he calls on her. "Why was a plant so dangerous that it needed to be illegal?"

"Good question," Mr. Borinski says, as he writes it down. "One more?"

Mark raises his hand and is called on. "How can a plant bring down a superpower?"

The bell rings as Mr. Borinski concludes the class. "Read entry two, and come prepared for a quiz on the two new questions, as well as what you've read."

Chapter 5

The Diary of Renee de Garcias, A Weed War Tale,

Entry 2

It's been one year, three months and twenty-one days since the passing of amendment 64, here in Colorado. The first year was uneventful and I actually thought for a brief moment that I may be wrong about the law. In October 2014, a provision of house bill HB-1317 became official, and the flood gates opened, an economic boom the likes of which are unheard of, exploded.

In the first week alone, over two thousand new coffee shops were opened across the state, and it was estimated that over two million pot tourists poured into colorful Colorado. It was crazy, with lines of people coming out of every door, everyone smiling, hugging, an energy that was lost after 9-11. I went to a pot parade at the Pearl Street mall in Boulder and more than ten thousand people lit up at 4:20 P.M. to celebrate. Sources in the Rocky Mountain News were quoted saying, "It was the largest crowd in the popular shopping area since the infamous Halloween mall crawls in the late 80's."

The cities who accepted the new businesses brought in more tax money in the first quarter this year than they did in the last two years combined. The economic boom has prompted mayors to draw their own lines in the sand; one mayor has gone as far as to warn the federal government that they would be seen as an invading enemy if they tried to keep weed illegal in Colorado and that his citizens are ready for a fight. I'm hoping for a more peaceful resolution, and wish we could strive for a more evolved way of interacting. All the posturing and puffing up about the new law is not that much different from how our closest relative the great ape acts. The only difference is the ape doesn't force someone else to fight his battle for him. We as humans believe ourselves to be so much higher than other animals yet we can't seem to shake our most undesirable traits, and we are fighting over the use of a plant. Why?

Chapter 6

Mr. Borinski writes on the board, "Economic Bubble" and joins the circle. "Any thoughts about these words today?" He points back at the board.

Harley waves her hand back and forth, but Mr. Borinski is trying to find someone new to answer. In the back of the room, just outside the circle is a young man with his head down on his desk. "Spencer." Everyone in the room turns to look at the sandy blond head, as Mr. Borinski says his name again, "Spencer."

Spencer raises his head and drool drips down his cheek. "Huh... yeah... what was the question?"

"What do you think about economic bubbles?" Olga whispered to him.

"Oh... yeah...economic bubbles are the artificial inflation of perceived value in a specific commodity that is a direct result of the economic system called capitalism," he says, smiling as he waits approval.

"That most certainly is what an economic bubble is, but what do you think about them?" Mr. Borinski inquires.

Spencer tilts his head to the side and closes one eye. "Not sure what you mean?"

"Look, I know you're smart enough to regurgitate definitions, but what I want is critical thinking outside of the box you call your own perception. First, we must work on building opinions, then work on understanding that our opinions are not real and have very little to do with reality. I'll ask again. What do you think about economic bubbles? There are no wrong answers."

Spencer thinks for a second, then says, "OK, I think people back then weren't very smart, they just bought into the bubbles because it was trendy, which only exasperated the situation. To make matters worse most of the bubbles were created around things that didn't even have any real value. So, to me Americans were ignorant."

"Any responses?" Mr. Borinski asks.

Harley doesn't raise her hand; instead she lays into Zack. "Ignorant, do you even know what that means? If Americans were ignorant because they believed in freedom and liberty, then I'm ignorant too."

"You are ignorant then," Mark says. "Everyone knows those words were the carrots they used to control the populace."

Olga takes exception to this. "Actually, it was the end goal, an experiment designed to unleash the human mind." She smiles at Mr. Borinski because those were the words he used when he first introduced the United States of America. At the time she thought he was crazy but now, freedom and liberty are all she can think about. She swirls back toward Mark, "Imagine a world where you could choose your own future, your own destiny."

Mark laughs, "Ha, ignorant, outdated and not cost effective, is the world you're talking about. We live in a society where there has to be sacrifice, and not everyone is born with the same aptitude. We learned from the past."

Harley fires back, "Under our current system our lives are completely controlled by corporations and you call them ignorant."

The whole class goes silent; they weren't accustomed to anyone questioning the current system much less suggesting that the populous was ignorant. They all turn to Mr. Borinski for a reprimand, but he just pauses, looks at each one of their faces and says, "I told you that in our exploration of world history you may find yourselves stretching your perceptions. I would like to continue but..." he pauses for a second looking up at the ceiling and taking in a deep breath, adds "...everyone must agree to a few stipulations."

Mark raises his hand but blurts out, "What stipulations?"

"Everyone in this room needs to agree to confidentiality, so we can feel free to have true academic discussion."

Harley raises her hand and Mr. Borinski nods for her to speak. She says, "Can't you get fired for allowing that kind of critical thinking?"

He twirls around landing with one of his hands right on the corner of his desk, leans toward the class and deepens his voice. "I most certainly can, but if you really want to understand the United States, you need to be able to experience true freedom. Inside these four walls we can simulate what it was like to openly question anything you want."

The room stops, and every one gasps at once. Suddenly, like a back draft the flames of curiosity explode.

Zack sits up and says, "Count me in."

"Me too," Olga adds.

"Hold on." Mr. Borinski gets up and walks over to his desk pulling out the bottom drawer. He pulls out a shoe box and sits it on the table. "We'll do a silent vote so no one feels influenced by peer pressure." He pulls out a pad of yellow papers and begins to hand them out to each student. "To help keep this anonymous we'll use slashes to vote, one slash will indicate you don't agree with the confidentiality, while two indicates you are willing."

After only a few minutes, Zack puts the final vote into the box and Mr. Borinski tallies them. "It looks like everyone has voted to continue."

The class erupts into applause and Mr. Borinski holds up his hands, saying, "Not so loud!" The bell rings and startles him, "Damn, we're out of time. OK, read the next entry for homework, and we'll take the quiz with the questions from last class next time as well. Oh yeah, I'm proud of you."

Chapter 7

As Mr. Borinski steps up onto the last step of six flights of stairs, he bends down and places his hands on his knees; a voice startles him.

"Tired, old man?" he hears a young woman say.

Mr. Borinski looks up to find his younger sister standing in the dark, dirty hallway. "Claire, what are you doing here?"

She hurries over and helps him up to his door, "Are you OK?"

"I'm fine." He wipes the sweat from his forehead.

"Seriously, we're all worried about you." She puts her arm around him.

Mr. Borinski 's face becomes stoic and he stares off at the wall. His mind finds itself back at that night, when he stood silent as a RAM guard raped his wife.

"B... B..."

He snaps out of it, "I'm fine."

"Then open the door, and let's go in and talk."

He reaches into his over the shoulder bag, opens a flap on the side, and pulls out his keys. His sister sees something that catches her attention. "What is that?"

"Oh...nothing." Mr. Borinski quickly closes the flap.

She grabs his arm and pulls him into the apartment. Shutting the door behind them, she turns and whispers, "You have a book! Are you crazy?"

"It's not that big of deal." He smiles and pulls away as if nothing is wrong.

"Have you lost your mind? If you get caught with a book you'll lose your job." She follows him across the room.

"What do I care? My job is insignificant. How can I go to work every day being part of the problem? I mean, we're the ones that feed them the bullshit. My students deserve more."

Her jaw opens wide and she gasps. "B, what have you done?"

He walks across the stark white floor to the cupboard, pulls out two glasses and asks, "Drink?" He opens the fridge and pulls out a pitcher of homemade sun-tea.

"'B, are you listening to me? What have you done? Tell me you didn't show them the book." She pushes past a long, brown, leather couch and a matching lazy boy.

"I did, and I handed out a class set." He stands a little taller and pulls his shoulders back puffing out his chest.

Taken aback, she gasps and crosses her arms over her chest, her eyes roll in the back of her head. She sits down on a bar stool and puts her head down on the counter. "I knew it, you have a death wish. Is that it? Do you want to die?" she says into the ground, shaking her head with disappointment.

"Don't be so dramatic. I know what I'm doing."

She swings her head up. "OK genius, why don't you fill me in then."

"I'm teaching." He smiles and hands her a cup of iced tea.

"You know the laws. Books have been outlawed for nearly a hundred years. They don't take lightly any form of dissidence. How many teachers have been put to death this year alone for far lesser crimes?"

"Forty-eight in the greater Americas." He smiles again.

"See, you do want to die."

"I would like to read you a quote." He pulls out the book in his bag and opens it to the first blank page. A hand written quote adorned the top of the first page. Mr. Borinski places his finger on the handwriting and begins to read,

"First they came for the communists, and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a communist.

Then they came for the socialists, and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a socialist.

Then they came for the trade unionists, and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a trade unionist.

Then they came for me, and there was no one left to speak for me."

He stops and smiles, "You see, I'm just preempting the inevitability of them coming for me, and I'm showing my students that in order to change things you have to be willing to make sacrifices."

"My God, B, do you realize what you're doing, what this means? Because, I don't think you do. You'll be considered a terrorist and," she pauses and wipes the new tears from her cheeks. "If it gets bad for you and they come to see you, you can't see me or mom, ever again, because if you do, they will kill us too, guilt by association."

"Claire, you worry too much. If enough people know, it will be hard for them to explain away. Plus, one day our ancestors will look back, and no one will be able to say that I sat back and watched my fellow man wither away. No, they will say Mr. Borinski was a man of action." He smiles reaches across the bar and places his hand on her cheek. "I was asleep, walking through life with my eyes shut, but now...now I'm awake, look at me." He pulls her face towards his, "I'm no longer asleep, and for the first time since that night, I am happy. Are there some risks? Yes, but frankly I don't care."

Chapter 8

The Diary of Renee de Garcias, A Weed War Tale,

Entry 3

Two days ago on June 5th, 2017, newly appointed U.S Attorney General, Robert Spinster, issued a warning in a special broadcast. He basically gave a cease and desist order for all states to stop the legal possession and sale of marijuana and any business running under the guise of the new state laws that legalized marijuana. People laughed, and the headline in the Rocky Mountain News reads,

"Gratefully Dead, No One Respects the Feds"

My dad had a favorite saying, "You should never poke the sleeping bear." I'm afraid that's what has happened in this case. I walked around yesterday; all the lines had dwindled down to nothing. The energy that was so abundant is gone, and in its place a heightened sense of paranoia permeates the streets. Grow operations, dispensaries, and marijuana coffee shops have all hired on armed security and cities have their police on high alert.

At 6:00 A.M. Mountain time, the largest coordinated military raid in our country's history took place on the streets of every major city in Colorado and Washington. 200,000 National Guard troops were utilized in a preemptive effort to mitigate any unruly responses. That is 50,000 troops more than went into D-day, and just like expected, Denver exploded into riots.

Martial law for the two states was called into effect by the president at 3:00 pm; I was safe in a dorm of a friend. Despite the one room and two beds, nearly twenty people joined us. We watched videos on YouTube all day. One video showed a National Guard officer tear gassing a non-violent protestor for not moving. Another showed a young woman being beaten with riot batons. It was disgusting and shocking to see things like that happen here in the US. I thought scenes like these only happened in countries that have oppressive totalitarian regimes.

People from down the hall kept stopping by, and that's when I met Matthew Mattox. At 6 feet, 7 inches and 250 pounds, his size was commanding, but it was his unbridled confidence and steadfast ideals that first drew me in. I found myself torn between wanting to watch the videos and listening to his discussions. He continually referenced a book called The Emperor Wears No Clothes and had a compelling argument for what got us here in the first place.

I found myself lost in his hazel eyes, mesmerized by his deep baritone voice, and floating on his words.

"Dow Chemical Company was one of the main contributors to the anti-marijuana advertising campaign that led to its prohibition," he said with a crooked smile.

"Why?" the annoying blonde girl next to me asked, while batting her eyelids.

He fired back, "Money, they make a host of products that use petroleum as the base, including plastics and paper. Hemp, weed's cousin, could be used by small time businessmen to make the same product. Competition..." he smiled, looked deep into my eyes, then continued, "competition, free and unattended, would be too dangerous for those who hold control. So what did they do? They crushed the competition, not by force, but by changing popular opinion."

He got up and held out his hand to me. Sitting in the room with ten people and five other girls, he chose me. I grabbed his hand, trying not to look so excited, and followed him out onto the balcony. He closed the door behind us and said, "Hi, I'm Matthew, nice to finally meet you."

Finally, what did he mean by that? I just giggled and said, "I'm Renee." Could you imagine? The perfect guy and all I can do is giggle, like a school girl. I wasn't sure what was going on, my palms were sweaty, my heart was beating at an accelerated pace, and my knees felt wobbly.

"Are you OK?" He asked, apparently recognizing my reaction.

I played it off by blaming the whole martial law incident, but to tell you the truth, at this point, I wasn't really thinking about martial law, or anything other than the young man in front of me.

"Why don't you have a seat?" He waved for me to sit down on the patio bench next to him. We talked for hours, about all kinds of things, philosophy, religion, love, and weed. I cried and laughed so hard I nearly pissed my pants on a number of occasions, it was exhilarating.

One of his buddies came out and told him it was time to go. Matthew leaned across and gave me a giant hug, squeezing me into his massive chest. He whispered into my ear, "Meet me after the protest tomorrow."

I wasn't planning on going, not after watching all the beatings and tear gassing on the TV, but for Matthew, I think I could make an exception.

Chapter 9

Mr. B collects the quiz from his students and writes up on the board, "Human Rights Violations"

"Can anyone tell me why I wrote this up here?" he asks as he points at the words.

Olga raises her hand and he calls on her. "The videos that she watched on YouTube showed a number of human rights violations."

"That's right. Now, what are human rights violations?" he swirls around and flashes a smile, dropping his chin as he stares at the students from the top of his eyelids.

Harley didn't wait to be called on. "Any act that takes away from the unalienable rights Jefferson alluded to in his Declaration of Independence." she smiles.

Mr. Borinski nods at her, and addresses the class. "She is correct, but where did Jefferson procure his thoughts on these rights?"

Zack pipes in, "John Locke spoke of the natural rights of men to have life, liberty, and property. We discussed it earlier this year when we learned about the philosophers."

Mr. Borinski nods again. "Would you agree with Locke?"

Mark blurts out, "No," then smiles as he coyly looks around the room for the customary attention he garners when he makes snide remarks.

Mr. Borinski, a skilled educator, backhands the question back at him like a return on a tennis court. "OK, Mark, that's valid, but why?"

"Why? As I said last class, liberty was just an illusion."

"How so?" Harley asks.

"Think about it. Liberty means to have freedom of agency, or the right to make your own choices. At the height of American society the average laborer worked nearly fifty hours a week, and most worked for someone else. I can't remember who it was but someone we learned about this year suggested that working for money is akin to wage slavery. So yeah, they had choices, but their choice was which slave owner they would work for."

"That's ridiculous," Olga says. "They didn't have to work if they didn't want to. It was a choice; therefore they had the liberty to choose."

"Good point." Mr. Borinski smiles, steering the conversation back, then asks, "What are the kinds of things that could lead to human rights violations?"

"Racism," One boy in the back yells.

Mr. Borinski writes it up on the board, "OK. More."

"Sexism," Olga adds.

"Oppression," Harley says.

"Yes, now what kind of feelings leads to these?"

The class goes silent before Tanya whispers, "Hate."

"Exactly," Mr. Borinski responds, swirling around, "But what is hate?"

Harley answers, "To dislike someone or something extremely or passionately."

"OK, according to that definition, how do you think most people felt about weed?"

"In Colorado and Washington the majority obviously liked it," Zack answers back.

"What about those who didn't agree with legalization?"

"They hated it!" Mark and Zack both blurt out.

"Why?"

Mark answers, "According to the nit-wit writing this book," he holds it up, "it's because the advertisers manipulated them to think that way."

Harley and Olga both look at Mark with big eyes, surprised by his wit.

"So, this culture of hate was fueled by advertisers, but why?"

"Why?" Olga smiles, "Because some big companies were afraid of the competition."

Mr. Borinski concluded the discussion for the day with, "The bell is going to ring. Please read entry four, and answer the following question."

He writes on the board, "How did institutions like private corporations profit from the prohibition of marijuana?"

Chapter 10

The Diary of Renee de Garcias, A Weed War Tale

Entry 4

As I walked into the park in front of the capitol building, I couldn't believe how many people flooded the area. Some estimates had the number of attendees to be as large as a million people. It was as if the vacuum that sucked out all the energy exploded and now the dust of discontent was permeating every nook and cranny. The chilly morning air gripped my lungs, but my cashmere scarf and my hot cocoa kept the rest of me warm. I made my way through the endless sea of people toward the open amphitheater where Matthew told me to meet him.

As I approached, it wasn't hard to pick him out in the crowd. He stood at least a head above everyone around him and his larger than life voice commanded attention. He laughed and howled, throwing his hands around as he spoke. I couldn't hear what he was saying yet, but it didn't matter. Our eyes met and he smiled as he continued to speak, never taking his eyes off me. After finishing his thought he excused himself and stepped forward to meet me.

"Hello there," he said, as he picked me up.

I smiled and looked down at the ground, and said shyly, "Hi."

"Here, come with me."

He grabbed my hand and pulled me behind him. The crowed spilt like the Red Sea as his massive shoulders bumped and bruised their way through. When we reached the stage he turned and said, "I'm going to give a speech up there right now. Will you wait here for me?"

"Yes, of course," I said, lost in his deep, sunken eyes.

Right then, someone on stage announced his name. "That's my cue," he told me.

I didn't agree with everything he said, but nearly all his points were dead on. This issue cuts to the fabric of our Constitution and leaves little room for compromise.

"It's about states' rights," he yelled, holding up his fist in defiance. The crowd went wild, feeding off his energy. I have to admit I found myself caught up in the frenzy as well, holding up my fist and joining in on the chant. "State rights, state rights..."

It was intoxicating, and by the time he came down the stairs my head was spinning with endorphins. I'm not sure what came over me, but I threw up my arms to hug him, reached in and kissed him, not a little peck but the full-fledged tongue. He kissed me and the whole world disappeared. In that moment I forgot where we were, and despite being surrounded by people it felt intimate and special. Suddenly, all at once my eyes began to burn and gun shots rang out.

"Tear gas," he whispered into my ear. "Keep your eyes closed." He grabbed my hand and pulled me through the crowd. His grip was so tight it was painful, but people started to go crazy and I knew he would protect me. I bounced off people and tried to open my eyes, but the gas was too thick. I don't know how he could see, but somehow he was able to get us out of the park and into an alleyway.

"Here, duck down." He put his hand on my head and pushed down gently. "You should be able to open your eyes here now."

I opened them and looked up into his hazel eyes that were surrounded by bright red tears.

"My God, your eyes!"

"I'm fine. Just duck down."

I could see the fear in his eyes as he looked over my shoulder.

"What are you doing there?" a squeaky voice asked from behind me.

Matthew looked up over my shoulder and answered the soldiers. "My girlfriend and I are just..."

He didn't get a chance to finish. The butt of a rifle came over me hitting him in the forehead, and his limp body crumbled into my lap.

"What do we have here?"

Two soldiers approached me. One of them ran his fingers through my hair while the other one grabbed me by my arm and pulled me up. Matthew's unconscious body slumped down onto the ground.

"Turn around," the short one said in an angry voice. "Put your hands on the dumpster."

I gulped, "I don't have any weapons."

"Weapons," the tall one laughed as he stuck his tongue into my ear. "We're not looking for weapons."

He ran his hand up my thigh and into my private area. It sent shivers down my spine and I froze, couldn't move or talk. He reached around and ripped my dress off, exposing my underwear, which he promptly ripped off and said to me, "You're going to love this."

I closed my eyes and prepared for the unthinkable, before two gunshots rang out, nearly bursting my ear drums. I opened my eyes and Matthew handed me my dress, saying, "Get dressed, hurry."

I looked down and saw a small .38 special in his hand and both soldiers lying at his feet with gunshots to the head.

"Holy crap, you killed them," I said as I stepped over them and began to run down the alley after him.

"They were going to kill you after they raped you, I had no choice."

I didn't care; in fact, it made me like him even more, knowing that he would do anything to protect me. As we left the alleyway we didn't even notice the camera that captured the whole event. It wasn't until we got back to his apartment and turned on the TV that we realized how much trouble we were in. An edited version of the tape was played on Hound News, over and over again, followed by Matthew's speech he had given only minutes earlier. Somehow, in a matter of hours we had transitioned from college students to America's most wanted terrorists. They painted a picture with the edited video that we had lured the soldiers in and ambushed them.

Had I not been there, I would have believed the story the news stations ran. It doesn't bother me that people fall for these kinds of stories, but it irritates me that news organizations can get away with such blatant lies. I remember my dad trying to explain to me as a child how the German people could allow such monstrous acts to take place. His mother was Jewish and lived through the Nazi era. It was particularly painful for him to see propaganda being used in the US that he often said mirrored that of Germany pre-World War II.

Matthew was prepared for this kind of problem. He grabbed a bag he had packed from under his bed and we quickly moved to my dorm. I grabbed everything I thought I might need, but to tell you the truth, I had no Idea what I would need. I packed a couple of outfits, a toiletry bag, and a jacket. My heart began to race faster, and droplets of sweat ran down my forehead.

Matthew stepped in and grabbed my hand. "Renee," he dipped his head down and tried to look me in the eyes, "Look at me."

Tears began to well up on my bottom eyelid. He told me, "It's going to be OK." He reached up with his hand, placed his fingers on my chin, and pulled it toward him. My eyes met his and my fears melted away. He leaned in and kissed me slowly and softly on my lips.

Sirens interrupted us and he ran over to the window. "Shit, they're here," he exclaimed. He turned and ran over to my bag and snatched it up. "You got everything?"

"Yeah."

"Let's go, now." He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the door.

At the last second I pulled my hand back and said, "Hold on, I want to get my diary." I turned and ran to my mattress, reached under, and pulled out this diary.

"Hurry up," he said.

We walked out of the door and began to move toward the stairs at the far end of the hall. Suddenly the door at the end flew open and soldiers poured in. Matthew turned and walked into an open dorm room, I followed, and he shut the door behind us.

"Hey, what you guys doing..." a student in his own room started to say.

Matthew didn't give the poor kid a chance to finish his question. He picked him up and cupped his giant hand around the shorter blond boy's mouth.

"Quiet," Matthew told him. He held the boy a foot off the ground. "We'll be out of here in a few minutes."

We could hear commotion up and down the hall. I peered out of the crack in the drapes and could see my stuff being tossed out onto the courtyard below.

Matthew tied up our new host, stuffed a pair of socks in his mouth, and then picked up the phone to dial out. "Hello, Scott, it's me, I know I need a safe place, OK... I know the spot... it could be a while." He hung up the phone, walked over and joined me, looking out the crack in the window. "Renee, I'm sorry I got you into this. You don't have to come with me. You could say I forced..."

I cut him off, saying, "I have no intention of staying. You saw that news story. I'm viewed as a terrorist. Do you know what that means?" I didn't give him a chance to answer. "It means we have no rights. They can just lock me up indefinitely, no trial, no bail, and not innocent till proven guilty, so we'll wait this out and together we can move forward."

He smiled and gave me a little chuckle.

"What?" I asked.

"Oh, it's just...I never expected you would be so... so tough."

Chapter 11

Mr. Borinski was standing in line at the food window to pick up his allotment for the week. Stores with food no longer operate outside of the black market and each person is given pre-made meals that will complete their nutritional needs for the week. He leans his head out of line, looks both ways and returns to his upright stance, shaking his head.

A short round woman standing right behind him says, "They all look the same."

Mr. Borinski looks down at his suit, glances over at hers and up and down the line. "Yeah, not much variety."

"Variety... huh.I wish someone would teach that to the nutrition experts," the man in front of Mr. Borinski interjects.

After the weed war, the corporations who controlled the patent on GMO foods pushed hard for control of the world's food supply. Only twenty years later, or roughly 2035, it became illegal to plant any seed that hadn't been created by one of three companies. In a hundred year span since the first hemp seed became illegal, countries around the world conditioned the human race to accept government and corporate control over what one grows, and ultimately what one does with his or her own body.

In 1937, the Marijuana Tax Act was passed, and the United States of America became one of the first countries to make it illegal to grow or use a natural plant that had been used for most of human history. The marijuana laws paved the way for a complete departure from individual liberty.

By 2100, The GMO takeover was complete and the world's population could no longer choose what they eat or grow. A host of fear-based campaigns helped solidify popular opinion and new laws were passed to save the world from obesity and disease.

"Next," the woman said from the window, startling Mr. Borinski from his day dream. He steps up onto a scale in front of the pickup window. "It says here you gained four pounds this past week," she runs her fingers over the words hovering on her projection. "From the look of your activity log you haven't changed any of your normal behaviors."

"That's right," he said, smiling.

She shakes her head and tells him, "Your calories are going to be reduced by 200 a day this week. You may feel a little hungry, but that's normal."

"I understand."

She hands him a box filled with his pre-made meals and drink powders. "Next."

He steps out of line with his box in hand and walks away. A sea of people try to avoid him as he walks against the flow of traffic on his way back to the maglev train stop. Apple was once called San Francisco and is now five layers high. The maglev train snakes through all five layers. If he makes the stop it will save him an hour of foot time.

He brushes past a hot dog stand and heads up a flight of stairs. He tries not to look down, but the temptation is too great, and his eyes are drawn three levels down, to ground level. A battalion of RAM guards are in the midst of a skirmish. Gunshots ring out and a young man falls to the ground. Mr. Borinski nearly drops his box and mouths, "No!" but no sound comes out. He looks up to see if anyone saw his reaction, but no one even notices him or the skirmish down below.

