Fag Enablers

Lachlan Brown
The yellow bus slid around the corner and came to a stop. The doors opened with a hiss to reveal a large man with a cowboy hat and sunglasses sitting in the driver's seat. He stared, expressionless, at a younger man who was getting on the bus. “Adult fare to Turtlecreek please.” “This route don't go to Turtlecreek no more. You'll have to change at Centerville.” “That's fine.” “That'll be two fifty then.” The younger man dug the coins out of his pocket and gave them to the driver. The doors closed behind him and the bus began to move. He stumbled to a seat about half way down the bus and sat down. There were maybe two or three other people on the bus, most were already home from work for the day, so the trip to Centerville was a quiet one. A few passengers got off at Oakwood, and one at Kettering, so by the time the man reached his stop he was the only passenger left on the bus. He thanked the bus driver and alighted. This unexpected delay gave him a bit of time for reflection. He had grown up in Turtlecreek, Warren County, Ohio, and had went to university in Dayton which was a few miles north. After getting his PhD, he had left for a holiday in Sweden. That was in 2010. A few weeks into his vacation, he had heard the news that the Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Dayton had been heavily bombed by Islamic terrorists, effectively destroying the entire city. So he had stayed in Sweden. Now it was July of 2014, and he had been offered a job at the new Air Force base in a completely rebuilt Dayton. It's name had changed of course. It was still undergoing the research into chemical weaponry that had angered the terrorists and it didn't want them to find out. Now there was some rumour going around that some Arab country or other was about to wage full scale religious war on the USA, nothing substantial of course, but the research lab had hired every good biochemical engineer they could find in order to get their weapons made. Since he had a PhD and was a local, they thought he was an obvious choice. His name was Alfred Johnson. He was about five foot eight inches tall, had an untidy mop of light brown hair, wore glasses, and looked like he hadn't bothered to shave for a few days. Today he was wearing blue jeans, sneakers, and a button-up shirt that didn't look particularly fashionable. But then, he didn't look like the sort of person who would care. His next bus drove up and came to a stop. “Adult fare to Turtlecreek please.”

“Two dollar fifty.” His lip curled in a slight snarl. He had been expecting a three dollar fare all the way home from Dayton. Nevertheless, he paid his fare and took a seat up the back of the even emptier bus. He was exhausted after a particularly intense meeting at work and let his mind wander into thoughts of giant mushrooms and purple squirrels dancing in a desert. He was suddenly brought back to Earth as the bus was about three quarters of the way to Turtlecreek, passing through Springboro. Out the window he could see a building with a neatly kept lawn. It had a large signboard out the front of it, and as the bus passed it he saw the words: SPRINGBORO BAPTIST CHURCH Sunday Service: 10am Pastor: Rev. David Waldron GOD HATES FAGS If God did exist, Alfred thought, He would surely hate the Springboro Baptists more than gay people. But what really caught his attention was the name of the Pastor. Before Alfred had gone to Sweden, the Church had been under the leadership of it's founder, the old Pastor Mike Waldron. David was his eldest son, around the same age as Alfred, and they had known each other at university. He hadn't seemed as crazy as his father back then, but times change. That was something Alfred was becoming uncomfortably aware of all too quickly.

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