Next Stop Guantanamo

There was a private hearing this morning with no jury. I said goodbye to my parents over live 3D holographic video. They cried, but really, it’s not like they ever understood me.

Now, I’m on a plane, blindfolded and in an orange jumpsuit with my hands cuffed together by a white garbage bag tie.

“You’re going to Cuba, kid!” a soldier whispers in my ear. “How does it feel to be a terrorist? A traitor?”

I feel the wood of his nightstick sock me across the cheek hard. The sounds of agony coming out of my mouth remind me of the way they used to spell them out in old superhero comic strips — GAK! ARGH!

Soldiers laugh at me as I sit helpless and in pain. One says, “Try uploading that to your social media!”

I’ve paid rent and then some with my seven million followers, but I just wanted to break into the capitol building, take some selfies and that would be it. AI security windows and locks are a huge pain, but haven’t you seen those heist movies where they go down into the sewer, hack into fuse boxes and turn off the security cameras? It was similar.

The plane lands and strong arms grab me, taking me out. Fresh air hits my face. It feels good, but it’s short-lived. Soon, we enter a building and I listen to army boots echoing down the hallways.

I’m pushed inside a room. My arms and feet are strapped down with thick wire cable. The blindfold comes off and now six military men are standing around me. One holds out a black smartphone. I grin up at him because it looks like he’s about to take a pic, but then there’s a bright flash and jolts of electricity surge through my brain — UMPH!

. . .

When I wake up I’m lying in a bunk with gray blankets.

What’s next? Wash boarding? My fingernails pulled out with pliers?

A blue loose leaf binder slides through a slot at that bottom of my cell door as if they’ve anticipated this moment.

I read the printed pages about my life and I’m in awe of how many memories I’ve forgotten, but then, on the last page, sits the encrypted conversations I had online with friends I made on all the dark web forums I logged into over this past year — EE-GAD! Surely, they’ll all be joining me soon.

Evan Hundhausen is a writer of fiction and you can find his short story collection published on Amazon.