He begins to make faces at people walking by, still no one notices, so he increases his attacks. An unsuspecting couple approaches and he starts to dance, twirling around like a ballerina, then he stops face to face with the large alpha male of the couple.

"Excuse me," the man says, not even making eye contact.

Mr. Borinski's face turns red and he begins to shout. "What is wrong with all of you? Someone was just killed down there." He dramatically points down, but no one pays attention. Mr. Borinski looks over the railing and sees the young man being carted off in a body bag. Tears welling up in his eyes, he shakes his head and says to himself, "What kind of world do we live in?"

Chapter 12

The students enter the class and see a question on the board: "How did institutions like private corporations profit from the prohibition of marijuana?" Mr. Borinski moseys into the class late, his hands full. He fumbles and nearly spills his coffee. "Please take out a piece of paper and answer the question."

Mark blurts out a question, "Is it a quiz?"

"Yes, it is."

Zack raises his hand and Mr. Borinski calls on him. "The entry we read last night had nothing to do with the question."

"You're right, Zack, I would like you guys to infer, or use what we have read so far to help you answer the question."

The class goes silent; no one can find the answer. Waiting patiently, Mr. Borinski slowly puts away his supplies and ever so slightly peers over his glasses every few minutes to see if anyone has stumbled upon an answer. Six excruciatingly slow minutes later Olga raises her hand and Mr. Borinski nods for her to speak.

"Mr. Borinski, sir, I think by looking around, that the question has us all stumped."

"I see that, but I think you can handle this one."

Zack interjects, "Sir, it's not just that, it's..." he pauses, looks around and whispers, "It's illegal to speak negatively about corporations."

Mr. Borinski gasps, and jolts up out of his seat causing it to fly back and crash against the ground. He throws his hands up and looks at the students very intently, "Huh, I'm just not sure how this question warrants negative comments about corporations." He gives them a crooked smile."OK, I tell you what, rip up the papers in front of you."

Mr. Borinski walks over, pulls Zack's paper off his desk, and rips it to shreds. "Come on, do it. Let this represent the negative comments you have."

The class goes berserk, and like a rock concert, small pieces of paper fly everywhere. Each person lets out their wildest cries for freedom through one simple, silent act of ripping a blank sheet of paper. Olga begins to cry as tears of joy flow down her face. Mr. Borinski stands in the middle with his arms out, staring up at the ceiling and smiling as he spins slowly around. If someone would have walked in at that moment, they would have caught a glimpse of silent chaos, and the whole class would have been arrested. No one cared. In that sixty seconds they let go of constraints, and just existed. Each was lost in his or her own personal perception, without the lens of mankind. Beauty... and just as fast as it started, it was over. Mr. Borinski puts down his hands as the last piece of paper drifts down under his desk and he announces, "We must clean up this mess."

Zack and Mark hurry over to the cabinet in the back and grab two brooms. "We're on it," Zack orders.

Mr. Borinski walks up to the white board, and begins to erase the question. Olga interrupts him, "Private corporations built their empire off of the prohibition of two substances in the 20th century."

Harley adds, "They used the influence they gained off of it to earn a seat on the UCW."

Mark interjects, "Treason is the talk you speak of, and you must stop."

Olga fires back, "Why? My words are going to cripple the mighty United Corporations of the World. I don't think so."

Zack looks at Mr. Borinski for back up. "Mr. Borinski, you know I'm right. You're supposed to have our backs, man."

Mr. Borinski had already made the point he was trying to make so he concedes. "OK, let's focus your energy elsewhere." When the bell rang, Mr. Borinski said, "Ah, saved by the bell! It's Friday, so please read the next three entries and I'll see you Monday."

Chapter 13

The Diary of Renee de Garcias, A Weed War Tale,

Entry 5

Today Matthew took me to the projects, where a girl he used to date lives there with her four children. He insisted that it was the best place to hide because no cops cared what goes on in the projects. As we walked up the stairs I had to step over a dirty diaper, two fresh puke puddles, and a passed out old wino. My stomach did somersaults and my mouth watered. I felt sick until Mellissa opened the door. The sweet smell of fresh baked chocolate cookies wafted out, overpowering the stench of the stairwell just long enough for her to hurry us in. She shut the door behind and locked it five different ways.

"I saw the news. Are you OK?" She ran her pudgy fingers through his hair.

"We're fine," Matthew said, smiling and threw his arm around her. "I am hungry though. Can I have one of your famous cookies after I wash myself up in the bathroom?"

"No problem sweetie." She winked at him and patted him on the butt as he walked into the bathroom and shut the door.

There was an awkward moment of silence before Mellissa introduced herself, "Hola, como estas?"

"Bien y tu?"

"You speak Spanish. I assumed from your bio on the news that you were just some white girl from the suburbs."

I smiled, but didn't respond verbally to her statement. Having grown up in Denver and attending a high school that was predominantly Hispanic and riddled with gangs, I learned to never bite on the race card. Instead, I changed the subject. "How do you know Matthew?"

"We use to be friends with benefits." She smiled, winked and handed me a cookie as Matthew walked out of the bathroom.

"You think we can hole up here for a couple of days?" Matthew asked.

"The kids are all with their fathers this weekend so there's plenty of room, but I have a date planned tonight."

"We have a meeting to attend tonight and when we return we'll stay in the room out of sight."

"Meeting, are you sure you should be out? There's bound to be a price placed on your capture," Mellissa said.

Matthew turned the bar stool in front of him around and sat down, leaned in, and said intently, "They are trying to shut me up, but it won't work. This Movement is about so much more than me. I have to go," he said, then reaching out he put his hand on my shoulder, "but you don't."

I fired back. "The news story about us, put me in the same boat as you, and I'm not one to back down from a little adversity."

He smiled and turned to Melissa, "We'll both be gone most of the night."

"OK, fine."

Four hours later we walked into an unmarked door in the industrial area just north of Coors Field. One light bulb at the bottom of a stairwell lit the way. With each step down my heart beat a little faster. Matthew explained to me how the heads of the Movement would all be in attendance, and how it would be the first time that had ever happened. When I walked in I was blown away to see Woody Harrelson, and Willy Nelson both on stage laughing and entertaining. Everyone in the private bar turned, looked at us, promptly stood up, and began to applaud. Apparently, Matthew's speech had gone viral and the leaders of the Movement were thrilled with the result. A circle in the middle of the room had two open chairs.

"Your seats are waiting. Can I get you your regular?" the waitress asked.

"Yes, and one for my friend here as well," Matthew responded.

We made our way to the seats. When I looked around the room, I didn't recognize anyone and was shocked to find that Matthew, at the age of 23, was by far the youngest leader in the circle.

A small attractive woman approached us, leaned in, and kissed Matthew on the cheek, "I got your message and my contact at the news station is trying to get the footage."

"I knew I could count on you," Matthew told her.

She turned red and walked away.

"What was that about?" I asked.

"She has a contact at Hound News. I'm hoping to find the tape that they doctored to help us fight the terrorist charge."

"You find that tape, and we'll have some pretty powerful leverage."

He nodded in agreement.

They started the meeting and a number of topics were thrown around but the question on everyone's mind was what was next? They all looked at Matthew for answers. He stopped and thought for nearly sixty seconds before answering. The tension in the room heightened with every second that ticked by. Then Matthew spoke.

"I believe we have two options." He looked around the room slowly making eye contact with each attendee. "One is to form an underground resistance and fight fire with fire." A small rumble of approval to this statement permeated throughout the group. "Or we can form a social movement based on non-violence." Again the rumble of approval, followed by silence.

Everyone in the room sat quietly waiting for someone to ask a question. A dark figure from the back of the room stepped forward and blew out the smoke from a cigar hanging off his bottom lip.

"You know me, we been doing business for a long time, some of us. Trust me, we need to strike them. The only thing they understand is war. You want to get freedom, we have to take it."

Matthew stood up and looked down at the man. "Good point, Rocco," he said, then turned to me, asking, "Renee, what do you think?"

Everyone in the room turned and looked at me. I turned a dark shade of red and could feel the blood rushing to my face. "As a student of history, I can tell you, at least in modern times, a non-violent approach is the only way to gain international support, which in most cases is the only way to effect change."

My nerves disappeared as I continued to become more and more engaged in the conversation and Matthew continued to ask for my opinion. By the end there was still no consensus on what to do. A few of the leaders, including Rocco, were dead set on violence. I imagined it was not much different than the differing camps of the civil rights movement. What the violent crowd may not realize is the way the government uses your actions against you. The Black Panthers for instance, chose to fight, which made it easier for the feds to paint the picture of homegrown terrorists, as opposed to liberators.

None of the information deterred the five hold outs who were led by Rocco and wouldn't vote for a non-violent approach, so we agreed to table the discussion and decision until next Wednesday's meeting at the same bar. After the meeting everyone came over to introduce themselves to us, and when I say us, I mean us. Somehow, in the last week I transformed from an American teenager into an infamous rebel leader. My father used to say all the time when I was little,"You act that and become that which you surround yourself with." I always rolled my eyes, but here was a perfect example: one day I kiss a new boy, and the next I'm his partner in revolution.

I have to admit I was riding a surge of adrenaline and dopamine fuelled by emotions that crashed down on me like waves on a rocky shore. Lust, love, fear, anger, and a steady hand from a rock of a man played with my mind and seduced my soul. It didn't matter to this radical group that I wasn't really your typical marijuana advocate. In fact, they seemed to relish me for it. To many of the lifelong rebels and fighters, it is a welcome sign to see folk that may sit on the other side of the isle finally waking up.

Chapter 14

The Diary of Renee de Garcias, A Weed War Tale,

Entry 6

We left the bar and walked toward Coors Field. The night's sky had no clouds and a brisk cool wind blew in our faces. Matthew didn't say much and his pace indicated that we were in a hurry. Suddenly, he grabbed my arm and pulled me into a doorway of a bar called the Rock Bottom Brewery. "What are you doing?" I asked.

"Someone is following us." He pulled my arm and walked us through the open brewery into the back. A strong whiff of wheat beer filled the room as a worker exited the brewing room. Matthew waited till he passed, and stuck his foot in the door before it closed. "This way." he said. I looked up to see the exit sign over the door before we ducked, and darted between the huge vats of beer.

Without warning, and from an unknown direction, two silent bullets punctured the vat just above our heads. As we ducked down and tried to take cover, beer shot out of the holes, soaking the floor.

Matthew pointed, "Look."

I peered under the row of vats, and could see two pairs of men's dress shoes.

"Come on," he whispered, motioning for me to follow.

We crawled around the tank until we were on the back side. He pointed at the door. "You ready?"

I looked at him, then under the tank at the rapidly approaching shoes. "Yes," I said reluctantly.

He propped himself up into a starter's stance like a sprinter. "On three."I followed suit, and he began to count. "One, two, and three."

As we shot out across the void toward the door, no sound rang out, but I could see holes being made by the bullets as they zipped past our heads. We hit the door and flew out into a dark alleyway.

Matthew swung around and slammed the door shut. He frantically scanned the area and found a metal bar, which he grabbed, propped it up against the door, and jammed it down into the asphalt. Suddenly, the door was hit from the other side, but it didn't budge, and the bar held. Bullets ripped through it, and they kicked it, but the door didn't budge.

"Come on," Matthew said. He grabbed me and we sprinted down the alley until we reached the sidewalk. He cut the corner, so I had to jump over a burrito vendor's cooler and nearly knocked him and his spicy potato wraps to the ground. Matthew slowed way down and joined the flow of bar hoppers. His shoulders slumped and he put one arm over mine. He leaned in close, "Shh." His eyes scanned past the group we had joined and stopped. I followed his laser stare though the crowd and saw one of the shooters desperately scanning the area. Matthew's massive hand gently wrapped around the back of my skull and he said, "Head down." He leaned in and kissed me as we continued to walk. At first I closed my eyes, but there was no feeling, so I opened them to find his eyes still locked on our stalker. The kiss worked. We slipped by unnoticed and disappeared into the darkness.

Chapter 15

The Diary of Renee de Garcias, A Weed War Tale,

Entry 7

The next morning we departed the projects and drove three hours through the flat side of Colorado, to the small town of Sterling. A gathering of militia from as far away as Texas was being held on a five hundred acre farm just west of the Nebraska border. Apparently the owner of the farm was a huge proponent of the hemp industry, and used some ingenious logic to garner enough public support to ensure his safety in the state. He argued that it was ridiculous that we could buy hemp products in the store but couldn't grow it due to its relationship with its cousin marijuana. To that end, he insisted that the ban on hemp was a threat to national security and undermined individual states' rights.

States' rights, the lynch pin in the whole issue, was plastered on signs and walls throughout the tiny Colorado town. Once a thriving agricultural hub, Sterling was now only a shell of its former glory. Riddled with empty stores and boarded-up farm houses, the town was ready for a change. All the empty promises made by the government and big agriculture fueled a healthy distrust for the federal government and the corporations who control it. To the people who still lived here, growing hemp made sense, and by the look of things around the demonstration, they were also ready for a war. Matthew pulled his car up beside a Howitzer World War II tank. I looked out past it and noticed that everyone was carrying a gun of some kind. Three young men, carefully cleaning and inspecting their assault rifles, were right in front of an elderly woman who wore a belt holster like an old cowboy, and two lovers on the grass both wore shoulder harnesses. Matthew opened the door and stepped out, but I was frozen, my legs were heavy and my chest pounded. I thought I was dying. When I looked at my hands, sweat was pouring off my palms.

Matthew leaned in the car, "You coming?" He stopped and sat back down in the driver's seat placed his hand on mine and said, "Renee, I know you're scared, but I need you, and these people need you."

"What about all those guns?"

He laughed, saying, "Oh honey, those aren't for the meeting. Carrying guns is just a part of life out here."

"What about the tank?"

He laughed even harder, "Ol' Betsy belongs to the curator of the natural history museum, and hasn't been a functional weapon since an unfortunate accident at a fourth of July parade in the early sixties."

"How do you know all this stuff about this place?"

"My granddad lived on a farm out here, and I use to spend the summers working it for him."

BAM, BAM, BAM. Suddenly, a man in front of the window, wearing an old letter jacket, was banging on the roof and staring at us. "Yo, Mattsta, you back!"

"Yeah, we'll be there in a few minutes." He grabbed my hand and looked at me, ignoring his friend. "You OK? You don't have to..."

I cut him off. "Yes, I do." I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, took a deep breath and stepped out of the car.

The gymnasium was packed, with standing room only, and the energy was amazing. Speaker after speaker took the stage strongly expressing slightly different words, but somehow the same message kept resurfacing: individual liberty. This crowd saw the whole picture and recognized the potential fight ahead. If the government can determine for an individual what should be done with his body, where will the line be drawn?

It wasn't always like this for the gun-toting conservatives; they were once the biggest supporters of laws regulating personal behavior. They justified passing these laws by linking them to moral codes, but that was before the "ban on guns" talk started. The government and special interest groups used the same rhetoric about safety and security to sway public opinion against the ownership of firearms. Suddenly, a collective realization spread through the populace; by supporting moral issues that limit liberty, they were inadvertently supporting the erosion of their own liberties.

All the speakers before Matthew were incensed, and calling for violent revolution or direct action. Each call for violence made me cringe like nails on the chalkboard, but I had no idea Matthew was planning on me being the voice of reason for the crowd. Thirty seconds before he was to go up, he looked at me and asked, "You ready to talk these people over to the light side of the force?"

"Why?"

"They all know me. I think it would be better coming from an outsider."

I shook my head no, to indicate my disapproval, but it was too late. He was already being led up onto the stage. My mind began to race, OK, come on. How can I win this crowd over? I didn't even hear his speech, but the cheers at the end indicated he had introduced me. When I walked out onto the stage, a silent fog crept through me, and the crowd seemed to disappear into the blazing hot lights. As I approached the microphone Matthew leaned in, hugged me, grabbed my hand, turned and held it up in the air. The crowd went wild and my fog was lifted.

I stepped forward and started speaking clearly to the quiet and intent crowd. "'Hate cannot be expelled by hate. Only love can do that.' Martin Luther King Jr. said that, and as a student of history I am here to help you make an informed decision on the road ahead. If we are to prevail, we must band together as one, letting go the divisions that so many of us have let drive us in the past. Has there been injustice? Yes. Are we angry? Yes! But we mustn't let our anger turn us into what we fear. If we want our country to stand, and we want to hold on to the same ideals that the founding fathers set forth, we must follow the non-violent route. We must step out and demand our liberty under the guise of the Constitution. If we do this in an organized and legal way, we will place the burden of proof on the doorstep of the president and attract international support."

A voice from the back of the gym yelled, "They already have you painted as a terrorist."

"You're right, sir. They will paint many of us as terrorists, and many of us will have to make the ultimate sacrifice, but we must not fall for their trap."

"What trap?" Matthew yelled, giving me a Cheshire cat-like smile.

I nodded at him, and continued. "They want us to react and to use violence. If we do, then they can discredit us and use the propaganda machine they control to sway public opinion. Violence begets more violence and we must not let ourselves fall prey to their wicked games."

I slammed my fist down on the podium and people applauded. "The issue itself doesn't matter, but we must take the opportunity to give notice that our liberty and freedom are non-negotiable and we will not let fear destroy our natural rights. Thomas Jefferson said, 'Those who give up their freedom and liberty for security deserve neither.' Some of our countrymen have forgotten that," I slammed my fists down again and raised my voice, "but we will not rest until we break free from the tyranny of the social police."

I raised my hands and the crowd went wild with applause. Matthew joined me and we embraced hand in hand before bowing.

As we walked off the stage, a man walked up to Matthew, handed him an envelope and said, "Here is the original tape." Then he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

"What is it?" I asked.

"My contact came through," Matthew explained, holding up the envelope. "This will exonerate us and expose them."

Chapter 16

Mr. Borinski sits on the only piece of furniture left in his apartment when his little sister Claire enters the room.

"What have you done with all your stuff?" She looks around the empty room.

"I donated it of course."

She pauses, then comes over and kneels down in front of him, pleading with him, "So this is it? You're going to let her death destroy you?"

"They killed her."

"B." She grabs his head and turns it toward hers. Tears flow down both of their faces. "She killed herself, B."

"What happened that night is what killed her. She just couldn't live with the rape." His lower lip quivers and he weeps uncontrollably.

"I know it's hard."

"How could you possibly know?"

She knows he is right, but this is her older brother. "You're right, I couldn't know, but I don't want to find out by losing my only brother."

"It's too late. My whole class is nearly done with the novel and it's only a matter of time before they come for me," he says, as he pulls up his shirt to expose a gun.

"That's your plan?" She rolls her eyes. "You even know how to use that?"

He smiles and chuckles. "It's not even loaded, but they don't know that, and won't till it is too late."

"What if I called them and..."

He cut her off placing his finger up to her lips. "I need you to do something for me."

She wipes some of the tears away with her forearm. "What?"

"When it's over I need you to upload this to the web." He hands her a small portable drive.

"What is it?"

"It's a link to the video archive from my classroom. I redirected a feed to record in a secure server."

"Why?"

"People need to see it with their own eyes, and then maybe they will start to wake up."

"See what?"

"Everything, from the beginning, including all the class discussions and my assassination."

"Jesus, B., you know this won't bring her back. You think she wanted to be a martyr?"

His face becomes stoic. "Yes, and I think if I would have done this before, she wouldn't have..." he gulps and weeps, "killed herself."

"Oh B., you can't blame yourself! What happened was not your fault."

"Claire, can you do this for me?"

"Won't I get in trouble?"

"Follow the instructions, and they won't be able to trace it to you."

"I don't know."

"If this goes viral it could spark a revolution. Remember the stories mom and dad used to tell us about the twentieth century? This could be the spark that ushers us back to that."

"Oh, B!"

"It's OK. Claire, look at me." As he says this, she looks up into his eyes." I am not afraid, and for the first time in a long time I have a purpose. Please, tell me you can do this."

Claire looks down at her hand and closes her fingers around the tiny drive, and assures her brother, "Yes...I can do this."

Chapter 17

The Diary of Renee de Garcias, A Weed War Tale,

Entry 8

The next two days were a complete re-education for me. Matthew saw something in me and said I needed to understand the Movement if I was going to help him lead it. I insisted that I did not want a leadership role, but he didn't listen. Instead of heading back to Denver, we went the opposite direction across the border of Nebraska. Matthew's uncle owned a small trailer on the shore of a man-made lake called McConaughy. To be honest, with alI the undeniable chemistry between us, aside from some incredible intellectual discussions, I wasn't sure what to expect.

Day 1

We drove late into the night past miles of fence posts with old boots on them until we pulled up to a faded, green single-wide trailer. I don't even remember walking in the door. My eyes were closed and I could smell a hint of moist sweet grass.

Next thing I know, I woke up with my face buried in an unfamiliar pillow. I found myself in an empty trailer as the sun danced through any opening it could find. Still half asleep, my feet stumbled across the old shaggy carpet and out onto the covered porch, where Matthew sat sipping coffee.

"Good morning," He said with a crooked grin. "You ready to get started?"

"Started with what?" I asked, and now looking back, I kind of wish I hadn't agreed with him so readily.

"You're-education," he said, chuckling under his breath.

"Are you sure that's what I need?" I responded, winking at him.

"Let's go over some basics and then you can decide where we go from there." He reached over, grabbed the handrail and pulled himself up, saying, "Let's take a walk."

"OK," I said, as if he was just going to pour the information into my brain.

We started down a path that ran deep into a sandbar that sat below the house and separated the grassy plains from the long white sandy beach. Matthew began, "Let's start with the Movement, and what it truly is."

I nodded to acknowledge him.

He continued, "The Movement is as old as written history, and manifests itself in different forms. The issue in this case, marijuana, is only the symptom of something much larger and truly only the last straw. Can you tell me what this Movement is truly about?"

I thought for a second, "If it's not about the issue, it must be what it represents, which is liberty and freedom."

"Now we're getting somewhere, and you can see that what we're really talking about are the natural rights of individuals and the system our founding fathers set up to protect those rights. Can you speak to the history of natural rights and the formation of the American system?"

We reached the powdery white beach and he removed his shoes.

"What do you mean?" I asked as I removed my shoes and left them next to his, then hurried after him to hear his answer.

"Many Americans believe the 'inalienable rights' that Jefferson spoke of in the Declaration were his own, yet he drew them from John Locke, who himself built upon earlier works of philosophers like Plato and Aristotle. All of these men had influences from the earliest writings of our species. Do you know the history behind these figures and why they grappled with liberty and freedom?"

"My dad was a history professor, so I think I have a pretty good Idea what their stance was."

"OK, then explain it to me."

"Right here, with no reference books, you couldn't possibly expect..."

He cut me off, "I can, and people that you meet will hang on your every word, so you need to speak with authority about what you know. I know you have everything you need, up here," he said as he tapped lightly on my temple. "You just need to believe in yourself."

"OK, so John Locke said that all humans were born with inalienable rights, including the right to life, liberty, and property. The only difference is that Jefferson dropped property and added the pursuit of happiness."

"Who was his antithesis?"

"I suppose..."

He cut me off," 'You can't suppose. You either do or do not,' "he smiled, quoting Yoda.

I rolled my eyes. "Hobbes, Thomas Hobbes would be his antithesis because he questioned the ability of humans to live under their own free will."

"Good. I knew you could do it, so now continue."

"Locke wasn't the only philosopher to speak of freedom and liberty, and many of his ideas were borrowed from Plato and Aristotle, who were the yin and yang of their time."

"Yin and yang of their time?" he asked, stopping to give me a quizzical look.

"They had opposite view points that today could be construed as the lines that separate our two major political powers."

"Can you elaborate on their positions?" He kicked some sand out away from us and continued to walk.

"In terms of positions, Plato was a reformist. He called for drastic social change in his written work The Republic. Aristotle on the other hand sought change within the existing system, stressing the importance of the individual.

"OK, why would it be important to understand these two view points today, for you as the leader of the revolution?"

I was taken aback, and to be honest, I wasn't sure. I mean really, what did it matter? So I asked, "Why does it matter?"

He smiled as he explained, "Yesterday in Sterling, if you listened to my speech, you may have caught the subtle little phrases I continued to drop that may seem clichéd. These themes raise emotions in humans that make it more likely for them to believe what we're saying. These phrases are age-old calls of battle, woven deep into our subconscious. Denying them would be to deny the creation and spread of civilization itself." Then he stopped and chuckled.

"What?"

"There is something funny about it though! The phrases that work in one town may not work in another. Can you tell me why?"

"Different beliefs."

"Bingo, we'll call it tribalism. Can you live with that?"

"Sure!" I gave him an uneasy look.

"You have to always be aware of which tribe you are speaking to and how what you say could affect their opinion on the Movement."

"You keep calling it the 'Movement', the revolution, but it's not just the issue about weed. It's really the issue with individual liberty and freedom. Can you see how I could be confused? Maybe you could explain it so I could have a better context for where we're headed."

"I wish it worked that way, but sadly, you must come to it on your own, trust me." Then he stopped speaking, looked out into the water, stripped off his shirt and shorts, and ran out into the water. "Come on."

I had no suit, but I didn't care. A bra and underwear show less than most swimsuits now, so I went for it. The water was cold, but my heart was beating so fast, it didn't affect me. I reached through the water like a scissor and opened my eyes only to find him right in front of me. I pulled back, but still ran right into him. I jumped up out of the water just as he reached into help me out and my head slammed into his nose. Blood flowed out and dyed the water of the lake red around us. It wasn't at all what I expected to happen, but all things happen for a reason.

After tending to his nose we made our way back to the trailer and started up our conversation again. I sat down at a barstool in front of the kitchen bar that separated the kitchen from the living area. Matthew made me an omelet at the stove as he resumed speaking.

"Now where were we? Oh, yeah, the Movement is built on the shoulders of the Western world's greatest thinkers. We discussed a few and you seemed quite familiar with them, as I suspected you would be. Is it fair to say you have a pretty good grasp on the ones I did not mention?"

"Yes, I would say that's fair," I answered in kind.

"Good, then could you please give me a good argument for individual freedom and states' rights using the figures in the past?"

I knew he wasn't kidding and I knew he wanted me to use what I knew already, so I dove in head first. "I'll start with those who favored the middle ground within the structures that already existed. Aristotle postulated the golden mean in governing between drastic action and no action. This 'sweet spot' could also be applied to the give and take of governance and the fine line that must be walked by each party involved.

His stance on private property was joined by John Locke. Locke, who was one of Jefferson's biggest influences, wrote extensively about the natural rights of man.

These men all favored a government that protected the individual's right to liberty.

Liberty or rather individual liberty became the calling card that fueled the French Revolution, the American Revolution, and a host of others at the same time. Man's natural rights or the right to liberty wasn't a new idea; it was just an unpopular one to those that made the rules. The world, it seemed, had once again found tribes willing to fight for their freedom.

Montesquieu's division of powers ensures no governing power will ever be so strong as to infringe upon the individual.

Adam Smith insisted in his treatise The Wealth of Nations that the minimal political interference maximizes the wealth of the individual.

These thinkers all appealed to men of faith and strong moral codes, the implication being that only God can judge a man." I stopped to see if he was still following me.

He reached out and pulled my plate out from below me. "Another omelet?"

"No."

"Continue, please."

"The men I just talked about would appeal to the conservative tribe, but if I was to speak at a conference of engineers, I would talk about men like Isaac Newton and Francis Bacon, who called for government run by science and logic. In Francis Bacon's The New Organon, he attempts to create a utopian society that favors individual rationality over cultural norms or religious beliefs. There is a mountain of scientific evidence supporting the benefits hemp and its cousin marijuana will have on our society."

"Good, continue."

"If I were to speak to the Neocons or the Blue Dog Democrats, which to me are the same people, I would reference those who distrust the human condition and call for a strong central authority like Hobbes, who leans heavily on Machiavelli. He, Hobbes, postulated the social contract which expresses the consent of the governed to be governed. Alexander Hamilton and John Adams agreed with Hobbes' ideals, and despite favoring a strong central government, they still favored majority rule. With more than 62% in favor of marijuana legislation the majority is all but forethought." I smiled and he smiled back.

"Why does all of this matter in today's world?" he asked.

"Cultural revolution, the American experiment, and social evolution are all different strands of the same unfinished woven tapestry, each strong in tradition and history, anchored by the work of the Western world's greatest minds. The loom weaves an intricate pattern of human experience to form a delicate vision of the present and creates the pathway for the future. The patterns are clear: individual liberty is the destination and states' rights is the highway that will take us there."

"I guess you really do know your stuff."

"I told you my dad was a history teacher."

"I know it's just..." he stopped, leaned over the bar and kissed me on my forehead. "I just want you to know that you're special to me."

"Thank you," I said.

Matthew walked around the bar and grabbed me, pulling me into his chest. We began to kiss, and all our problems seemed to melt away. Is this what love feels like?

Day 2

We awoke, shook the dreams from our brow, and took a walk on the beach.

"You know your philosophy, but what about the history of this plant?" Matthew asked as he pulled out a small joint, lit it, and puffed on it feverishly until the end glowed like red like a traffic light.

"To tell you the truth, only what I've heard you talking about."

He smiled and spun around, "Think you're up for it right now?"

"Sure."

"Hemp and its cousin cannabis have been used as long as written history extends. Carl Sagan pointed out that there is evidence suggesting that hemp was the catalyst that started the agricultural revolution that led to civilization itself. The natural fibers in hemp have long been sought after for rope, paper products, and fabric. Historians will point out that hemp was the world's largest agricultural crop from 1000 B.C. to 1800 A.D...This hemp fiber was particularly favored by sailing vessels because of its natural resistance to rot and salt. Cannabis, the flowering plant now known by its Mexican slang term marijuana, was used as a medicine. Prior to prohibition, tinctures, extracts, and elixirs were used like aspirin. The US Pharmacopeia suggested the magical plant could be used to treat fatigue, depression, cramps caused by menstruation, migraines, asthma, and a host of other everyday ailments. Our own Founding Fathers grew and distributed hemp products. Benjamin Franklin owned a hemp farm and produced his newspapers on hemp paper. This widespread use of hemp wasn't something new or controversial; it was normal and natural. The first hemp law in America was enacted by the British in 1619. The law ordered all farmers to grow the precious plant. Hemp was even accepted as legal tender during the colonial days, because until 1820, 80% of all mankind's textiles were made from the plant. Somehow, in the 1930's, the people of the United States decided to make the use of hemp illegal. I grant you, that it wasn't willful and may go as far as to say, that they decided under duress, but they made it illegal. Do you know why?"

"Fear?" I asked.

"Yes, fear planted in them by a vast propaganda machine. This is the point where I lose most people. They hear the word propaganda and they associate it with the Nazi's that they learned about in high school. They don't realize we have the same thing here. Ask anyone who was alive in the fifties about Communism, and they will give you the same cookie cutter answer based on the fear that was fed to them through education, TV, and radio. But why?"

I raised my shoulders, to indicate I didn't know.

"Don't beat yourself up. Very few people truly know why. Have you heard of the cotton gin?"

"Of course."

"What about the hemp gin?"

He must have seen the confused look on my face.

"The patent was filed for in 1930, and it was poised to change everything. That same year Popular Mechanic magazine called hemp the new billion dollar crop."

Again he could see the confusion in my eyes.

"How?" I asked.

The hemp gin, like the former cotton gin, would revolutionize the way things were made. It made it possible for a single plant to replace trees in the production of paper, petroleum in plastic, and cotton in the production of clothing. Do you know what kind of people run businesses that have interests in these three industries?"

"Of course, the DuPont's, the Hearst's, the Bush's."

He smiled at me. "Cute, but the Bush's have no pull. They're just pawns. The others, however, coupled with the investors who were complicit in all this used their influence in Washington to make sure the green plant wouldn't make their industries obsolete. The people are finally starting to question this type of government interference and see it as a direct violation to capitalism itself."

"OK, but why did the American people buy into this prohibition of hemp?"

"The government and its backers put out fear propaganda that tied marijuana to communism; connected it with poor, criminal, black minorities, and any other negative group they could think of. The people bit, hook, line, and sinker."

I couldn't imagine how a people could be so ignorant, but then I remembered what my dad said about the German people. They weren't all bad, and they weren't all ignorant, but they too bit, hook, line, and sinker for Hitler's propaganda. The truth is that people can be too trusting and sometimes unscrupulous men can take advantage of large groups. The savvy politician understands how popular opinion can sway people into doing things that are out of character, just to fit in. Over the last 70 years the propaganda machine has erased a long and storied history, and replaced it with a false one. Do you see where the problem is?"

"No, honestly, I don't."

"This lie, this conspiracy can't last, and sadly the America that was built on this lie won't last either."

"Do you want to destroy the US?" I asked.

"For God's sake, no. The Movement is the only thing that can save her."

"How?"

"I'm getting there, so bear with me! As people wake up from the lie, they will start to exercise their reason, and logic, which will lead us right to where we're at, on the verge."

"On the verge of what?"

"The tipping point when people will start to demand their personal liberties back. That is what Colorado and Washington have done, and mark my words, there is an avalanche of states right behind them. If the government gives into the industries that have popped up around prohibition, it will erode the already shaky confidence in democracy and open us up to the world of Fascism. Imagine a world where the state only exists to serve corporations and their bottom line."

The Diary of Renee de Garcias, A Weed War Tale,

Entry 9

This morning we began our trip back to Denver. The car ride was quiet as we passed endless fields of golden wheat. We each took turns driving while the other slept. As we passed the Brighton area on I-270, I began to notice cars slowing down in front of me. I woke Matthew up, telling him, "Hey, I think it's a roadblock."

He opened his eyes and sat up. "Oh, great."

"What should I do?" I scanned the road ahead and my mirrors looking for an off ramp, or a turn around, some kind of escape route.

"Let me think," he said as the car rolled to a stop behind at least ten cars that were all trying to merge into one lane. He opened the glove box and pulled out a blue bandana and some sunglasses, telling me, "Here, put these on."

"What about you?"

He looked in the back seat before hopping over and sliding down onto the floorboard. "This blanket here should cover me."

HONK!

A horn sounded from behind me, and I looked up to find the cars in front of us had already pulled away. I pulled forward as I looked in the rear view mirror trying to hide my hair.

We remained silent, until I rolled down the window to speak to the officer.

"Morning, Ms., Where you headed?"

My mind went blank, and I stuttered, "Um, well, um I'm headed to church with my grandma."

He leaned forward and pulled down his gold-rimmed glasses, looked me up and down, and said, "Have a nice day."

After I pulled off and rolled up the window, I let out a huge sigh. In the excitement I held my breath, and coupled with the raised heart rate, I nearly passed out. "We're in the..." I was about to say "clear," when I saw flashing lights in my rearview.

Chapter 18

Harley's mom comes storming into her room, shouting, "Have you lost your mind?"

Harley looks up, "What?" She shrugs her shoulders and looks back down at the drawings she has on the scratch paper in her lap.

"You know what, young lady," she leans over trying to make eye contact, "you skipped your work duty."

"I never signed up for duty."

"Harley, we've been over this. This is the world we live in, and you have to accept that."

"No," she stands up and stares into her mom's eyes, saying, "You're wrong, mom. Freedom and liberty are not myths, we can..."

SLAP! Her mom's hand stings her cheek. "You're talking treason. Do you know what they do to traitors?"

Harley swings around and grabs her shoulder bag, "Guess we'll find out."

She leaves the room, slamming the door behind herself.

Chapter 19

The Diary of Renee de Garcias, A Weed War Tale,

Entry 9, continued

The flashing lights intensified, as the patrol car pulled up behind us. "Oh no, there's a cop behind us," I said to Matthew hiding in the back seat.

"Don't pull over," Matthew warned me from under the blanket.

"Oh, OK, genius, what..."

"Pull over," a voice said loudly through a blow horn on the police car that was following us.

I kept my eyes on the road and said, "You hear that? What are we going..."

Matthew didn't wait for me to finish. He sprang up and over the bench seat, looked at me, and planted a huge kiss on my lips. "Switch with me."

I pushed myself up, and he slid underneath me. The car slowly drifted onto the shoulder and a loud thumping sound indicated the warning strips had passed under our tires. Matthew grabbed the wheel and jerked it to the right. The car swerved back into the outside lane, across the other two lanes, and into the grass median before flying through the air and landing on the other side of the freeway in oncoming traffic. "Put your seat belt on," Matthew yelled frantically.

I slid over, and tried to pull the belt on, but he swerved and clipped the front end of a semi-truck, sending us into a spin. We came to a stop in a ditch and I was lying on the floorboard under the glove box. "You OK?" I asked him.

"Yes, you?"

"I'm good."

"Come on. Let's get out of here!" He put his hand down and helped me up. We opened the door and both stumbled to our feet, still dizzy from the spinning.

A voice from behind us reminded me that we were being chased. The officer ordered, "Get down on the ground, now. I said, get down."

I looked at Matthew; he had no intention of just giving up. I could see it in his eyes. He spun around facing the officer. "Sir, I can explain," he said, taking a step forward.

"I said get down." The officer repeated, and then took a step backwards over the white line.

"Stop!" Matthew reached out his hand, but it was too late.

The bus didn't even slow down as it hit the officer, instantly killing him and consequently freeing us. It was shocking, and the world seemed to be moving in slow motion as Matthew ran over to the officer's body. He leaned over him and pulled his keys off his belt.

"Come on! Let's go!" Matthew shook me, "Come on, we don't have much time." He pulled me toward the road, "We've got to take his car." He pointed across the freeway at the parked car.

"You want me to cross that after what just happened to him?" I pointed down at the body and looked back up at the racing cars.

Chapter 20

The Diary of Renee de Garcias, A Weed War Tale,

Entry 9, continued

The knock on the door startles Olga. She jumps up and runs to the door, then grabs the handle right before her little brother can open it. "Go on, Bobby."

Bobby looks up at his sister, squints his eyes, and throws his shoulders down.

"Don't pout. Now go on." She looks through the peep hole, saying, "Harley." She quickly unlocks the door and opens it. "What are..."

Harley doesn't wait for the rest of the question; she drives her tear-soaked face into Olga's chest and wraps her arms around her. "I'm so sorry, I just didn't know where else to go."

