Mary Beth Helms
Part-time therapist, full-time creative.
Dear Donnie, I have so many things that I can thank you for, as your white, rich, mentally unstable ass is dragged out of the Oval Office, kicking and screaming like the unhinged toddler that you are. Because of you, I have had to stare racism in the face, acknowledging an ugly history upon which this great nation was built. Your close friends, the Ku Klux Klan members, have been the reigning symbol of hatred in the United States for centuries. There was really no delineation when it came to mainstream “right and wrong”; hate groups were wrong, and the vast majority wanted to be right. In stark opposition, thank you for exposing not only yourself, but the millions of Americans who spew that same toxicity. Racism is a spectrum, and while you haven't blatantly shouted the N-word at Times Square while representing the office, you have shown that you land on the fiercest, angriest, ugliest end of that spectrum. Although, given your history and the things that you HAVE gotten away with, I cannot make myself believe that it would tarnish your reputation with your minions.
This night was no different than a handful of nights before. Many moons in between, yes, but the feathered one had already been a witness. Nearly ten feet below, a struggle ensued, one-sided as it was. Outside, the wind alternately roared and whispered through the trees, sounds from the most visceral nightmares. As the temperatures dropped, the diffident fowl sought warmth in the tightest rafters of the barn. The familiar face below belonged to a man in his forties, with a slight build, hunched over, and fighting to drag a cumbersome object inside the barn. Under the night raptor's watchful green eyes, the recognizable man revealed a body beneath him.