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To everyone who joined these forums at some point, and got discouraged by the negativity and left after a while (or even got literally scared off): I'm sorry.

I wasn't good enough at encouraging people to be kinder, and removing people who refuse to be kind. Encouraging people is hard, and removing people creates conflict, and I hate conflict... so that's why I wasn't better at it.

I was a very, very sensitive teen. The atmosphere of this forum as it is now, if it had existed in 1996, would probably have upset me far more than it would have helped.

I can handle quite a lot of negativity and even abuse now, but that isn't the point. I want to help people. I want to help the people who need it the most, and I want to help people like the 1996 version of me.

I'm still figuring out the best way to do that, but as it is now, these forums are doing more harm than good, and I can't keep running them.

Thank you to the few people who have tried to understand my point of view so far. I really, really appreciate you guys. You are beautiful people.

Everyone else: If after everything I've said so far, you still don't understand my motivations, I think it's unlikely that you will. We're just too different. Maybe someday in the future it might make sense, but until then, there's no point in arguing about it. I don't have the time or the energy for arguing anymore. I will focus my time and energy on people who support me, and those who need help.

-SoulRiser

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Group Bonding
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Rebelnerd Offline
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Post: #1
Group Bonding

A clean-cut orderly, with a whistle around his neck like a gym teacher, stuck his head into the office and rapped his knuckles twice against the door. Dr. Marianne Salger looked up from the computer and rubbed her eyes, hoping that the man’s hand wasn’t dirty enough to smear the many crayon drawings she had taped up on the door for everyone to see.
“Yes?”
“Group A is done with kitchen duty, doc. They’re assembled in the lounge right now. So, you know; whenever you’re ready. I don’t want to rush you.”
Salger nodded noncommittally and took the clipboard that he held out for her. On it was a thick sheaf of paper covered in the barely-legible scrawling of more therapists, social workers, and MDs than she would have thought one hospital capable of supporting. Each paper was stapled to a wallet sized photo of a child.
“Have they given you any trouble?” she asked, as the orderly was turning to leave. He shrugged and glanced down the hallway to the coffee room, obviously wishing he was there instead.
“No more so than the others. I mean, they are just kids.”
“Very well. Thank you.”

He quickly left. Salger stood up and felt a small flutter in her chest, like she always did before meeting a new batch of patients. So far there hadn’t been any significant problems in this particular clinic, but she watched the news like any normal person did, and it planted fears deep down in her heart even though she knew how safe she statistically was.
After flipping through the papers and skimming some of the basic data, having already read these same files on her computer, she tucked the clipboard under her arm and left the office, locking her door behind her. The crayon drawings flapped in a sudden draft and for some reason made her think of butterflies. Most of the pictures were relatively crude, with tanks depicted as simple green blocks and guns as black rods in stick figures’ hands. But every once in a while she would get one that from a child with an obvious artistic gift, one that otherwise might have ended up in some museum exhibit about the war. Dr. Salger didn’t discriminate. She had the prodigies’ art hanging right next to sketches by children who had specifically stated that they hated drawing and were only doing it because they had to.
Of course they weren’t really children, not according to the technical definition. The average patient age in the Hancock Federal Juvenile Reconciliation Clinic was seventeen. Not that there weren’t a few ten and twelve-year-old residents, but they were the minority. But it was hard for her to think of them as true teenagers when most of them had social skills that would barely pass the test of an elementary school.

She strode confidently down the hall like she had been trained to do, trying to radiate that air of professional competence that patients respected. Any doctor who went into a new group of kids looking unsure of herself would be torn apart and lose any chance she had of reaching them. It was a difficult line to tread between friendly and cold, soft and hard, professional and casual. But she would try. Head up, smile, show the kids that she was someone they could count on. That was the key to breaking the barrier: letting them know that it was okay to rely on somebody again.
The hallway between the office complex and the rehabilitation wards was long, but not that long. Salger supposed it was anticipation that made the familiar corridor seem to stretch on for miles. Between the two buildings was a small overpass with glass walls. Working in a windowless office, she relied on it to keep track of the weather. Through the glass, she saw the usual parade of school buses repainted with military insignia moving through the gate, flanked by National guardsmen and social workers. There was even a reporter out there with them, all lit up by the sun. It looked like today would be a warm day after all.

