All I Ever Wanted pt1

Fiction // Love and Anarchy

Revolution rising but Jenny Jakt pregnant.

Springtime signs subtle: sunrise puke, smash’n’grab vitamins, dreaming outta window. Straight-edge: no cigs pot beer.

Now it shows.

Mayor caught last week. Baby slows her down one second but right behind me.

Leather jackets flood in mayor house, glass smash, walls tagged. Broke his bedroom barricade, gunbarrels flashing, nail-bats swinging. Caught the pig. Jenny first—switchblade at neck. Tarred him, feathered him. Anarchists don’t always gotta kill.

Cops flee. Radio tower taken, comms shout. Punks roaring streets. Mohawk war banners. Boombox anthems: Crass, Pink Indians, Dead Kennedys, the Clash.

Rich run out next. Food banks open, homeless in hotels, private airport flames.

Let army come. Ready. Punks in ranks, ‘A’ tattoos hidden, boots just the same. Mega melee coming. Bloody streets worth it. Crapitalism dead.

Jenny beaut like no other. Buzzcut. Eyes like doom. Ears heavy: rings, paperclips. Black lips. Circle-A neck tatt. Bruises on us all, but hers just make her better. Arm tatts: guns, anarchy ‘A’s, lyrics, death-slash dollar signs. Legs same. Chest: “No Gods, No Masters.” Breasts alive.

Belly bare. We know what’s inside.

Baby mine? His? Don’t know don’t care. I love her.

Next step plan is set. Workers rights truly in sight. Collectivism is new vision. Poverty wages: uprising stages.

Summer day on blighted hill, crew packs. Docks below, last stand for richie rich. Sapphire waves beyond. Our fists rise like sunflowers.

Batty Bill hefts backpack over gorilla shoulders: masks, tear gas eye rinse, first aid, baseball bat. Looks at Jenny’s fertility, says: “Still raiding?”

We all change together; her jeans elastic waist. Leathers on. She eyes us. “Wouldn’t miss it.” She packs pistol, blade, binocs, helmet. Radio, cell phones. Punk rock Laura Croft.

“Stay in back,” I say. Don’t know question or order. Don’t do orders well.

Where do babies come from? We all know. But where do babies go? Can’t say.

Flat-belly Empty El says nothing. She hops in pulls up anarcho-mobile: souped up beat up spiked out truck. ‘A’s on wheels: shows how we feel. Bed full of cocktails: bottles, rags, pure grain. Gotta lighter; am a lighter.

No seat-belts, get going. Black ski-masks. Black bloq coming for the dock, break their cocks. Owners long-gone, maybe cruise or spaceship, but this shipyard work hard for workers’ rights tonight.

Ant-trail tail lights line up tight.

Opposition cracks, bottlecap guns pop keep going. Fences bend under wheels; tin snips snick-snack gates open. Flood in, overwhelm. Private security piss pants, hostage dance.

Vehicles clot up front like a wound. We on foot now toward the sea.

Concrete, warehouses, offices, cranes, shipping containers.

Empty El hits the cell-jammer, kills their comms. Strobelight on: second sun. Bear spray keeps pigs away.

Tariff house—my target. Lighter clicks, butane freedom hits the bottle. Bottle hits wall full throttle. Flames bellow: my ‘fuck you hello’.

Smoke.

Batty Bill broke bat on fascist helmet: his ‘fuck you, well-met.’

And Jenny. Can’t keep eyes off her. Makes the revolution worth dying for. Binocs up and down. Wouldn’t let me take some gear in my bag. If she got hurt—

Like a meteor hits my arm. Blood mists my friends.

Hit the ground. Screams like choir surround.

Sky shakes, boom boom.

‘Keep together,’ I tell crew.

Fuck. Army already here. Trapped, and I’m leaking life. Where are punks? Can’t wait.

‘Jenny in middle. Get out.’

‘Fuck you, you’re shot,’ she rebounds.

Dodge a tank’s tread. All holding me. Can I walk? Don’t know.

Ground is a garden of limbs.

Time, twisted metal pass.

Pulling me out through fence. Where’s Jenny? Ah, with me. Desperate. Jammer off, radio singing. Other hand grips me, leaves love marks.

Bullets whine, wick, whizz.

Dirt bushes blur, time drags. Head rush or blood loss? I laugh.

Fighter jet screams over us.

Pull me through field of fallen.

Rise up hills. Lucky, no pigs catch up. Bigger fish to fry dockside.

Noise fades but hangs high.

Punk house. Bed upstairs. Even got IV. Oh right—ex-mayor’s house. Booms don’t stop, daylight dies.

Dock lost. Never ours. No prophecy.

Can’t sleep yet.

Call Jenny in. Eyes hard soft same time. Door shuts; alone. Bare brick walls. Curly white radiator. Dirty window watching distant war light popping.

Pause. She knows.

I stare at growing belly. She don’t mind, walks past, watches window light show. Time gets itchy.

Turns back. Water twinkles in her eyes. “Can’t go. There’s nowhere else.”

“This no place: only event. Comes, goes like wave.” I sit up in bed. Dizzy.

She steps above me, shadow massive behind.

“Won’t run. This is it.” Hand on hip, other points to window.

“This is the grind. Out that window: landslide. Will be, will be.”

“Change never closer.” Room can’t hold her spirit.

“This is closer.” I point to her sacred thing.

“All I ever wanted is here. This. You.” Hands reunite.

Smells. Woman, machinery, gunpowder, fruit.

“Me? It’s mine?” Fingers intertwine.

“I swear. Only you, forever.” Truth smelled sweet.

Only future for me—her.

“Gotta feeling: daughter.” Her voice cracks.

Daughter.

“This is why. Go. Can’t risk a kid. Not ready.” Makes me hate me.

“Doesn’t matter if she’s inside me or not. What’s safer outside?”

My turn to struggle. Words hide.

She says: “Hard truth: children can die. I can; you can. Won’t be a mountain farmer dreaming revolution. Dreaming of you. No one rules, no man commands. Including you.”

“Grind—all we’ll see. You die, no revolution, no change to me. Killing alone.”

She’s rising like I hit her. “Choice is no choice. Danger here, danger there, no place for a child anywhere. Can’t be.” Moves away.

No.

Slaps away tears. Scuffs boots. Jerks open door.

I’m up. Woozy. Can’t lose her.

She’s out; stairs stomp. Shadow follow, grip weak, doorknob wall rail.

“Jenny, don’t make me chase.”

Losing her. No lookback.

Fuck—I slip. Roll over steps, slide down stairs. Blunt pain explodes head back knees—arm. Scarlet blossom bandage again.

Batty Bill and Empty El rush to help, but only watch Jenny.

Jenny.

Jenny.

She marches out door, night air blue. One look back.

Expect hate.

See only love.

---

Thanks for reading! I love feedback and respond to all comments so let me know what you think.

Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash