Steven Clark Bradley  

Empathy, that's the word that goes beyond merely feeling sorry for someone's horrible or treacherous state of affairs.  By far the most vital part of a story and it's characters is to get the readers to feel their sorrow and their joy. 

In "Last Ounce of Devotion Part One"  you about a young man and the decisions he faced as though he were being force fed with an oversized mouthful of reality combined with responsibility.

I recently visited the Museum of Psychiatry – An Industry of Death.  This was a very sad and important look at the treatments of Mental illness over the past three centuries.  Many strange and unbelievable treatments were used and abused by so-called doctors who recommended everything from bleeding the brain to drowning therapy.  Yet, the area of the museum that gripped my attention the most firmly was the section on the Holocaust.  It was there that I realized the Hitler in his demonic rage against Jews, Gays, Gypsies and the infirm was the final result of an age of teachers of racial cleansing which eventually led to the final solution.

Young Len Garret learned to hate the country his dad had defended and, in young Len Garret’s mind, the nation that that had murdered his father.  The words he learned from his father and the attitude and lethality inert in their aim made this young man know that one day he’d stand up to them all and show them!  Read "Last Ounce of Devotion Part Two" and feel the fear, anguish and hatred in this young man.  Don’t feel sorry for him.  Empathize with him, feel his fear, his anger and his determination as he prepares to lay down his last full ounce of devotion.

~~~

Patriot Acts - Last Ounce of Devotion Part Two

Northern Indiana  2009

The image of the day that had necessitated his presence in a place that he deemed as one of the temples of the usurpers who had overtaken the nation. That was what dad had said and this young mind had received a crash course in plotting retribution.  The image formed and behind Len Garret’s closed eyes, he saw them coming, all dressed in black, and covered by the absorbing darkness of a night off of Toto Road.  The dogs were barking, the lights around the compound flashed on and the invaders dispersed.  The radios blared like a rock concert in the silent night air, and the front door flew open with Russell Garret exploding out of the door and waving the assault rifle in all directions…

…“Get off my land!”  There wasn’t a sound.  “You got a warrant?” Russell Garret screamed.  “Did you hear me?”

Inside Len Garret’s dream, he could hear something so distinct and clear and the sound was so recognizable, but not immediately understood.  Then he knew.  He began to whimper and the glass full of Tequila fell to the floor and rolled against the wall.  Len Garret’s eyes flashed open and closed up tightly again.  He heard the sounds of blades turning and growing in volume.  He saw his father holding the assault rifle and looking straight into the air, turning frequently to get his bearings.  Russell Garret turned and saw his wife Amy and their daughter, Belinda and their son, Leonard standing in the front door of their house.

“Go back in the house!” Russell shouted

“What are you doing out here in the middle of the night, Russ?” Amy asked in worried voice.

“Go back inside!” Russell screamed as he looked frantically in ever direction trying to locate the direction of the sound that was really loud now and which sounded increasingly like a…helicopter.

“Something’s happening here and it could be…just get inside the house Amy and get the kids outta here!”

Amy looked behind her and found her daughter, Belinda, but her son, Leonard was gone.

“Where did that boy go?” Amy thought. “He’s fourteen…almost fifteen. He’ll be alright.”

Like a giant stinging bug rising from the Earth, Amy saw it as she looked out past her husband, Russell.  She saw it and pointed at it and Russell turned toward the sound, raising his weapon as he swiveled.  When Russell Garret had fully turned and aimed his gun at the chopper hovering over them, a shot rang out from the chopper’s gun and a large caliper round buried itself inside Russell Garret’s brain.  He fell to the ground and Amy reached behind her and pulled an automatic rifle out in front of her and began to fire.

Someone ran from the woods and stood directly under the chopper.  The pilot and his crew were busy getting ready to blow away the country woman standing at her own doorway believing herself to be defending her own property and family, just like Russell had told her to if something happened to him.

“I thought he was crazy, but I paid attention!” she told herself.  “Now I know he was right!” She confirmed as she changed guns and kept firing at the chopper. 

The person under the chopper back up and got as far away from the hovering craft and then raised his riffle and aimed it at the engines.  He started to squeeze the trigger when eight year old Belinda came around in front of her mommy just as four rockets  propelled grenades roared to life and took flight in a preordained course.

“Oh, Dear God!” Amy cried out.  “Forgive me of my sins, Jesus!”  Amy looked at Belinda.

“I love you, my baby!” Amy Garret took her little daughter up to her breasts.  Belinda looked up at her mommy.

“Mommy, I…”  The RPG’s exploded into the house and Amy and Belinda were torn apart.

“NO!  YOU BASTARDS!” screamed the boy just before fourteen year old, Len Garret fired and brought the chopper down in a sudden drop that exploded upon impact.  Len had not expected the helicopter to fall so close to him.  He jumped to the ground, face first, as a piece of metal flew from the chopper and tore open Len’s neck.

 The boy opened his eyes.  There was nothing but darkness, later mutating into a place with ornate surroundings he realized he was in the court room.  Voices echoed throughout the hallowed chambers as Len Garret sat there, appearing oblivious, but fully aware of his situation and what he would do one day to make his family’s sacrifice have meaning.  The surrounding guards looked at him and smiled.

“He was just a Child.  He only did what his radical father had taught him.” The witness declared. “I treated him for over a year and I can attest to his right state of mind and that he is fully healed mentally.  He exercised excellent social skills and participated in all the team sports and…”

“Thank you Dr. Molar.  No further questions.”

"Would the counsel approach the bench."

The lawyers conferred with the judge and young Len Garret thought about the Psychiatrist’s words.  Len knew he had healed, kept up in school, learned a lot about many things that really didn’t matter now, because three years after having seen his father, mother and sisters murdered before his eyes didn’t change one damn thing for the seventeen year old Len Garret.

“Son” The judge announced.  “Stand up please, Mr. Garret.” The boy rose from his chair.

“Do you realize that you killed those officers in that helicopter and that it was wrong to have done that under any circumstance?”

The boy’s thought said, “They deserved it and I’d like to blow your brains out too!”“Play nice to be bad later!” he speculated.

To the judge, his mouth said, “Yes sir, I know I was wrong and I am truly sorry.” Tears stared to flow from his eyes, some that were manufactured, but many that were real and produced by the sheer weight of the burden of what he had gone through and the understanding of what he would have to do in the future.

The judge looked into Len Garret’s face and the longer he looked the more the magistrate’s face softened. “Young man, I believe you.  I also have a lot of sadness over what happened to your family.  It is my admonition to the government rather than you.  Go out now and make yourself someone who can help keep the power of this nation in check.  Get an education and raise a great family and I promise you’ll die one day, a happy man.”

“The hell with your “happy man” crap!” Len thought.  To the judge, he just nodded in the affirmative.

“I am releasing you.  You are a free man, Mr. Garret.  You are under the custody of your aunt until you reach the age of eighteen, and I hope to never see you in this judge’s court again. . .”

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