As soon as she passed into the wards, there was a noticeable shift in the ambient sound. Instead of soft conversations and keyboards, she heard a constant dull roar of young voices. Kids were running and playing basketball on the fenced-in courts below the windows, kids were arguing at the lunch tables, kids were gossiping and singing in the kitchens while on dishwashing duty. Every time she passed a door, she glanced through the thin bulletproof window and saw crowds of children in a frenzy of activity that reminded her of her own middle school years. A pair of janitors in blue uniform were scrubbing obscene graffiti off the walls. Salger gave them a friendly nod, but they were too preoccupied to notice.
Two men stood waiting for her at the door to the group therapy lounge. Another orderly who looked quite harried, and a young Army private who looked bored. Simultaneously Salger received a nod and a salute. There were voices from inside, but not as loud as those in the others rooms.

“They’re right inside waiting for you, doc.” The orderly said. “Watch yourself. This group’s trouble. Nothing you can’t handle, but I figured I should give you a heads-up.”
She smiled knowingly.
“Don’t worry about me. I just hope you didn’t make them too angry, you know how these kids get.”
“Oh sure, blame it all on me.”
Salger chuckled to herself as the orderly left to go receive the next group at the gate. The private spat some bubblegum into a nearby trash can and pointed at the door lock.
“Pleas swipe your card key here, ma’am.”
She did as she was told and the lock clicked open. The sounds of excited talking from inside went a little bit quieter, and she hesitated. After a few seconds, the voices were raised again now that the children in the lounge had apparently decided that the click had come from something else. And if they didn’t know she was coming, she might be able to catch them talking candidly. It was little techniques like that which sometimes made all the difference.
“Ma’am, that lock only stays open for fifteen seconds. If you want to go inside, I’m going to have to ask you to do so now.”
Salger sighed and accepted that she would have to go in blind. She could have tried arguing with the guard, but none of the military personnel stationed in the Hancock Clinic seemed to tolerate any flexibility with the established rules. Most of the best and brightest from their generation, after all, were on the other side of that door.

As soon as she turned the knob, the inside of the room fell silent. She walked inside, straightening up with what she hoped was a warm smile, and greeted the fifteen children who awaited her. Nine were white, four black, two Asian, with a relatively even split between male and female. The youngest was probably fourteen, the oldest nineteen. Despite the warnings that doing so could compromise her relationship with the group, she could never stop herself from scanning each face and mentally sizing them up. This one was big and tough; probably saw action in the Appalachians, that silent one must have been a sniper at Saranac. It was all stereotypes and intuition, of course, the very things that a woman in her position was meant to avoid, but it wasn’t easy to keep her mind from falling into that trap. Besides, she was often right.
They were seated in a circle of simple padded chairs and one was left empty for her. Salger sat down and looked around the circle, careful to make eye contact with everyone. Most only glanced up briefly and then went back to staring at their shoes or at each other. They were wearing a random assortment of clothing with no color coordination whatsoever. Some clinics required uniforms, but Hancock’s board of directors had decided that it would be unwise to encourage a unified military mentality among the patients. So here they were, kids who would wake up screaming about air raids in the middle of the night, dressed in oversized jeans and promotional shirts left over from concerts and football games. One had on a red baseball cap, cocked sideways like a beret. She made a mental note to deal with that later.

“Hello everyone, how are you doing today?” A clichéd line, but one that often got them talking. Today, however, was not one of those times, so she continued after a moment of silence.
“I’m Doctor Marianne Salger, and I’ll be running your group discussion sessions. Now, I know you may be a little resentful, maybe a little anxious to get outside to the basketball courts. I understand, but it’s very important that I get a chance to talk to you all in an environment where you’re free to say whatever you feel like. We’ll be meeting here every Monday, Wednesday and Friday after you’ve finished with kitchen duty.”
A girl sitting on the right rolled her eyes. Two boys laughed. Salger chose to ignore it.
“Okay then, let’s see who we have here today.” She flipped through the clipboard to make sure everyone was accounted for. Fifteen names, fifteen kids. Satisfied, she looked around the circle again.
“So, since this is our first day, I think it would be a good idea for us to get to know each other. Why don’t we go around and have each person tell us their name, where they’re from and, let’s see, their favorite food. We’ll start off with something fun before we get into the big stuff. Sound good? Let’s do it. Who’s first?”

