Remembering valuable lessons from your college psychology class, you do your best impression of a neurodivergently abled person, making guttural wails and moans while clutching your hands to your ears.
Watching you, his face turns quizzical, and then softens, finally becoming an amiable smile.
Ohh, you one of those kinds, aren’tcha? My son is like you too, look at him!
He holds his phone out to you, showing a picture of his indeed severely autistic son.
Well, I’m sorry I thought you were a nigger and all that. It’s not your fault what those damned vaccines did to you, boy. It’s a crying shame.
You feel your blood start to boil. Your hairs stand on end. Your head pounds. Your vision turns a foggy crimson.
What did he just say?
Your hand quivers, grasping firmly at the butter knife in your pocket. It’s all you can do to hold yourself back from attacking him, from screaming at him at the top of your lungs. How dare he. How hard is it for him to just fucking trust the experts, huh?
Of course, the experts agree with him now, in this dystopian 1984 hellscape you find yourself in. But that’s only because the sacred institution of science has been corrupted, twisted by political motives. That never happened before Trump’s America. But you are still an evangelist of science, and you will never give up your faith until your dying breath.
As you look up at him, heart like a jackhammer, crystallized hate pumps through you. This fucking Nazi needs to fucking be punched right fucking now.
What will you do?