Chapter 21

The Diary of Renee de Garcias, A Weed War Tale,

Entry 9, continued.

We stood only feet from the blood-soaked line that lay between us and a steady stream of oncoming traffic. I looked back at the mangled officer as we took our first steps onto the highway. We stopped at the first dotted line, and let a car pass before sprinting over the next two lanes and onto the sloping grass median. My head spun and my heart pounded.

"Hurry!" Matthew said, as he pulled my hand toward the unmarked squad car.

"Are you sure we should take a police car?"

He jumped in the driver's seat, rolled down the windows, and said through the passenger side window, "Our tires are blown and I don't think we have much time, so get in."

I jumped in and we sped off, down the road.

We pulled off the highway at the first exit ramp and found the nearest gas station. Matthew pulled the car around the back and parked it out of view. He told me to wait and after a few minutes he drove up to me in an old, beat-up 1949 Studebaker.

"Where did you get that?" I asked.

"The service station over there had this thing parked around back, and wouldn't you know the keys were in the ignition."

I looked it up and down, and asked Matthew, "Will it make it to Denver?"

He shook his head and with a short sigh, he told me, "It's only ten miles."

I looked at the car again, questioning, "Like I said, will it make it?"

I flashed him my big blue eyes, and slid into the front seat. The car sputtered as we pulled away from the old station and we both cracked a smile. This all seemed so surreal. I was scared out of my gourd, in way over my head, and yet I was happy for the first time since my dad died. I reached over and put my hand on his.

Chapter 22

Olga closes and locks the door while Harley holds on to her wrist. "What happened?"

Harley looks up, tears filling her glowing red eyes. "I got in a fight with my mom and," she puts her head down and squeezes, "she...I think she... she must have."

Olga steps back and frees herself from Harley's grasp. "Harley, you need to take a deep breath and slow down."

She inhales and her chest rises. "She called the guard. I went back and there were two guards outside my front door. One of them had the book in their hand."

Bobby runs by, yelling, "The guard is here now!" He stops at the window, and shoves his nose against the glass. "See," he points. "Right there."

Olga's eyes get real big. She grabs Harley and pulls her down the hall. Olga tells her, "You're going to have to stop the sobbing, and you can't make any noise."

They reach the end of the hall and step in front of a tall wooden bookshelf. Olga places her hand on a small hula lamp and pulls it. A buzzing sound comes from the wall, followed by the sound of lock tumblers. The shelf pops open like a door and stale air wafts out.

Harley's jaw drops. "What?" A hidden room is filled with treasures from the past, old compact-discs, hair ties, a small American flag, and other iconic items.

Olga pushes Harley by the small of her back into the hiding place. "Be quiet," she tells her. She reaches down and pulls the book off her bottom shelf, "Hold this." Before Harley can say a word, Olga is already closing the bookshelf to the hidden room.

Chapter 23

The Diary of Renee de Garcias, A Weed War Tale,

Entry 10

The Sunday morning sermon at the church we attended on special occasions as a child had already begun when we pulled into the parking lot. I had convinced Matthew that I needed to talk to the pastor, who was an old friend of my dad's. In truth, it wasn't advice I was seeking, but showing up at the church was a way for me to communicate with my family and find someone I trusted to give something to. In all the insanity over the past week, I was completely cut off from them. Matthew said the first place the police would look would be at family and friends' houses. I needed an alternate way to get to one of the only honest men I knew, my brother, the journalist. We had stopped going to church when I was just a little girl, but I knew my brother still talks to Pastor John.

After parking, I woke Matthew up. We sat in the car waiting for the sermon to end. Suddenly, a car full of men came screaming into the parking lot and came to a screeching stop right at the bottom of the main stairway. The doors flew open; five large men exited the full sized sedan and approached the trunk.

One of the men ran into the church and screamed, "We have traitors!"

People spilled out of the church to find the men pulling two teenagers out of the trunk.

"It's some of the terrorists," one of them yelled. Matthew and I slid down in our seats, but continued to watch. I recognized the two teenagers from the news; they were wanted for tagging marijuana leaves on every water tower in the Denver metro area. For a few seconds I thought the people from my church may be trying to help them, but the next few moments changed my world forever.

A little old lady was the first to cast an insult upon them. "Traitors! Commies!" she yelled, as the veins in her neck protruded and her face turned a dark shade of magenta. The mob that followed made my stomach turn, until I couldn't take it anymore. Vomit started to rise in my gorge with every kick and blow to the helpless kids. I opened my door and stuck my head out just enough to let the puke miss the side of the car. Matthew couldn't help himself. He opened the glove box, pulled out a gun, and before I could stop him he was off.

Two gun shots rang out, and an eerie silence came over the angry mob, and a flutter of wings flapped on the flock of birds fleeing the trees. I sat up to see Matthew pointing the gun at the church members. He screamed, "Enough!" and waved his gun in the air. "What kind of Christians are you?"

No one answered.

"Come on!" He slammed his foot down. "Let them go, or I'll..."

A man in the front yelled, "Kill us all... he only has eight rounds, tops."

"I won't kill all of you, but some of you will die, right now, if you choose the devil's path of judgment, starting with you." He pointed the gun back at the man.

Pastor John made his way out of the church and down the steps as the ultimatum was made. "No one need die today, not in the house of the Lord." He pushed his way through the crowd to the two boys bound and bloodied on the ground. "Untie them," he commanded.

There was no argument; two men freed the boys who limped over towards Matthew. I jumped out of the car and hurried over to help them. They were both wounded badly.

"Renee?" the pastor questioned when he saw me.

I looked up and locked eyes with him. "You must have me confused with someone else," I said, as Matthew and I helped the two boys into our vehicle.

He stepped away from the safety of his parishioners, approached me, and whispered, "It's been years and you've grown but I'd recognize Carburetor's kin anywhere."

Carburetor was my dad's nickname because of his love affair with fast, motorized vehicles. I hadn't heard that name in years, which made me stop and think back just long enough to convince Pastor John it was me.

The mob's anxiety began to build and they surrounded the car.

He leaned in and whispered in my ear, "You'll be safe here, in an hour or so." He pulled back and said loudly, "Let he who has not sinned cast the first stone." He waved his hand, "No one? OK, then, make way."

Matthew started the car and slowly drove through the narrow path Pastor John had opened with his command.

Chapter 24

Zack and Mark enter through the kitchen door laughing and high fiving. They have no idea what they are walking into until it is too late. Two guards stand at the far end of the long skinny table. Zack's dad holds the book in his hand, and his head is hanging down. Zack steps forward, "What's going on?"

"Where did you get this?" his dad demands.

Zack stares at it and tilts his head, "Never seen it before."

One of the two guards pulls out a seat. "Sit," he says.

Mark sees no reason to stick around so he tries to slowly inch his way back out of the door they entered, only to be stopped by yet another guard. "Going somewhere?" the guard asks.

"No."

Zack's dad stands up. "Boys, you know the law. We need to know where you got this."

Mark snickers, "I've never seen anything like that before."

Zack's dad calls into the other room, "Bob!"

Marks jaw drops as his father walks through the door holding his copy of the book. "You want to rethink your answer, young man?" Bob asks his son.

Zack looks at Mark, and they know it is over.

Chapter 25

The Diary of Renee de Garcias, A Weed War Tale,

Entry 10, continued

After we dropped the boys off, we waited for an hour at the local Starbucks, before heading back to church. Entering the cathedral, a chill ran up my spine, as we hurried past the pews and walked through an arched doorway near the back of the stage. Pastor John greeted me with a huge hug. "Renee, my dear, what have you got yourself into?"

"It isn't what it looks like, they doctored the footage of those videos."

"I know you, but your friend here..." he said, glancing over at Matthew.

"John, this is Matthew. He is..." I paused, thinking who was he? "He's my boyfriend, and only killed those men because they were in the process of raping me."

Tears filled the pastor's eyes, "Oh, my child." He opened his arms and I buried my head in his chest. The gravity of the situation hit me like a sledge hammer, shattering my fragile facade. Sobs and sniffles were followed by a sudden lightness in my head and a growing heaviness in my legs, then the day turned to black.

I woke to Matthew sponging off my forehead.

"You gave us a scare."

I tried to sit up, and Matthew helped me. "What happened?" I asked.

"You fainted, but you'll be fine." John said from behind Matthew. "I'll give you a little time to talk." He left us alone, closing the door.

Matthew looked down at me with his puppy dog eyes and said, "I've talked to the pastor, and he has agreed to help hide you until things blow over."

My heart began to pound and beads of sweat started to accumulate on my forehead. "What? Are you kidding me? No..." He tried to pull away, but I grabbed his face between my hands and pulled his face towards mine, "We're in this together now. You get that, don't you?"

He stared into my eyes, then plunged into my shoulder with a hug so tight it squeezed the air out of me. "Let me talk to John." After he left the room, I could hear them conversing. It was only minutes before John entered my room and approached me. "You've decided to continue on with him?"

Embarrassed, I looked down, and told him, "I need to." Suddenly the embarrassment vanished and a quiet confidence overcame me. I looked directly into John's eyes and said, "This is my path, but I need a favor."

"What kind of favor?" he asked reluctantly.

"Before we leave, I have a diary and a tape I would like you to get to my brother. It will help them understand if something happens to me."

Tears began to flow down his cheeks, as he agreed, "No problem, my dear."

***

This will be the last entry in my diary about the coming weed war. There comes a time in everyone's life when the opportunity to do something meaningful arises. What you have just read in this diary is mine. I have decided to seize the moment and take action. It is my sincere belief that personal liberty must be upheld or the fabric of freedom itself will unravel. I can't tell you the future, but hopefully our actions can help demonstrate the will of the individual to maintain control over his or her own destiny.

I love all of you.

Renee

Chapter 26

The Diary of Renee de Garcias, A Weed War Tale,

Final words

Those were the last words my sister ever wrote. Three days later in a bar just north of Coors Field, a bomb was detonated, killing all the leaders of the Colorado resistance, including Renee and Matthew. If you are reading this, you have obtained a copy of a book which the powers that be would kill to contain and you are now inadvertently part of the resistance. You can close the book, burn it, or throw it away, but it won't matter, because you are now aware. Try as you might, you cannot shake an uneasy feeling that there is something wrong in a world when a person can't decide what to do with their own body. Renee made the same sacrifice that our forefathers made, deciding that personal freedom is worth dying for.

What will you do?

Chapter 27

The knock on the door wakes Mr. Borinski up. It is dark. He looks at his watch, what time is it? He shakes his head and opens and closes his eyes. 10:00 PM. Who could possibly...? He puts the foot rest down, gets up out of the only chair left in his apartment and looks out the peep hole. "What the?" He opens the door to see Olga and Harley standing there with stacks of paperwork.

"Can we come in?" Olga asks.

Mr. Borinski sticks his head, looks down the hallway, and says to them, "Are you kids crazy? It's way past curfew." Then he opens the door and ushers them in.

He closes the door, swings around, and puffs up his chest, ready to scold his students, but the look in their eyes disarms him and he changes his approach. "Are you girls in some kind of trouble?"

Olga rolls her eyes and says, "Mr. Borinski, it's not us who is in trouble."

"What on Earth do you mean?"

Harley interjects, "It's the book! Zack and Mark's fathers phoned the guard, and they are confiscating all student copies."

"Confiscating?"

"They stormed all our houses and got all the books they could." She looks down at the stack Olga has in her hand, "That's the only book we know that made it."

Olga cuts in, "We made copies of the book, and the class discussions." She holds them up. "We came to say goodbye, and tie up some loose ends."

"Goodbye? Loose ends?"

"Harley and I are going to the next province, and just like Jonny Appleseed, we're going to start handing out seeds."

Olga steps forward and says, "Here's the book. I told the police I already turned it back in, that I singed the inside cover."

Harley pipes in, "They told everyone not to tell anyone. But you know how it is, someone overheard something and word spreads pretty fast. After our run-in at my house we got word that they would wait to arrest you until school. They're going to use the footage as an example. So, here we are." She looks around the empty room and shrugs her shoulders. "Leave that book on the chair and come with us."

Mr. Borinski looks up, and teary-eyed, he told the students, "I can't do that. I have to see this through, and knowing the sacrifice you girls are making makes my resolve even stronger." His eyes got real big and he said "hold on, I have something that will help you." He ran down the hall, disappeared but came back with his over the shoulder bag that he carries on a regular basis. He reached in, pulled out a leather bound notebook, handed it to Olga and said "Educate the people it's our only hope."

Chapter 28

On December 21, 2156, at 2:30 pm, a special broadcast canceled all regular scheduled programming to show a tactical swat team storming Classroom 22. Harley and I were the only two students not in attendance that the day. Written on the blackboard behind Mr. Borinski was a quote from Thomas Jefferson,

"Those who forgo freedom for security deserve neither."