Nobody volunteered. She was hardly surprised. The ones who were first to raise their hands and make friends with the group rarely ended up in these kids’ situation. So she thought back to training. Play on their values and make them open up.
“Nobody? Not one of you is brave enough to go first? Fine, I guess I’ll have to take over if we don’t have any brave ones.”
While it was true that this method only reinforced the persona of the freedom fighter, it was acceptable in the first few meetings and usually brought good results. Not this time.
“Well, I guess you’ve made your choice. I’ll pick the first, and then we’ll go around clockwise. How’s that sound?”
Salger went through the clipboard papers again, matching each kid up with their photo. It was always shocking how different their faces were in person to the army photographer’s pictures. The photos on her clipboard were of sweaty, dirt-faced children glaring from under bleeding foreheads and bandannas. Often the backdrop was nothing but a muddy truck or cinderblock wall.
One name grabbed her attention. Jake Reynolds, a sixteen year old boy from Syracuse who had gone missing for eight months before turning in a motorboat on the Hudson river. She recognized him sitting three spaces to her left. His hands were folded and his back was so straight it looked painful.

“How about you, Jake? Why don’t you go first?”
Jake shook his head slowly and did not raise his eyes from the ground.
“Now Jake, I asked the group if anyone wanted to go first, and you all refused. If you didn’t want me to choose then someone should have volunteered.”
Salger waited. This was the critical moment, she knew. If she failed to get a response from the first one then she had lost all chances of gaining their trust. She couldn’t give up on this even if it took all day.
“Jake, please tell the group your full name, where you’re from, and your favorite food.”
The boy finally looked up. His face was blank. Salger noticed a pale white scar across his forehead that the grimy bandanna in his photo had hidden.
“My name is Jake Reynolds. I am a munitions officer from the third amphibious battalion. My call sign is kilo-kilo-beta.”
Salger heard more than a few sighs.
“Jake, that’s not what I asked. Please answer my questions.”
“I am not at liberty to give any other information when captured. Name, rank and call sign only.”

A girl across the circle waved him down, looking exasperated.
“The war’s over, man, don’t talk shit like that! Just answer the woman so we can get out of here, I want to go outside.”
“Shut up, he’s doing his duty,” another boy said. “At least he actually got captured. Not all of us surrendered like you did, you fucking collaborator!”
The girl pointed her finger angrily at his face, and Salger noticed that she kept her other fingers slightly apart from her palm, as if still holding a pistol. She had a small body, not what a person would call intimidating, but her voice was strong and sure. This one was obviously used to giving orders.
“Call me a collaborator again! I fucking dare you! We lost half our goddamn platoon to the Rangers before I called a ceasefire and I had no choice! Sorry for giving a shit about my squad, or would you rather let them all get wasted? Does that make me a traitor, eh?”
Salger swiped her hand through the air.
“That’s enough! We’re not here to talk about nasty things like that and we’re certainly not here to insult each other! Everyone calm down and stop shouting right now, or your group will be skipping dinner tonight. If you have something to say then you raise your hand and wait your turn. And we don’t use profanity here, either. This is a place for you to talk about your feelings without being embarrassed.”
The girl kept pointing at the one who had told her to shut up.
“But he called me a collaborator, Doctor; I’m not just going to sit here…”
Quickly, Salger found the girl among her papers.
“Cynthia Banham, isn’t it? If you want, you can talk next. Anyone who has something to say will be allowed to say it, but we can’t just yell it out whenever we feel.”

As Cynthia quieted down with a dirty look, Salger skimmed her file. The girl was eighteen and had run away from home as soon as the war began. She and her squad had attempted to spring three of their friends from a detention center just across the state border and walked right into an Army ambush. It was hard to believe, but this fragile-looking girl had killed three soldiers at close range while vastly outnumbered and outgunned. And that was after evading patrols and carrying out raids in the mountains for over two years. But she could not be allowed to dictate Salger’s group therapy schedule. Cynthia would have to wait.
“I’m sorry for that interruption, Jake. Let’s continue our conversation.”
“My name is Jake Reynolds. I am a munitions officer from the third amphibious…”
“No, Jake, you aren’t. Not anymore. You’re a brave young man who’s been through a lot, but that doesn’t mean you can hold the rest of the group back. There are no more military secrets for you to hide. You can talk here, Jake. I’m not the enemy.”
Jake sneered; the first hint of an actual expression that she had seen on the boy’s face and it gave her hope. Even hostility could be a breakthrough if handled correctly.
“Are you angry with me, Jake? Can you explain why that is?”
“Clever,” he muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“I said you think you’re clever. You want me to think that I’m the one responsible for them being locked up in here. But I’m not the one with the key, doctor. You are, and they all know that. So stop talking to us like we’re your students. We’re prisoners of war. You took our freedom, but you won’t take our dignity.”

Several of the others began to clap and Salger had to silence them. It always broke her heart to hear them talk like this. This boy should be in school, he should be dating a beautiful young woman, he should be finishing his homework then sitting down for his favorite TV show. Whether it was their lives or their souls, everyone from his generation had lost something.
“I’m not trying to take your freedom or your dignity, Jake. I just want to help you learn to live like a normal kid again. This file says you were gone for eight months. That’s a long time, when you really start to think about it. Especially at your age. These should have been the best years of your life, Jake, and you missed out on a pretty big part of them.”
“If they were the best years of my life, I wouldn’t have left home.”
Salger paused. She had to make a decision now; assert her authority by continuing to press him over the name, location and favorite food questions, or take advantage of his mention of home. She soon decided on the latter. It might be the only chance she would get during this session.
“Why did you leave home, Jake? That’s a more interesting question than your favorite food, don’t you think? So tell me why they weren’t the best years of your life. I’m curious.”
“I left so I could fight. I didn’t want the war to go on without me.”
“But you must have known how horrible the fighting was, right? That was…let me see…August. So it was just after the Army finally took back Philadelphia. I remember watching the uncensored videos online and it was just awful. Why did you want to go just then?”
Jake shrugged, still looking at the ground. Then his faced reddened. He obviously considered a shrug to be a breach of prisoner’s discipline and was ashamed.
“I had wanted to but I was always afraid of losing my family.”
“But then…”
“With Pennsylvania occupied, the Northeast was cut off from the rest of the country. Me and some friends met up with a recruiter from the third amphibious. He said they needed as many troops as possible to supply the Adirondack platoons now that the overland routes were cut off. So we all got our equipment together, gave him the gun money, and a week later we left.”

Salger dropped the carefully-designed confident smile and tried to appear sympathetic.
“How did you feel when you left your parents?”
He hesitated and stole a quick look at the others. This was a good sign that group bonds were being forged.
“I don’t care about them. I was just worried that my little brother would do something stupid like try to follow me. He kept crying the night I left. He even offered to come along and carry extra ammo for me.” Jake laughed drily.
“How old was he?”
“Thirteen.”
“You should have brought him,” said another boy. “I was in the Adirondacks that summer and we really got starved after they cut off our supplies.”
Salger put a finger to her lips and Jake continued.

“He really wanted to go, but I didn’t want him to get hurt. If you knew him you’d understand. He wasn’t meant to be a soldier.”
None of them were meant to be soldiers, Salger thought privately. But she couldn’t tell them that. Not just yet. A clinic doctor’s hardest job was getting past the pride. After that, it was easy.
“We stole a boat from a private dock and smuggled guns and ammo up the river for five months. Then for a while I transferred to a raider crew, but after Fairview I went back to smuggling.”
A stocky, messy-haired girl sat up.
“Shit, you were in Fairview? What was it like?”
“Megan, I told you already that I will not allow profanity in my sessions! If you have something to say to Jake, raise your hand and wait your turn.”
But Jake didn’t seem to have a problem with her question.
“It was brutal. Our crew was supposed to plant demolition charges under the bridge and blow it when the army came to reinforce the town police. But we ran into some Coast Guard on our way back and at that point they were real jumpy, so…” Jake swallowed. “Fifty-cals tore our flagship to pieces and half our fleet’s crew jumped over. I opened up with the M240 and managed to strafe two of their inflatables, but nobody was even steering our boat anymore so I eventually jumped with the rest. Guard shot most of them in the water but me and five others swam to shore, and later we linked up with some of the infantry that had been driven out of Poughkeepsie. Charges never went off and the city was overrun in hours.”
“But did you actually go to Fairview?” the girl asked, and since she had indeed raised her hand this time, Salger didn’t interfere.
“Yeah. It was goddamned crazy. You could barely stick your hand out of your hole without it getting hit with ten rounds from both sides. When the copters showed up we got the hell out of there, and I went back to smuggling until the end.”

Nearly everyone was shaking their heads and murmuring to each other now. Salger had heard of the bloody, hand-to-hand combat in the battle of Fairview. But this was the first time she had ever met a child who had seen it firsthand.
“Jake,” she said as flatly as possible, not wanting to sound stern, “how do you think your parents felt when they heard about what was happening there?”
“They must have been scared, I guess. They cried a lot when I left. Dad threatened to call the police when he saw me packing, but I knew he wouldn’t do it. He didn’t want me to get put into a detention center with other soldiers because he probably thought it would inspire me even more.”
“Did you ever miss them when you were out there fighting?”
“No.”
Of course that was a lie, Salger told herself. Nobody could go through what these kids had without ever longing for their homes and families. It was, however, uncommon for them to admit it on the first day. They all still felt like they had to maintain an air of military confidence and look strong for the rest of the group. For now, her goal was simply to get as much information out of them as possible that she could work with later.
“Do you wish you could see them again?”
“Sure. Maybe. I don’t really care.”

None of these children had been reunited with their families yet. It had taken the Federal government months of sifting through paperwork before most of them had even been identified. Birth certificates, police reports and school files from all across the country had to be dredged up and sent through the annals of military bureaucracy, and the captured rebels had languished in field detention centers all the while.
“Well, as soon as you’re finished with this program, you can go back home again. I’m sure your brother will be very excited to see you again, wouldn’t you think.”
“Yeah. I did miss him, I guess. But he’s what kept me going. I wanted to make sure he could grow up free, even if I couldn’t.”
There were mutters of assent.
“You are free, Jake. You’re all free. None of you are going to prison and soon you’ll all be back home with your families, and you’ll be free to just be happy kids again. I know you don’t want to hear this, but it really is a much better life than fighting.”
Jake was silent, and Salger was about to question him further when she saw the look in his eye and realized that he was done for the day. She decided to let it drop and move on.
“Okay Jake, that was very good. Thank you for being so open with us. I think we can go on to someone else now, any volunteers or do I need to pick again?”

For a minute, it looked like she would have to pick again after all. But just as she was reaching for the clipboard a hand was raised. It was the girl who had asked Jake about Fairview. Megan Stanwood. Seventeen, from Troy. A large Army National Guard regiment tried to pass through her hometown on their way to the Adirondacks, and she had picked up her father’s deer rifle to join in the defense of the city. Her file indicated that she had been a devastatingly effective sharpshooter in the claustrophobic urban combat that ensued. Nobody knew her precise kill record, but it was estimated at around eleven. Six had been commissioned officers. When a Special Forces unit finally cornered Megan and her squad in a four-story tenement house, she held out for thirty-six hours until the building caught fire and forced a surrender.
“That’s my girl, Megan! Thank you for volunteering. Please, introduce yourself to the group.”
She put her hand down and smiled awkwardly.
“Well, I…I’m Megan Stanwood, I grew up in Troy, and are you still asking us about our favorite food or can we talk about something less, you know, stupid?”
God bless you, kid, Salger thought. You’re already asking an adult for permission to speak. You can talk about anything you like!

