What was once shall be again - a short story "Grampa, tell me how it was when you were a kid.

" The old man sighed. It hurt him to remember the old days and how far America had fallen, but he enjoyed seeing the look on young James' face when he listened to stories of the grandfather's past. "Well, James, things were a lot different then. I remember getting up before the sun, just the dog and I, to go hunt mallards on the lake." The young teenager's eyes were wide in wonder. "It must have been hard to shoot ducks with an air rifle!" The grandfather sighed. "No, my boy, I used a shotgun back then. You see, we could own all types of guns. Shotguns, rifles, handguns, even guns like the military used. There used to be a constitutional amendment that stated "the right to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed. All that changed, though." "When?" "Well, James, it started in 2006. A political party called "Democrats" regained control of congress. The Democrats always hated guns. After Hillary Clinton, may she burn in Hell, won the presidency in 2008, it gave the Democrats carte blanche to eliminate the 2nd Amendment." "What did they do?" The old man unleashed a rasping cough. He hadn't told his family yet, but he was dying. He didn't want them to worry about him. "They declared all firearms illegal, with the exception of pneumatic guns like pellet rifles. They even made pellet pistols illegal. They said there was no need for the populace to be armed; that the government could protect its citizens. They used the PATRIOT Act, which was a series of anti-terrorism laws passed by the previous administration. They stated that all illegal firearms should be turned in to the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms. Any person that did not relinquish their weapons would be considered a terrorist and tried as such. But there were far too many people for that." "Within a year, tens of thousands of people were jailed for noncompliance. Prisons were bulging at the seams with people who's only crime was refusing to comply with an illegal law. So the democrats tried something else. They began branding us." The old man rubbed the back of his right hand, where an X shaped scar showed red against his pale leathery skin. "When a person was branded, they simply let us go home. No employers would hire someone that had been branded. Landlords refused to rent housing to people that carried the brand. We were treated as outcasts. The only friends

we had were others that had been branded. It didn't stop there, though. The Department of Homeland Security put our names in a computer somewhere. Everywhere we went, we were tracked. Police officers would stop us on the street and harass us for no reason. A lot of people were put back in jail for petty crimes that normally would not have carried a prison sentence. "You see, with the population disarmed, the government began trampling all over the Constitution and stripped us of our rights, little by little. You see, guns were a balance to the system. The government knew that as long as the people were armed, they had to somewhat behave themselves, lest the citizens rise up against them." James' grandfather was seized by a coughing fit. When he pulled the handkerchief away from his mouth, he saw a spot of blood on it. "People used to have privacy, James. Remember last week when Homeland Security walked into your parents' house without even knocking? It used to be that they couldn't do that. If someone was to be arrested, a warrant had to be signed by a judge. Before that judge would sign an arrest warrant, the police had to give a damn good reason that they believed the person was guilty. Also, it used to be that you could only hold a person in jail for a certain period of time before you had to charge them with a crime, or release them. It's not like that anymore. Just last week a very good friend of mine died in prison. They held him for six years. He was never charged with a crime." The old man looked at his grandson. The young lad actually looked angry. That was a good sign. "I wish I could have lived back then. It seems so nice to be able to do what you want," said the boy. "Oh, it was, James. Then, you lived out your life, and if you obeyed the laws, nobody bothered you. It used to be that the police were friends of the community. Their motto used to be 'to protect and serve.'" "Back then you could write and say things that criticized the government. That was called 'Freedom of speech.' That check on the system got a lot of government officials in trouble with the public, so naturally they got rid of that, too. Nowadays if you say something negative and the wrong person hears you, Homeland Security starts breathing down your neck. They'll probably throw you in the slammer on some make-believe charge..if they charge you at all." "I wish there was something I could do to make it like it was, Grampa." Bingo! That's exactly what I wanted to hear! "Perhaps, James. It's your bedtime. Scoot on off to bed and we'll talk more tomorrow."

The teenager hugged his grandfather and ran off to bed. After the old man was sure his grandson was asleep, he pulled a FedEx box out from underneath his recliner. It had just come in that day. Hurriedly he tore open the box. A pack of Marlboro cigarettes and a book of matches fell out. Tobacco had long been declared illegal, along with alcohol, red meat, and fatty foods. That had come about by the Health Act of 2022. The old man put a cigarette into his mouth and lit it with one of the matches. He inhaled and tasted the bitter smoke. It was like hugging an old friend. He sat in the dark and enjoyed one of the pleasures of his youth.

He died 8 months later. Outside of his family, few people attended his funeral. All were other outcasts. On James Madison Walters' 21st birthday, a soft knock sounded at the door of his New York City apartment. A man bearing X shaped scars on both hands handed him an envelope. That man bowed and left without saying a word. Curious, James opened the envelope. Inside was a sheet of paper with GPS coordinates written on it. The envelope also contained a key and another envelope. That envelope contained a scribbled message. Fireplace. Fourth brick from the left, second row from the bottom. I love you. Grampa. James did some searching on the computer and found that the GPS coordinates corresponded to some spot in the wilderness of Montana. He left NYC the next day. When he arrived at the coordinates, it was a ramshackle log cabin. It hadn't been used in years. He used a screwdriver to chip away at the mortar surrounding the brick. Behind that brick was a small compartment. There was a note sealed up inside of a plastic bag. James, You once told me that you wished you could do something to make it like it used to be. You're a grown man now, and the choice is yours. Dig down six feet twenty paces north from the tree out front. I know you'll do what's right, but if you do nothing I'll think nothing less of you. I love you. Grampa James went out to the gnarled tree in the front yard of the cabin and started to dig. Six feet down he got to a metal hatch. When he opened that hatch, he was astonished at what he saw. There were guns there. Lots of guns. There were crates that had warning placards

that said "DANGER! EXPLOSIVES!" There were books, too. Books that had titles like US Army Sniper Training field manual, Improvised Explosive Devices, Poor Man's James Bond, and Tactics of Guerrilla Warfare. James took the books back to the cabin and began reading them by firelight. He had to learn all that he could if he was to do what he thought his grandfather wanted him to do. Things would be how they once were. He would make his grandfather proud.