http://ninva.deviantart.com/art/Uncle-Sam-s-Calling-94978528
Can't read it? Read between the digital box. ;D
Can't read it? Read between the digital box. ;D
Dear Uncle Sam’s Calling,
My breath was steady, as steady as it could be. My heart wanted to race off into the stands, but I couldn’t let it. I held it almost in my fist as I touched my chest. Before me was a pathway of mats leading to a balance beam. Then my feet began to move, and then my arms began to pump. The muscles in my legs flexed and my body appeared graceful as it made the leap toward miniature lever device that would fling me into the air… This was something I was good at, something I could bring honor to my family with. Something my dad would enjoy.
My dad was so happy to see me on the balance beam, and I loved to make him happy and glad. He was also stern, stern as an angry mule. If I checked my balance once, raised my foot when it shouldn’t be, or fall, he’d hit me. Yes, my father hits girls, and I was one of them – or maybe I was the only one. I hope I was, because now my hearing is failing; it’s my fault - that’s what I would say. But it wasn’t true, none of it was. I know that, I hope you don’t look down upon my father for being a human. I never do.
I was a super star for only one of the few days of the Olympic gymnast competition. That night, I’ll be a failure. No one would even spare me a passing glance all because I lost what was certainly mine or theirs; that gold medal, the prize every athlete, every parent, every family, and every nation wants. It was what I wanted too. I couldn’t blame myself for that desire, but something in the back of my head tells me that I could have been brighter that day.
I was competing for the new Union of North America. After multiple terrorist attacks on the poor countries struggling to keep their Independence, there was a treaty made with Canada, U.S.A., and Mexico. At first, there was rebellion, and many Americans wished to stay in their own nations and not be ruled by a socialist government. But the military took care of those people; they demanded us to stay together as a big family, so we did. And we all secretly hated each other for it. The police never told us that we couldn’t loathe our new family.
My parents were white former U.S.A. civilians. They were also white extremist of a secret organization called Uncle Sam’s Calling. It was my mother’s idea to join the group, and my dad tagged along, but he only really caring for one thing - to get me gold at the Olympics. I was too young to understand then; I merely wanted to win gold for my daddy, that’s it.
There shouldn’t have been anything stopping me now. I was supposed to win that day, or so I thought for the longest time. But once I took off from that switch, I knew something was wrong. I was too low! My right foot didn’t rise above the beam! A collision occurred, and my body shot forward in a stumble while my right leg couldn’t follow; my right foot had been hooked under the beam. There was a loud snap as the buckle to my knees broke in half. It took less than a second for the wounded leg to fumble down with the rest of my body; where I rested unconsciously as the medical team quickly staggered out to meet the bloody and knocked out me.
Of course the media was all in shock to see a young sixteen year old girl collapse in such a manner. It was a known impossibility for someone who had been given permission from the highest authority to practice at the North American Union gym to tumble with such immaturely. Therefore the warrants were made to search our house. Then the immediate execution of my parents came when the policemen found the Uncle Sam’s Calling website on our computer’s browser history. They subjected them to the court as “evidence of traitorous intent.” The “treacherous deed” was my parents attempt to steal the gold medal away from North American Union.
While this horrible injustice was occurring, I was in the hospital being treated for my wounds. The doctors managed to save my right leg by rebuilding the muscles. That made me glad, and I thought it would make my dad glad too. But I never saw him again. I learned of his death once I was given the chance to go outside my foster parent’s house when I was eighteen, two years later. I read the story in several newspapers, and I cried for the longest time any person could cry for.
And this is why I decided to join your cause, Uncle Sam. This is way I’m answering your call, and this is why I’m ready to die now despite my love for my boyfriend, my friends, and my job. I’ll miss those good people, and I’m sure they’ll miss me too. But who could love a terrorist? Ironic, I know.
From Jessica
My breath was steady, as steady as it could be. My heart wanted to race off into the stands, but I couldn’t let it. I held it almost in my fist as I touched my chest. Before me was a pathway of mats leading to a balance beam. Then my feet began to move, and then my arms began to pump. The muscles in my legs flexed and my body appeared graceful as it made the leap toward miniature lever device that would fling me into the air… This was something I was good at, something I could bring honor to my family with. Something my dad would enjoy.
My dad was so happy to see me on the balance beam, and I loved to make him happy and glad. He was also stern, stern as an angry mule. If I checked my balance once, raised my foot when it shouldn’t be, or fall, he’d hit me. Yes, my father hits girls, and I was one of them – or maybe I was the only one. I hope I was, because now my hearing is failing; it’s my fault - that’s what I would say. But it wasn’t true, none of it was. I know that, I hope you don’t look down upon my father for being a human. I never do.
I was a super star for only one of the few days of the Olympic gymnast competition. That night, I’ll be a failure. No one would even spare me a passing glance all because I lost what was certainly mine or theirs; that gold medal, the prize every athlete, every parent, every family, and every nation wants. It was what I wanted too. I couldn’t blame myself for that desire, but something in the back of my head tells me that I could have been brighter that day.
I was competing for the new Union of North America. After multiple terrorist attacks on the poor countries struggling to keep their Independence, there was a treaty made with Canada, U.S.A., and Mexico. At first, there was rebellion, and many Americans wished to stay in their own nations and not be ruled by a socialist government. But the military took care of those people; they demanded us to stay together as a big family, so we did. And we all secretly hated each other for it. The police never told us that we couldn’t loathe our new family.
My parents were white former U.S.A. civilians. They were also white extremist of a secret organization called Uncle Sam’s Calling. It was my mother’s idea to join the group, and my dad tagged along, but he only really caring for one thing - to get me gold at the Olympics. I was too young to understand then; I merely wanted to win gold for my daddy, that’s it.
There shouldn’t have been anything stopping me now. I was supposed to win that day, or so I thought for the longest time. But once I took off from that switch, I knew something was wrong. I was too low! My right foot didn’t rise above the beam! A collision occurred, and my body shot forward in a stumble while my right leg couldn’t follow; my right foot had been hooked under the beam. There was a loud snap as the buckle to my knees broke in half. It took less than a second for the wounded leg to fumble down with the rest of my body; where I rested unconsciously as the medical team quickly staggered out to meet the bloody and knocked out me.
Of course the media was all in shock to see a young sixteen year old girl collapse in such a manner. It was a known impossibility for someone who had been given permission from the highest authority to practice at the North American Union gym to tumble with such immaturely. Therefore the warrants were made to search our house. Then the immediate execution of my parents came when the policemen found the Uncle Sam’s Calling website on our computer’s browser history. They subjected them to the court as “evidence of traitorous intent.” The “treacherous deed” was my parents attempt to steal the gold medal away from North American Union.
While this horrible injustice was occurring, I was in the hospital being treated for my wounds. The doctors managed to save my right leg by rebuilding the muscles. That made me glad, and I thought it would make my dad glad too. But I never saw him again. I learned of his death once I was given the chance to go outside my foster parent’s house when I was eighteen, two years later. I read the story in several newspapers, and I cried for the longest time any person could cry for.
And this is why I decided to join your cause, Uncle Sam. This is way I’m answering your call, and this is why I’m ready to die now despite my love for my boyfriend, my friends, and my job. I’ll miss those good people, and I’m sure they’ll miss me too. But who could love a terrorist? Ironic, I know.
From Jessica