“Oh, of course. That was just to break the ice. But if you’d rather discuss something else then feel free. Like I said, we’re here to speak freely without being embarrassed.”
“Okay. So, I just wanted to ask if anyone else thinks the treaty was as unfair as I do. I mean, come on, they told us all that everyone except the War Council would get amnesty but instead we end up here. This isn’t really that much better than what we had before it started. It just puts us back at the beginning, and in a few years the war might start all over again.”
“Damn right,” a boy growled.
Jake shook his head.
“What did you expect? We lost. I still can’t believe they didn’t have us all executed.”
“Jake, you had your turn to talk already. Please don’t interrupt.”
Megan shrugged.
“Yeah, I know we lost. But it just seems stupid. Shouldn’t they try to make sure it doesn’t happen again? I mean, none of us are actually going to be good little citizens again just because of this bullshit program. If I ever have kids, I’m going tell them all about the war and why we did it, and if things don’t change by the time they’re our age, there might be a whole new rebellion. You’d think they could have given us something, as a peace offering.”
Salger smiled warmly.
“They did, Megan. They gave you a chance to have your lives back. Instead of sitting in jail for the next several years, you’ll get to go back to your families, your friends, your school, everything. They’re even keeping the watch list confidential so you can still get a good job.”
“Whatever. I watched my boyfriend get cut in half by a frag grenade. There’s no way in hell that I’m going back to school. Honestly, doc, I’m just here because they told me it was this or a prison in some shithole Army base where they’re allowed to beat the hell out you if you don’t suck their cocks.”
“Profanity aside,” Salger said, “You still made the right choice, and I think that if you give the reconciliation program a chance, you could really pull your life back together. That’s all I’m really asking, Megan. That you give it a chance.”

Megan snorted and looked at the others as if a joke had been told that she didn’t understand.
“What, and go back to what I was like before? Sit down, don’t talk, stay in school and beg like a dog when the police tell me I’m not allowed to leave the house after dark? Even if I could, I wouldn’t.”
“I don’t think that’s quite fair, Megan. The rules may not be perfect but they’re there to keep you safe. Sometimes you just have to trust that the people in charge really do want what’s best.”
“Bullshit. Right before the war started, one of the terrorist guys threatened to blow our school up. The principal decided that evacuating would make him look weak, so he kept us all inside while the cops swept the place. And you know what? They found three lockers packed with enough homemade napalm to burn everyone in the hallway and the only reason it didn’t go off was that the detonator broke. The people in charge didn’t give a shit about us then, and they don’t give a shit about us now.”
“Yeah,” Cynthia chimed in. “My little brother got blacklisted for writing a story about a monster eating a bunch of kids. They interrogated him in the police station for two days and ended up pumping him so full of drugs that he could barely recognize himself in the mirror. And he was in first grade! Is that what’s best for us?”

Here they go quoting the propaganda videos, Salger thought angrily. Whoever came up with these slogans should have to answer for all the innocent kids who died over their lies.
“I know you’re angry,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “but I want you to think about something. Were you any better off than you were before you joined the war? Everything you’ve gone through, did it really accomplish anything? You fought very hard but the only thing that changed is that so many people had their lives ruined. Families were torn apart and little kids had to watch their siblings kill people in cold blood. Even if you don’t have all the rights you wanted, isn’t any peace better than that?”
They were silent. Salger waited for a response but hoped they were too busy absorbing her question.
“Well it’s good that people aren’t dying anymore, yeah, but…” Cynthia struggled for the right way to say it and Salger waited patiently, already planning her answer. “I don’t know. It just felt like my life finally meant something, you know? Like I was actually doing something real that could change the world. It’s like I knew I was part of the actual generation that decided to fight back, and it felt incredible. Like even if I died, my life would still matter, and that was better than having a normal life even if that life would be a lot longer.”

