They came marching by the hundreds, then the thousands. They filled the streets, then overflowed into parking lots, shops, stores, and office buildings and still they kept coming. All across the country, courthouses, municipal buildings, capitals and police stations were surrounded. Miles upon miles of them were coming from all directions. Camera crews on helicopters broadcast the scenes below. News spread in seconds, and hundreds of millions, then billions, whipped out their devices to witness this awesome sight for themselves.
Authorities were paralyzed. No one wanted to give the order, and no one was sure anyone would follow it if they did. The police were divided between the will and will not follow orders tribes. Tear gas grandma? Shoot rubber bullets into grandpa? Drive them back? Arrest them? Handcuff them? Drag them to jail? Charge them? Fingerprint them? Mug shot them? they asked. The national guard and military soon found themselves in the same fix.
Interviews with heavily armed citizen militias racing to the scenes, eager to arrive at the killing fields and afraid to miss the fun, sickened everyone who saw and heard them.
The old marchers wore their age like armor. Some were spry, some were pushed, some hobbled, and others waddled. Gray hair, canes, walkers, wheelchairs, and oxygen tanks made it clear, a lot of them were ancient.
Those overtaken by heat, cold, heart attacks, strokes and breathlessness stayed where they dropped, and old people marched around them. 911 and emergency personnel called for reinforcements. “The reinforcements are marching you idiots” yelled their supervisors.
Social media sleuths were on it. In 11 minutes flat, they found the message that started it all. Some veteran from a military family, had told his grandfather’s story from world war 1 and the darned thing went viral. Like twenty million viral. No one noticed cause old folks go viral as slowly as they march. The FBI, Homeland Security and Intelligence community woke up and realized no one had bothered monitoring old folks.
Exasperation, frustration, powerlessness, confusion mounted and all around the world, people heard the rich and powerful yelling “WTF do they want?” Their fear was palatable; and people ate it up with glee.
In the year 2024, the old veteran’s story had hit home in the old folks’ hearts and minds; they say experience does that to a person. “Infantry” said the old soldier, “means boys as young as ten. Generals send the infants into battle first - to tire out their opposition, wear down their morale, exhaust their ammunition, test their strength, and identify their strategies and locations. That’s where the phrase “cannon fodder” came from” said the long dead soldier.
Instead of using children to protect “fighting men” the old soldier wanted to send elders into battle first – and spare the children. It was a revolutionary idea. If anyone had thought of it before, no one heard them, until this third-generation soldier repeated his grandfather’s idea on social media.
Now the old were marching to turn things around. Instead of infants, send the elders chanted the old. Send old people to war, put old people in police uniforms, let old people guard prisoners. “We are your cannon fodder” taunted the old marchers, “come and get us.”
Back then no one knew the reason, this dead man’s words changed the world. All they knew was that he did. After years of study, people finally figured out the reason. The dead soldier’s grandson had told his story to people who had been used as cannon fodder, in one way or another, by those above them (the elites, the rich, the powerful, the politicians, the decision-makers, the movers and the shakers).
As we now know, things did not go the way the old soldier thought they would. As things turned out, those in between youth and old age were happy to flip the script, but the young and the old refused to forsake each other and in a democracy that matters. Together, the young and the old outvoted the middle, and changed the world.
The last war ended fifty-four years ago. Today, guns and gold are stockpiled alongside seeds in Fort Knox and displayed in museums where they serve to remind us of the past we escaped. Today, law and order are compelled – not forced. It’s been forty-two years since anyone saw a police officer. People comply as best they can, and those who can’t, or won’t, are helped – not punished.
The reach of the past is as long and painful as it was to live it. Their chemicals and toxins still haunt us. It will take another decade to bring all of our cities, country sides and waterways back to full health. It will take even longer to fully restore the health of our people.
While we must remain vigilante, our government has successfully made the transition to peace and fairness is now its guiding principle. The isms are gone from daily life, and rarely rear their ugly heads. While we are no utopia, the old among us often say, it seems that way to them.
End report from the future.
I opened the comment section and that is what came out. Usually, I delete these stories and write something practical. Not this time. This time, I decided to leave this one for you, Mr. Kenyatta. These stories have been coming to me, unbidden, all my life. Since I don’t write them down, I don’t edit them. I've forgotten several thousand, at least. When my kids were young, I told a story every night. Sometimes it took days to tell one story. These stories flow straight out of my mind and I must follow along or I will never know the ending.
Thank you for the inspiration.