It was a horrific assassination, justified by the normal terrorist label, but the UCW had no Idea the storm they unleashed. An anonymous source dropped a video dump of all Mr. Borinski's lectures. Millions of copies of this book were disseminated and within days the new American spring began to flow. We based the Movement on the non-violent teachings of Gandhi and Martin Luther King.

On December 22, 2160, four years later, the UCW relinquished all governing rights as well as its right to issue currency to the general of the resistance, Harley Gasner.

On December 25, 2160, the United States of America formally announced its intention to re-establish the democratic republic. On February 8th, 2161, I, Olga Verdusco, only twenty-three years old, will be sworn in as the first democratically elected president in more than 145 years. I leave you with this: words on a page changed the course of history and sparked a rebirth of freedom.

The End

Speech #1, Matthew Mattox

Denver, Capitol Building

"Good morning Denver... we gather here on the steps of the Capitol building, to exercise our first amendment rights. There has been a great injustice, and we will not sit idle and watch as the will of the people is forcefully ignored. This country was conceived in the womb of discontent because mother England refused to give our people a place at the table. Now it is more than two hundred years later, and mother Washington is making the same mistake. The people of the great state of Colorado have lifted Washington's curtain and behind it seen fascism. Our politicians have been bought and paid for by corporations who seek to eliminate any threat to their bottom line, even freedom.

We should be cautious, because though the fire of independence burns deep in our hearts this is not a time for retaliation with violence. We must not stray from the ideals of the Constitution. We must not become that which we fear. We must stare down the ravenous beast of greed.

If we can do that, if we can hold strong, we will place the burden where it belongs: on the steps of the White House, because ultimately there are no elected officials in the DEA, CIA, FBI, or the ATF. We need our officials to understand we will no longer be beholden to those companies who are more concerned with profits than the security and longevity of our great nation.

Let it be said, that in the great land of opportunity, we did not falter in the face of adversity, and we did not give up our ideals of freedom for the false sense of security.

The war on cannabis has led us down the dark path that Eisenhower warned us about. As he left office, he said,

"In the councils of government, we must guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the military industrial complex. The potential for the disastrous rise of misplaced power exists and will persist.

We must never let the weight of this combination endanger our liberties or democratic processes. We should take nothing for granted. Only an alert and knowledgeable citizenry can compel the proper meshing of the huge industrial and military machinery of defense with our peaceful methods and goals, so that security and liberty may prosper together."

The danger to America has grown to be much more than what he imagined, and these companies are profiting from the status quo. Over the past 80 years they have spent billions on marketing campaigns aimed at demonizing a plant.

No need to ask yourself why. We know why: fear, and greed.

On November 6, 2012, when the great state of Colorado joined Washington state in the legalization of cannabis we finally put our foot down.

We have had enough.

We will no longer be lied to.

We will not allow a group of pampered politicians from halfway across the world to control our destiny.

Like our forefathers before us, we will not accept the thumb of oppression. Instead, we have asserted our right as a state to determine our own fate.

Thank you."

A man in the crowd starts to chant, "States' rights." He and a chorus of the same spread out through the crowd.

Speech #2, Matthew Mattox

Bar near Coors Field

"War is the perpetual cycle we find ourselves in, not out of necessity as some would have us believe, but in the pursuit of profit. Let's face it, war is big, big money, and the past hundred years has made those who invest in it extremely wealthy. Dwight D. Eisenhower warned us of the military industrial complex and its influence over policy. Instead of listening to what he said, we collectively shut out the truth and now we are left with the war in Iraq, the war in Afghanistan, the war against terrorism, and the war on drugs. These are the wars we are in right now, and this list doesn't include the dozen or so other wars we have been involved in since Dwight left office.

This is our country, one in which profit has somehow outweighed common sense. But that ends now. We will no longer take the back seat in our self-determination. We will no longer listen to the hate and fear that has divided us. We are ready to make good on the promise of liberty and cut the shackles of fear that we have allowed to enslave us.

I would like to put on notice all the politicians and CEO's who have sold out our country. I tell you --- we're coming for you. We're not coming for you with guns, knives, or bombs. We're coming for you with the mighty hand of justice and you will be treated as the traitors you are."

Speech #3, Matthew Mattox

Sterling, Colorado

" 'We hold these truths to be self evident, that all men are created equal, and each of us is granted by the creator, the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.' This statement is more than just words; it expresses our culture, our tribe, our desire as a species to embrace freedom. 226 years ago, our forefathers set out to create a nation of free men, a nation who believed in the inherent good within a man of reason. Our Constitution was written in the blood of sacrifice and upheld despite the tyranny of intolerance. As hard as it's been, we have overcome all obstacles and in our wake are the greatest advancements in human history.

Sadly, today, those advancements are coming from somewhere else. Do you know why?

The liberty that allowed us these opportunities has been systematically regulated away, not by a vast conspiracy but by a population living in fear. Thomas Jefferson said, 'A man who values security over freedom deserves neither.' Prohibition of hemp and cannabis has failed at every level, but no one has been hit harder than small farmers. Today around the world farming communities like yours are cashing in on hemp, but not here. Why? Fear.

It's not the closely related cousin cannabis, which you may know by its slang term marijuana, but industrial hemp. It's cheap and easy to produce and can provide everything from food to the gas that runs your car. So why is it illegal? Fear.

We have a chance here in the great state of Colorado, to step out beyond the strangling grasp of Washington and exercise our state's right to self-determination.

No one here cares if the DOW Jones will lose some of its market share or if private corporations lose their spot at the succulent tit of big government.

We want to make an honest living, and let's face it, we want to free ourselves from the subsidies that have squeezed out the little man.

Today is a new day in this great country. Today we stand up and tell the federal government that we will no longer need a bodyguard watching over us like a frail child. No, today we step out of the shadow of fear and embrace our old friend and trusted confidant, liberty.

Thank you."

The End of the Weed War

************************************************

The Freedom Files

Berkeley, 2191

Dax's studio apartment.

I put down the book The Weed War and began thinking about what I would say to Abby about it on Saturday. The 8x10 room was large for a single man during the corporate times, but since the second revolution the badlands were opened up, and people flooded them, hoping to start farms and new lives. I couldn't see myself leaving the city, so I stayed and a larger room became available. It's so strange having this much space. I can't even imagine what the people did in 2019 with their huge mansions in the place they called suburbia. The pictures are so crazy. It was if they believed they had no effect on their environment. After reading The Weed War it's easy to see why. They were manipulated in their free society the same way we were in the corporate days. The Germans from World War II were also manipulated into a hate-driven ideology which became their downfall. The people who bankrolled the Nazis then turned their sights on the world and began the same routine. These people or groups of families were driven by fear of the Communist movement which erased the inequity of the past and stripped the wealthy of their property, possessions, and money. Fascism became their only hope; Bonito Mussolini said that 'Fascism should rightly be called corporatism.' I find it strange that they didn't see it, as it was right under their nose. They even participated in it freely, giving away all that they had by voting for fear and hate.

It is astounding the positions the people would fight for even in the face of reason and absolute scientific proof, which shows us just how dangerous power can be. They justified the laws by lying or pandering to political or religious factions that they knew people would vote for. Divide and conquer that is what they did.

I took notes as I thought of the things Abby would hopefully think were witty or deep.

I woke up the next morning with my face in my notebook and my pen still in my hand. Luckily I had moved to the bed at some point, so I wasn't stiff everywhere.

***

When Abby walked in and the light caught her silky gray hair, my breath was stolen by her beauty. As she walked straight toward me, her grace made it seem like she was floating. I leaned in and gave her a hug, trying not to get too close. My racing heart would be even more revealing than my bright red face.

"Hello, Dax," she whispered as we embraced.

Time stood still for a brief moment.

"I'm so happy you were able to make it," I said before waving over to her seat.

She slid into the bench seat and I followed, doing the same directly across from her. We had our pleasantries, ordered a meal, and some drinks and began our dissection of The Weed War.

I can't remember the fine details about the conversation, because I was unusually tongue-tied and enamored with this woman, her wit, her words and her mastery of communication. When I talked, she stared deep into my eyes, hanging on my words and she never interrupted me. After every point I made she would repeat the gist of my assertions, then pause to think of her retort. At first the silence was uncomfortable, but I realized that in those pauses I could see her as she truly was, perfect. I don't mean perfect like those people from the twenty first century and their plastic faces. No, Abby was perfect because you could see the wisdom in those lines, in that hair. Yes, she was beautiful, but hearing the depth of her mind made me long for her touch and magnified her beauty a hundred fold.

We ate and talked for hours until they kicked us out because they needed the table. I walked her to apartment complex only a few blocks away on the same level of the city. As we approached the front door to her building, my heart began to race and my mind splintered into a thousand different thoughts. Should I kiss her? Was this a real date? Should I ask for her number? Luckily, before I could make any headway on my own, she reached down and grabbed my hand, turned, pulled me in, and kissed me. I nearly fainted from the rush of blood to my head. Her lips were smooth and soft and her perfume was intoxicating.

"Thank you for the lovely date, Dax, it was just divine." She smiled and handed me a piece of paper. "Here is my number. You can call me at any time."

I didn't know what to say, I felt like I was a young boy lost in a boyhood crush and when she finally kissed me, my words failed me.

"Ok." That's all I said.

I couldn't believe it. She smiled like a Cheshire cat, turned around, and left me standing there.

"Ok." I couldn't think of anything better to say than OK. Needless to say, the maglev train ride home was one of mixed emotions, but overwhelmingly it was the positive side that won. I'm pretty sure I found myself even skipping a few times between the stop and home. Who skips? Apparent I skip when my heart has been stolen.

***

The Freedom Files

Class 3

University of California, Berkeley, 2191

Tuesday's class couldn't come soon enough. Abby and I talked on the phone a number of times, but I just didn't want to wait to see her. I even looked up some awesome quotes to use in class so I could impress her. We arrived at the same time and found seats near the front.

The former President entered the room from the back of the stage as was her normal routine, fumbled through her things, pulled out a stack of old books, and lifted one in the air before asking, "Who can tell me what this is?"

Gasps filled the auditorium. Then a young lady in the front of the class blurted out that it was the only remaining copy of her diary, the one her brother published after her death.

"Yes." The president smiled and closed her eyes for a second. It was clear that the book in her hand held a great deal of significance for President Verdusco, because in all my years I had never seen her show her emotions until that moment. She opened her tear filled eyes and said. "When Harley and I wrote The Weed War, we hoped for change, but we never fully grasped what our actions would bring. This diary opened our eyes and ultimately led us to all of the works that we will be reading in this class." She set it down on the podium took a deep breath and dove in. "So you read the weed war and I'm sure you did your homework on its importance to the revolution and the second constitution. That being said, what amendments were added, using this book as our justifications and why?"

I was called on first, and an upwelling of pride flushed through me before I began. "The first amendment added because of this book was, the money out of politics amendment or Amendment 29, which calls for general funds to be distributed equally between candidates and prohibits politicians from accepting money from anyone as it is a form of bribery. Thomas Jefferson wrote about it in the early stages of the union. 'Vast accession of strength from their younger recruits, who having nothing in them of the feelings or principles of '76 now look to a single and splendid government of an Aristocracy, founded on banking institutions and moneyed in corporations under the guise and cloak of their favored branches of manufactures, commerce, and navigation, riding and ruling over the plundered ploughman and beggared yeomanry.' Unfortunately they were unable to stop this aristocracy in the 1700's, and in 1994 the storied twentieth century philosopher Norm Chomsky wrote of Jefferson's assertion, 'The end of democracy and the defeat of the American Revolution will occur when government falls into the hands of lending institutions and moneyed incorporations.' We had to add the amendment, because the money took away the power of the vote and allowed for manipulation of the system. If we were to live up to Lincoln's words 'Government of the people by the people and for the people.' we needed to even the playing field.

"Wow, someone did their homework," Abby whispered when I finished.

"Excellent, Dax," President Verdusco said. "Does anyone else care to expand? Maybe something from Adam Smith."

A guy behind me said, "Adam Smith dismissed corporations as a leftover remnant of the Middle Ages and the dismal failure of the feudal period."

The president smiled. She knew someone would take her bait and like a skilled angler, she slowly reeled us in. "The American system of economics was slowly whittled away by those moneyed corporations Jefferson so eloquently spoke of. It was replaced with Objectivism, Fascism and a laissez faire economic approach that relied heavily on Adam Smith's The Wealth of Nations. Sadly, with the climate of manipulation, the people failed to check their sources. Instead, they relied on the media and their elected officials to give them the truth. It's comical that corporate politicians could quote from Adam Smith in one hand and kowtow to their corporate masters in the other and convincingly tie the two together. Joseph Gobells said. 'If you tell a lie big enough and keep repeating it, people will eventually come to believe it. The lie can be maintained only for such time as the State can shield the people from the political, economic and/or military consequences of the lie. It thus becomes vitally important for the State to use all of its powers to repress dissent, for the truth is the mortal enemy of the lie, and thus by extension, the truth is the greatest enemy of the State.' So what was this lie and how did it affect our decisions in the second continental congress?"

Hands flew up, but she didn't call anyone. Instead, she pressed a button on the podium and a hologram of words appeared above her. She pointed to the first set of words with a laser pointer. "Invisible Hand," she read slowly, "is the first part of the lie and tied to Adam Smith. The architects of this lie were smart, using fear of Communism and anything tied to it as the boogey man. They chose only portions of Adam Smith's economic theory and failed to heed his warnings about the concentration of wealth and externalization of production costs. These men of industry and financial wizards alike ignored Mr. Smith's positions on trade, on corporations, on power, and on class. They tied the invisible hand to God, implying that governments were interfering with the divine plan and used politicians and the media to spread their lie.

Then she pointed to free market. "This could be said for free trade as well. Adam Smith wrote his book to reflect the governments of his time, mainly dictatorships and monarchies. Those forms of government were highly centralized and corrupted by an aristocracy that made all of the decisions. Smith favored a protectionist approach that by giving the people a free market would insure national prosperity even if that wasn't the business owner's intent. Adam Smith was a moral man who would invest his money domestically because it was the right thing to do. His vision of the free market had nothing to do with the laissez-faire movement of Milton Friedman's and his assertion that 'underlying most arguments against the free market is a lack of belief in freedom itself.' It should be noted that Mr. Friedman was the economic advisor for Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher.

By the time the 1980's hit, the majority of the country had heard politicians from both sides of the political divide claim their allegiance for free market capitalism, under the assumption that to do otherwise would be to disavow freedom itself. Politicians reinforced this part of the lie by dismantling every protection the people had against what would come to be known as crony capitalism. If all of these so-called experts would have noticed the key word 'domestic' in the only paragraph Adam Smith wrote about the Invisible Hand, they would have seen the error in their judgment."

She pushed a button, a quote flashed up, and she read it. "By preferring the support of domestic to that of foreign industry, he intends only his own security, and by directing that industry in such a manner as its produce may be of the greatest value, he intends only his own gain, and he is in this, as in many other cases, led by an invisible hand to promote an end which was no part of his intention."

She stopped and paused, then said, "The word 'domestic' is the key here, and we found the same preference when we examined, Alexander Hamilton's The American System."

She pointed up at the last two bullet points floating in the air. "Laissez Faire and Objectivism became the financial industry's objective, and they obtained it by telling the people that anything less was tyranny. Don't make the mistake of thinking that this happened over night. The parties involved began this mantra at the inception of the country. Over a two hundred year period they told the lie in every possible way until the majority of the county believed it. In late 2007, the stock market crashed and the country bailed out the banks instead of the people. People began to wake up and take notice. Why would our government do such a thing? By the time the weed war was in full swing, it was evident, that our politicians had been sold to the highest bidders. This is why as Dax said we passed the money out of Politics amendment. Then we also passed another amendment from this book. Can you tell me what it is?"

Someone on the far side of the room was called on.

"The prohibition on prohibition," the student responded.

She said, "I've heard it referred to as that, but it is really called the individual liberty amendment." Amendment 30 prohibits any laws that infringe upon an individual's right to decide what they do with their freedom, including privacy, what they ingest, or inhale, or how they conduct their life as long as it doesn't infringe on another person's same right. The third article of this amendment also prohibits business from prying into a person's personal life, including data mining of students' schooling, health records, past convictions, and drug tests. The fourth article excludes corporations, religions, and co-ops as they are not people and are not afforded the same rights."

She looked at her watch and said, "I've got a couple of minutes to pull all this together. Mr. Borinski's classroom which I had the privilege to attend, afforded me the opportunity to see outside my own personal perspective and challenged the very foundations of my world. Every day that I am fortunate enough to be alive in this new frontier, I thank the Creator for leading me into knowledge and reason. Our country and the world owe a great deal of appreciation for the man who sacrificed himself so that we may be free. The two amendments we discussed are really only the tip of the iceberg when we look back at the importance Borinski had on the second revolution. We can also see with our own eyes the destruction that the big lie tying the free market and the invisible hand to objectivism and laissez faire economics had on freedom. Back room deals became the norm as the concentration of wealth created a vacuum of power and political influence. Millions of lives were ruined, and people spent years in prison to further a profit-based agenda set by private industry. Money bought the prohibition of marijuana and laid the foundation or road map for the completion of the coup that eventually gave our country to the corporations. The people didn't see the slavery in the sweatshops, the dumps of waste, or the massive carbon imprints these corporations had, because they thought the invisible hand would take care of it. When I'm here in Apple, on campus, I often explore level one and find myself drawn to the water's edge where you can still view the tops of the building peacking out of the water. It's been nearly 60 years since fossil fuels became obsolete and we're still not sure if we will be able to turn the tide on climate change. Our world bled and we were all nearly destroyed, but we are a resilient species, and with the help of technology we are helping the planet make a comeback. We must always study the past and make sure that we never allow again the taint of greed to infect our democracy."

She pushed a button and all her holograms disappeared. "Please read The Surveillance State and be prepared to discuss it in the next class."

***

Abby and I sat there waiting for the auditorium to empty before we began to discuss the class and the implications of our discussion. Abby was beaming with excitement and her words danced off her lips. A few stragglers stopped and listened but never became fully engaged and I got the feeling like they were stopping more to gawk at the two oldest students they had ever seen.

In retrospect, we were something of an anomaly, leftovers from the corporate world, trying to find our place in a free society. Neither of us was ever married because our place in society wouldn't allow for such unions. Abby was an office cleaner and I was sanitation specialist, so we were relegated to the life that came with bottom rung jobs, no education, no training, no marriage and never any personal connections. We had no Idea that the breakfast they fed us daily was fortified with birth control, appetite suppressors and hormone suppressors, We never desired interaction with others because we were so chemically altered.

Most of our counterparts and colleagues didn't take advantage of their newly earned freedom and they stayed in the jobs that they knew. Abby and I had no desire to allow some test we took when we were twelve to dictate our future. For the others in the class the corporate world was nothing more than a scary a bedtime story as most of them weren't even born yet when the second revolution began. Still, they knew something was strange with the two of us because it was so unusual to see older people in an educational setting.

I'm not sure why the young people didn't seem as interested in the class as we were, but it didn't matter. We were lost in philosophy, enamored with theory and smitten with each other. After a good half an hour, a man came in with a mop and a bucket. He asked us to relocate because he would be locking up after he finished and didn't want any footprints on his newly cleaned floor.

We walked down to the maglev connector station just north of the campus and made plans to meet at the same coffee shop on Saturday to discuss the new readings. Just before she stepped onto the train I squeezed her hand and pulled her back toward me. It was my turn to take the leap and our lips met. The world stopped and everything disappeared until the attendant tapped her on the shoulder,

"Excuse me, Miss, we're about to close the doors." He pointed at her bag that was hanging off her shoulder just far enough to be in the way if the doors closed. "In or out, but you have to decide."

Abby leaned in and whispered in my ear, "See you Saturday."

She stepped back and the doors slid shut. She placed her hand on the glass window between us and smiled as the train began to slowly and quietly pull off.

I made my way home that night and dove head first into reading The Surveillance State.

Read more of The Freedom Files in the next book The Surveillance State

***********************************************

Sneak Peak of the Surveillance State

The Surveillance State

Chapter 1

Michael walked into the dark, smoky room past the bar and two pedestals with pole dancers on them. He sat down at the last table in the back.

A waitress wearing nothing but a thong and five inch high heels bent over and asked, "What are you drinking, honey?"

"Club soda," Michael said, trying not to stare at her cartoon-like breasts.

"I'll be right back."

He didn't frequent places like this because he felt it was demeaning to women, but this is where his informant wanted to meet. He looked at his watch, "It's 7:00 pm, and this is the table. I hope she shows," He said to himself.

A tap on his shoulder startled him and he nearly spilled his ten dollar club soda.

"I'm sorry, sweetie." The nearly naked woman bent down and whispered in his ear, "How about a private dance?" She ran her hand up his thigh.

"Uh, no thanks," Michael said pulling away. "I'm meeting someone."

She leaned down and whispered, "Falcon."

His eyes widened, "Mrs. Lopez."

"It's Sunfire." She smiled and winked. "Now are you coming?" She turned and walked into a private room with a curtain as the door.

Michael hesitated, then pushed the curtain aside and stepped into the room.

Chap 2

Two teenage boys were hovering over a computer screen with their jaws hanging open. A knock at the door startled them; the shortest one shut down the screen, muted the speakers, and yelled, "Yes."

"Dirk, open this door."

"Uh, hold on," Dirk muttered.

The door handle shook as the two boys' hid papers and tried to look innocent. Dirk opened the door.

"Yes?" Dirk said with a smirk on his face.

"What's going on in here?" Dirk's mom asked as she walked around the room, sniffing for signs of drugs. "You know I would be able to smell it if you were smoking that wacky tobbaky."

"We're just hanging out," Dirk said.

"And does Steve's parents know he is here?" she asked.

Dirk looked at his friend Steve who answered, "Yes, Mrs. Stone."

"You have a visitor at the front door."

"Is it Greg?" Dirk asked.

"I'm not sure I've never seen him before."

"Ya, cause he's new this year," Dirk said as he brushed past his mom and said, "We have some homework to do." His voice trailed off as he descended the stairs.

After a few minutes of small talk and introductions, the boys made it back into Dirk's room. He locked the door turned and said, "Holy crap Greg I can't believe your program works."

He turned on the screen and speakers. Hundreds of small thumbnails playing video popped up. "See anything interesting yet?" Greg asked.

Steve pointed at the naked woman. "Yep, look at that, it's Mrs. Jumelon." He clicked on the icon and it switched to full screen. Speechless, the boys watched as their English teacher walked in and out of the screen cleaning off a large teacher's desk.

"Holy crap, Greg, how in the hell is this happening?"

Greg's face lit up, "It's actually a pretty simple app that allows us to control the front facing cameras on pretty much anyone's phone. I took a programming class the last two summers and accidentally found a way to do this. Put in any cell number that has a front facing camera and bam we can remotely watch what people are doing."

Steve shook his head and said, "Looks like none of us will be getting F's in our classes anymore."

The boys looked over at the screen, and saw that Mrs. Jumelon who was married to the head football coach was joined by a second female, the boy's P.E. teacher, Mrs. Drost. The next few minutes left them speechless as they witnessed something they only dreamed about.

"Do you think we can blackmail them?" Dirk asked Steve.

"I doubt highly she would want anyone to see this, especially her husband," Steve snickered.

Greg cut in, "Hold on." He shook his head. "No one said anything about blackmail. I showed this to you guys because I thought..."

He paused, then said, "I'm not sure what I thought other than I just needed someone else to see what I created."

Steve laughed. "What's the big deal? We can use any leverage we can get on these teachers."

Dirk smiled, "Come on Greg, imagine the power this gives us."

Greg looked up at his teachers kissing each other, "I guess it wouldn't be that bad."

Suddenly both of the women's faces turned in the same direction. Fear was evident in their eyes as they jumped up off of the desk.

"I can explain," Mrs. Jumelon said as she tried to cover herself. Mrs. Drost popped up and out of the screen as she desperately tried to gather her things.

The male voice in the background was unmistakable.

"It's Mr. Jumelon," Dirk whispered as if the people on the other end of the phone could hear him.

The coach screamed, "Whore!"

"Fuck you," Mrs. Drost screamed back.

Then suddenly blood splattered out across the screen and all over Mrs. Jumelon.

"Oh noooooo! What have you done?" She collapsed to her knees, naked and covered in blood as she reached up toward the screen, "I'm calling the cops."

The screen jumbled, but in a glimpse the boys could see Mr. Jumelon holding a softball bat. The screen went black.

"What happened? Why did it turn off?" Dirk asked.

Greg hit the stop recording button, "The program automatically shuts off when the phone is being used to make a call."

The three boys stood there in silence not sure what they should do.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

This novella is an original creation by a Native American artist. Duke Kell is a member of Citizen Potawatomi Nation, Tribal ID number 89RD101025.

Published by:

Two Ton Productions

Kona, Hawai'i, USA

www.twotonproductions.com

About the Author:

Duke Kell, Author, Poet, Philosopher, resides in Kona on the big island of Hawaii. He and his wife Nancy, own and operate Two Ton Productions. Disillusioned by the corporate dumbing down of popular entertainment, their company is dedicated to publishing works of substance.

How to support this author

There is three easy ways to support independent authors, leave a review at the vendor you received the book from, read another book written by them or recommend them to others. Please take the time to help support art that isn't filtered by huge companies only concerned with the bottom line.

Freedom Files Books

The Cancer Culture

The Weed War

The Surveillance State

Gun Games

Corporate Control

Other full length novels:

The Point of Origin, by Duke and Nancy Kell.(2010)

Hawaiian Heart. The Soul Warrior's Journey, by Duke and Nancy Kell(2013)