Salger nodded like she understood, which she of course didn’t. She knew she never would, not even if she met a million of these lost children. There was something terribly wrong with this generation and she had already come to terms with her inability to figure out what that was.
“That’s a very interesting point, Cynthia. But I’d like you all to listen for just a moment. I think I’ve realized why we don’t seem to be getting along the way I’d hoped. You all seem to think that we’re taking something away from you. What I want you to understand is that this program is about giving back what you’ve already lost. I’m talking about your innocence. It wasn’t the government that took that away, it was the war itself. You deserve to get it back and the government decided to start this program because they felt you should be given a second chance. Do you see what I mean? We just want you to be happy again.”

The boy with the sideways baseball cap glared menacingly from under his untrimmed bangs. When he shifted in the seat it lifted up his pants, and Salger noticed for the first time that his left leg was a prosthetic.
“We don’t want to be happy and we don’t want to be fucking innocent. We want to be treated like real goddamn human beings. You think we didn’t know what we were getting into? If we thought that being happy was worth more than freedom then we wouldn’t have signed up. I think you’re the one who doesn’t get it.”
Before Salger could even reprimand him for using obscenities, the entire circle erupted into clapping. She even saw the young private in the hallway put his face to the window in case anything was wrong.
“Please! Settle down! This is not a place where we allow the spreading of propaganda. If you’re going to talk about something, make sure it’s about your feelings or your past. We don’t want anybody to feel intimidated here. And for the last time, I will not allow profanity.”

The applause ceased. Salger watched them all sternly, until one little blonde boy who looked barely fifteen raised his hand. She checked his file. Charlie Weldon, age fifteen exactly, apprehended after a skirmish with police while trying to plant explosives at a train station.
“Yes?”
“My cousin was beaten to death in a psychiatric hospital for teens. And that was before the war even started. After I got a squad, we broke into that same hospital and freed all the prisoners. Then we burned it down with all the psychiatrists inside. So why don’t you go fuck yourself, doctor, because I’m not afraid of you.”
Salger immediately closed the files on the clipboard and stood up.
“Well, that’s it I suppose. You’ve chosen to skip dinner until you can learn to speak civilly. I’ll see you again on Wednesday. Maybe then you can start acting a little more mature. Goodbye.”
She put away her pen and walked briskly to the door, swiping her card and leaving the group sitting silently in their circle. It was a drastic move, but one she sometimes found the need for. This was a tough group indeed. Their defiance would probably go on for another week or two, but eventually they would realize that being confrontational wouldn’t get them anywhere anymore.

The guard locked the door behind her. She waited for a moment, standing just out of view of the window, listening for muffled voices. A laugh, a sob, anything to help predict which direction Wednesday’s session might take.
“So were you in Troy when the Navy landed?”
“Yeah. Our whole safehouse got shelled and we split into three squads.”
“I heard they got so close there was shooting across the streets.”
“Hell, we had to use bayonets once. One almost got me but he slipped on the ice.”
“God damn. Even at Saranac it wasn’t that close.”
“Weren’t there tanks there?”
“Just two. We mined some ditches and managed to get one stuck…”
“But it could still shoot. Took out my lieutenant.”
“Wait, were you there too?”
“Yeah.”
“Wish I could have seen it. They got me early on and I missed most of the Adirondack campaign.”
“What camp were you in?”
“Hudson North. But a bunch of us tunneled out in March and made it to friendly ground.”
“That takes balls, man. Camp guards started shooting to kill after Fairview.”
“Well it was that or sit and freeze.”
It went on like this with no sign of stopping. Salger shook her head and left, heading for the work scheduling office to tell the coordinator that group A would need extra laundry duty during dinner time tonight. In two days she would meet with them again and hopefully with better results. Today had been frustrating, but not abnormally so.
They weren’t bad kids, she told herself. Just broken. And it was her job to fix them. To snap them out of these twisted ideas that had infected their minds and most importantly, to make them innocent and happy once more.

The End

I think Buenaventura Durruti is a pretty cool guy. eh kills fascists and doesnt afraid of ruins.
The quickest way to kill a revolution is to wait for it.
11-21-2009 10:51 AM
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Loxor Offline
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Post: #2
Re: Group Bonding

Quote:God bless you, kid, Salger thought. You’re already asking an adult for permission to speak. You can talk about anything you like!

