A letter to the president

Dear President Trump,

I am one of your “worst people in the world,” an “enemy of the people” as you put it. A member of the media.

I take it I am worse than Adolf Hitler or Joseph Stalin.

Worse than the man who kidnapped an 11-year-old boy, raped him repeatedly and then shot him in the head.

Worse than the sick individual murdering women on Long Island.

Or the trifling sinners, such as the former local sheriff who stole thousands of taxpayer dollars from his own employees.

Or even the guy who runs the red light.

As such an awful person, I wish to repent. They say confession is good for the soul. Hear my confession, Mr. President. Listen to what I, as an enemy of the people, did with my day today, and explain to me my evil so that I may cleanse myself of whatever it is you say possesses me.

“Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise,” a proverb attributed to Benjamin Franklin, who I assume fits your definition of a good American. I went to bed at 9:15 p.m. Friday night, and got out of bed at 4:25 a.m. Saturday morning. Evil is not an early riser, Mr. President.

I made my bed, an old trick I learned to discourage myself from getting back into it. I separated laundry and started the wash, because even enemies of the people need clean underwear, Mr. President.

And then I washed dinner dishes from the night before. What did you have for dinner, Mr. President? Something with lobster, I’ll bet, or something pronounced in French. I had hot dogs. Being an enemy of the people doesn’t pay as well as being president.

I made a pot of coffee using Starbucks beans I bought with a Christmas gift certificate.

Then I went for a walk. I find it soothing to my soul, those early morning walks, when only the stars and I are awake. As an enemy of the people my soul is often troubled, but those walks are restorative. Sometimes I pick up litter. Sometimes I help a turtle cross the road. But mostly I just walk and plan my day, or review the previous day, and wonder how I can make the world a better place for you Mr.President.

I am, after all, an enemy of the people.

Upon my return I enjoyed a cup of coffee, tossed clothes into the dryer, and did some work on my books. Did you know I sell ebooks to make extra money, Mr. President? The enemy-of-the-people business isn’t what it once was, and I need every extra buck I can lay my hands on. Sometimes that money pays my water bill. Sometimes it puts gas in my 11-year-old car. Sometimes it’s enough to buy a bowl of chili at Wendy’s.

Once I put away the laundry and wrapped up my bookwork, I drove a load of donations to the SOCKS thrift shop. What is SOCKS, you ask? No, it is not a leftist media elite think tank designed to bring down a paranoid, schizophrenic oligarchy.

It’s a cat shelter.

Save Our Cats and Kittens. I volunteered for SOCKS in the 1990s, scooping cat shit and scrubbing pee from plastic litter boxes. It was hard, dirty work, but as an enemy of the people I deserved no less. These days I’m on the board of directors, and while I don’t do a lot for the organization, I do donate a TON of supplies and thrift shop items. Today it was plastic bags, newspapers, shirts and disc golf discs recruited from my fellow enemies at the office. SOCKS can use these items to sell in their thrift shop, earning income to continue their mission to provide for the homeless cats and kittens of Okaloosa County.

During my day I stopped at a convenience store to buy a Diet Pepsi, where I held the door open for an elderly man struggling with a walker. It was a calculated move on my part, Mr. President, a link in the overall objective to woo the public with acts of kindness to deflect our real intent – to subjugate America with our leftist media elite values and principles. I also thanked a woman who let me move in line ahead of her when they opened a new cash register. My gratitude was sincere but could have been interpreted as a sly move on my part to ingratiate myself to an innocent supporter of YOUR presidency for purposes that, well, are better left unspoken.

Then it was off to my elderly mother’s residence, where I planted tomatoes in her front yard, planted a kalanchoe in a terra cotta container, filled in a hole with a bag of sand, washed the lawm mower ( I know – WHO in his right mind washes a lawn mower but a leftist media elite stooge ) after replacing the spark plug and air filter, and then prepped her deck for a water sealant treatment. I know. It all sounds very innocent, Mr. President. But believe me, there’s an ulterior motive to all this.

And that motive is:

To live life.

And that life, Mr. President, while very different from your own, is virtually no different than the lives of the people who elected you. It is the life of an ordinary American, one who has worked hard, obeyed the laws, turned the other cheek, and participated in the American dream. It is the life of a good American who is angry that you have demonized him as an “enemy of the people” and among the “worst people in the world,” all because he believes people should know the truth, and you do not want people to know the truth, at least as it applies to you.

You want the best for America, Mr. President. I believe that. But you are going about it all wrong. You think you can bully your way into getting what you want, and browbeat anybody who opposes you. That may be how it works behind the scenes at Trump Towers, but that is NOT how it works at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Maybe you should have bothered to look into that before you ran for president.

Go back to your life of dinners with lobster that are pronounced in French, Mr. President.

I will eat hot dogs, and beg people to buy my books so I can put gas in my car, while you fly to your mansion on the taxpayers’ dime and tell them I am an “enemy of the people.”

Gosh, Mr. President. I think we both know who the real enemy is.

About the author:

Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”

Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.

As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.

Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .