TrueBlueMajority wrote a great piece about Biden, which I think everyone ought to read and then reread (www.dailykos.com/...). In that piece TrueBlueMajority stated this:
“’Underdog fighting an impossible battle’ is one of the most powerfully engaging story arcs in world literature...
If we need an emotional hook to get low-information voters excited in a positive way, and we really are desperate enough to try anything, we could do worse than flipping the script in this way…
So if fan fiction is all it takes to get people excited and involved, let’s give it to them.”
Okay, TrueBlueMajority. Challenge accepted.
My skills in fiction writing are rusty, at best, but this will nonetheless be a nice change from what I usually post here in DailyKos. I hope those of you who read this will find it symbolic, if not enjoyable.
*clears throat*
I am sitting in my home. The television hums quietly as Biden wraps up his press release at the NATO Conference. I look at the latest news on my phone — within seconds of Biden speaking the media outlets are already trolling Biden’s gaffes, completely ignoring Biden’s wisdom and clear-eyed confidence in the coming election. I go to blog sites, scroll, begin to feel a pit in my stomach as I see the intensity of the in-fighting has only increased, and subtly imagine hearing laughter as Trump steps toward his throne. I grow frustrated, disheartened, and dizzy while I see my fellow countrymen give in to feelings of defeat and fear.
“Sinai? Sinai?? Sinai, wake up. Sinai, come on it’s time — get up.”
I jump with a start as I feel the hand of my sergeant jostling me to awaken. I sigh as I mourn the cease of my temporary restful peace. As I come to my senses, I am showered by dirt — a cannonball has landed some ten feet from the edge of our trench. I take my kepi and brush the filth off of my Blue uniform and observe the soldiers who accompany me. Huddled together I witness people of all walks of life, all wearing the Union Blue. There are thousands more of us than I can see, and tens of thousands more of us than our enemies. All of us were here, putting aside our differences, to face down our enemy — there, across the open field.
I peak my eyes over the trench line and raise my glasses (binoculars) to my gaze. I can see them, firing and loading their cannons upon us with a reckless vigor. In the wind, I can see their blood-stained Stars and Bars banners waving in defiance of democracy. In the smoke, I can see 1,000 bobbing heads from their “MAGA” emblazed red caps. In the fire and impacts, I can hear them chanting, “We will not be replaced! You will not replace us!”
I furrow my brow as I feel myself snarl at what I see. I begin to return my glasses to their case as I hear someone call to me.
“Lt. Sinai.”
“Sir?” I reply, offering a salute to my commander.
“You know your orders? We need to cross this field and dislodge the MAGAists from this position. If we fail today, then the White House will be exposed. I trust you know what is at stake.”
I affirm my understanding of the field orders, and I listen as my commander shouts.
“Stand to, all of you! Up and at’em! The war is not going to end today in 2024, but make no mistake. We either win or we lose the war today! Let us resolve to be victorious, and we shall conquer. FIX BAYONETS!”
Around me I and other officers echo the commander’s order. I witness before me a sleeping frightened blue mass suddenly stand up as one body, like a calm sea suddenly rising in defiance of gravity in a large writhing wave. I then see the sunlight glint against thousands of bayonets as I and my comrades make ready to charge.
“For America, and for our freedom, FORWARDS!” the commander cries.
Like 100,000 Valkyries, we surge out of our trench line, all of us shouting.
Within an instant of coming from the trench, my commander catches a musket ball in the forehead and drops to the earth without making a sound. Then dozens more fall. And dozens more after them. And dozens more after them.
I hear the whizzing as musket balls sear the air around my face, like so many hornets trying to sting me.
“Keep pressing forwards! We’re nearly at their trenches!” I holler to those around me, beckoning them on with my saber in the air.
It is no use, however, I see more and more around me fall as the sting of the hornets’ make their mark on more than I can count. Dirt is thrown into the air as a hailstorm of cannonballs intensifies around us. I witness many comrades disappear into flying masses of earth.
“It is too late to turn back now! We will all perish if we retreat today!” I call out. I feel my legs weakening, my voice drowned out by the chaos.
“It’s hopeless! Run!” I hear someone cry.
“We stand no chance! We’ll all be wiped out!” I hear another shriek.
I continue to stumble forwards as I feel the charge begin to lose momentum. I am stopped as a cannonball lands before my feet and launches me backwards to the ground. I stare into the sky dazed in confusion, and I cough in pain. I look down at the smoking cannonball, and upon it is inscribed, “Compliments of the NYT.”
The tabloids were right. We truly stood no chance against them. They are too strong, and we too meek. We should have listened to them when they said we might as well not fight. We should have listened to them when they said the numbers were against us. We should have known we stood no chance…
“Get up, Lieutenant! We have a war to win!”
I blink and roll over onto my knees as I stare up at the figure calling out to me. My bloodshot eyes fail to see him at first. Clearing the debris from my eyes, I see the figure of the Commander in Chief before me. Riding upon a pony named Macaroni, was Dark Brandon himself — Joe Biden.
“Come on, quit the Malarkey. Let’s go!” Biden says to me.
“Come on boys! I ain’t calling it quits yet. I’m too old for this shit to give up now — FOLLOW ME!” Biden yells out to the seething blue mass.
Drawing a saber from his side, Biden rallies our comrades. Many continue to retreat. Many shout back that Biden is unfit to lead us, and should silence himself to the footnotes of history.
But there were too many of us to be stopped by the MAGAists. Biden knew this, and his calm presence in the fray rallied us behind him.
Against all odds, we reform and press the charge again. We get closer and closer to the enemy trench line. Many continue to fall, but we make it to the lines. Bitter combat ensues as the MAGAist’s fire weakens. The MAGAists start to waiver. Then the MAGAists start to run.
“Don’t tread on us!” they cry as they flee for the horizon, throwing down their hats and banners.
I place my hands on my knees as I dry heave — totally exhausted from the day’s battle.
“I told ya we’d win, didn’t I, Jack?” I hear Biden say, as he looks at me through his aviator sunglasses.
“Come on, we won today, but there will be more battles to win tomorrow.” Biden says with a chuckle, as he trots away on his horse.
I remove my kepi again and scratch my head in disbelief of the victory we’d won this 2024. Against all odds, we did it. Just like we did in 2022, in 2020, and we did in 2018.
*riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing*
I jump awake to the sound of my phone ringing. It is my friend calling me.
“Dude, did you watch that press conference? They’re already attacking Biden. I can’t believe it. Can’t they see he did well!?” My friend says.