Quote:“Well, that’s it I suppose. You’ve chosen to skip dinner until you can learn to speak civilly. I’ll see you again on Wednesday. Maybe then you can start acting a little more mature. Goodbye.”

Made me rage.

Twas interesting though, I'm very curious as to the whole story now, although I've inferred things.

Anything that ever happened or will... one condition, it has to be amazing.

I gave her wings but she don't wanna fly no more.

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Wastin' time
11-21-2009 11:15 AM
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The Desert Fox Offline
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Post: #3
Re: Group Bonding

Love the story, just really shows the nasty side of things and the lengths some people will go for freedom.

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11-22-2009 04:46 AM
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SoulRiser Offline
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Post: #4
Re: Group Bonding

Awesomesauce. Biggrin

Is that the end of it or is there moar?

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11-22-2009 11:21 AM
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Darthmat Offline
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Post: #5
Re: Group Bonding

I enjoyed it lots. Smile

I highly suggest Mobb Deep's albums The Infamous and Hell on Earth, if you have not listened to it yet.
11-22-2009 01:15 PM
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Rebelnerd Offline
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Post: #6
Re: Group Bonding

Yeah, that's the end. No more. Let your imaginations fill in the rest! Biggrin
Basically, I tried to write it with two messages for two audiences. For schools/governments/whatever, it's to say that youth can be just as passionate about their rights as anyone, despite all the bullshit stereotypes about how kids are supposed to be all sweet an innocent. A condescending government can be just as bad as a cruel one when freedom is lost.
To students, it's to say that we have the strength to fight for what we deserve, but don't expect it to be fun. War is hell. A student rebellion on US soil would be particularly messy: it would eventually boil down to a fight between the soldiers ruthless enough to shoot kids, and the rebels dedicated enough to leave everything behind.
Just a meditation on war, pretty much. Glad you enjoyed it.

I think Buenaventura Durruti is a pretty cool guy. eh kills fascists and doesnt afraid of ruins.
The quickest way to kill a revolution is to wait for it.
11-22-2009 05:11 PM
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Vatman Offline
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Post: #7
Re: Group Bonding

*chuckles* Salger....I always find the names you come up with amusing......twas ok, sounded like an action movie with something to prove...

Some cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.
11-24-2009 07:52 AM
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Thought Criminal Offline
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Post: #8
Re: Group Bonding

That was awesome. I'm sad there wont be anymore.

"So why don’t you go fuck yourself, doctor, because I’m not afraid of you.”
I lol'd so hard. Laugh
11-24-2009 08:53 AM
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Rebelnerd Offline
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Post: #9
Re: Group Bonding

Vatman Wrote:*chuckles* Salger....I always find the names you come up with amusing......twas ok, sounded like an action movie with something to prove...
It picked it because it sounds kind of like "salvager" and she believes that she's saving these kids when really she's just breaking them down again. As for action...not sure what you mean. There really wasn't any. But, if you liked it, whatever. Thanks.

I think Buenaventura Durruti is a pretty cool guy. eh kills fascists and doesnt afraid of ruins.
The quickest way to kill a revolution is to wait for it.
11-24-2009 10:03 AM
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Post: #10
Re: Group Bonding

It took me two tries to finish it. I'm pretty ADD and can't read something for too long. But I must say, it was epic win. Truly epic win, I'm sort of sad there wont be any more. I can see them sneaking out and starting the rebellion all over again.

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11-24-2009 10:36 AM
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Aviator Offline
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Post: #11
Re: Group Bonding

That was really good. Smile

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11-24-2009 05:24 PM
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Post: #12
Re: Group Bonding

10/10 rebelnerd.

its funny how they would rather salvage what they can from the *wreckage* and show them the *errors* of their ways rather than listen.

Its funny how when they prove a point she mentally fights to ignore it.

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12-02-2009 05:46 PM
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Ceiling Cat Offline
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Post: #13
Re: Group Bonding

Viewing people fighting for freedom as broken...
That's what today's people are like.[Image: rage.gif]

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12-02-2009 06:46 PM
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