June is here, the kids have finished school, and although the sun isn’t quite in the right spot to call it summer, it feels pretty official around these parts!  Although, I saw on Twitter the other day that it snowed like a foot somewhere in Canada. I cannot even imagine.

Catching Up

May was so busy around here. I produced a new short story up to two times a week, and also spent time polishing up sections of my manuscript Conjoined. I’m on the hunt for a content editor on the cheap side, if you know anyone. And of course kid-related activities! Those alone can make you lose track of time! Needless to say, I am ready for some downtime.  My creativity cup needs a warmup!  How about you? Have any big plans now that summer is around the corner?

Story Time

This short story is bound to get a reaction out of some of you.  It has the words ‘terrorist’ and ‘Pakistani’ packed into 950 words.  I’m positive I’m on some kind of watch list now if I wasn’t already with my search history.  Yet, the powers that be must also know that I write fiction for a living (at least part-time anyway), so I’m going with it.  This story is another nearly ripped from the headlines narrative with a little bit of Handmaid’s Tale Dystopian inspiration.

It’s a Flash Fiction story, so it should take you about 10-15 minutes, depending on how fast you read.  As always, leave a review, be entered to win a $5 Amazon Gift Card.  Important: check that you leave an accurate email address because that’s how I will notify you.  Last month, I couldn’t send the winner their prize, because their email address wasn’t working for me!

How About Canada

As I sit under the harsh fluorescent light of my windowless room, I can hear the sound of pouring rain thrashing against the building. I imagine it coming down at a 45-degree angle, colliding with the brick façade, trickling over grout lines to land on the gravel and dirt that surrounds the compound. It’s been 90 days since I’ve been locked in this room, with its hard, concrete floors, gunmetal cot, and stainless steel toilet. I’m in disciplinary segregation. A place I never dreamed I would be in a million years. I have no idea what is going on in the outside world, other than the rain, and the whispers I hear through my food slot. On occasion, I hear someone’s plea, that there’s been a terrible misunderstanding. I’ve lost track if those shouts are from another poor soul or my own.

Six months ago, I was sitting at an outdoor café, snapping photos of my frothy, artistic coffee for my Instagram account when out of nowhere I was surrounded by men in military gear and machine guns leveled at my head. One of them, wearing a black helmet reminiscent of an imperial stormtrooper and a black mask that covered everything but his eyes, shouted commands like ‘put down the phone,’ and ‘raise your arms where I can see them. Slowly.’

I was so startled, I dropped my phone in my coffee, splashing steaming hot liquid in my face and across my bare neckline, exposed from the v-neck tee I was wearing on the warm Spring day. I jumped up and screamed. This caused a trigger-happy trooper to overreact and shoot me. Everything was a blur afterward. I remember dropping to the ground, writhing in pain, thinking I was dying. Angry accusations laced with curse words flew back and forth between the unit, while bystanders screamed and questioned what was happening. After what seemed like an eternity, sirens and medical personnel appeared. Rushed to a nearby facility, doctors performed emergency life-saving surgery to repair the axillary artery in my right arm. I only know this because I woke up in ICU a day later without any recollection of how I got there.

My uninjured arm was handcuffed to the bed rail, and another stormtrooper stood guard outside the glass door of my room. I asked each person who entered what the hell was going on. The only answers were sideways glances and stares as if I had sprouted horns and a forked tongue overnight. During a shift change, I encountered a young Pakistani orderly who was willing to answer some of my questions. He didn’t know much, only that I had been declared a terrorist and was subdued with force to save hundreds of people from an attempted suicide bombing. Shock didn’t even begin to describe the panic I felt. I am an American citizen, born and raised in the South Bronx! I run a successful Social Media business and have never been in trouble with the law! I’m about as straight-laced as one can be.

Yet, according to news reports, I was operating under the direction of a world terrorist network, who used subliminal messaging to brainwash everyday citizens. Through my Instagram and Twitter accounts, I disseminated images and messages of hate. I’m a foodie and yoga enthusiast! I take pictures of nature, my meals, and selfies in yoga poses! However, posts flashing across TV screens and web feeds were of me burning copies of the bible and chanting anti-American speech, claiming allegiance to the terror network. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It sure looked like me in the clips I managed to catch on the TV monitors outside my room. My new friend smuggled in newspaper articles about my capture, and it was hard not to believe what was written. Except that I knew the truth. And that was, I am absolutely, positively not the person they say I am.

After I was considered well enough to be discharged, I was brought to a maximum security prison to await trial. I was given no phone call or privileges afforded under the fifth and sixth amendments. I was brought before an exhausted-looking judge, who took all of 60 seconds to look over my case and ordered me back to detention for 30 days while they awaited results from further investigation.

Placed in the general population, in those 30 days, I was raped, beaten, and tattooed against my will. When I defended myself against another assault, I was placed in solitary, which at the time I didn’t mind. But, now I’m about to lose my shit. How can it be that I’ve been removed from my life for 90 days and no one has tried to defend me or get me released? Where are my family members, my friends, my followers?

The electronic buzz of my door opening has me cowering in the corner. I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention how the guards have treated me. Let’s just say, humans, when given even just a little bit of authority and power, tend to abuse it.

“Come on, you. You’re being released.”


“Let’s go, fucker. I haven’t got all day!”

I’m escorted to a room, given my street clothes, and some money for an Uber.

“The United States Government apologizes for any undue harm or stress during their inquiry. Have a nice life…Asshole!” A guard shoves me out a metal door and into an empty parking lot.

A Toyota Prius drives slowly towards me. A young man who looks like my Pakistani orderly jumps out.

“I was told to take you anywhere you want to go. The trip is on me.”

“How about Canada?”

Leave Reviews Please! It really does help to know what you did (or did not) like about the story.  It helps me become a better writer, which is why I like to reward you with GCs!

— All the best, KTG.

© K.T. George 2018 | This post was first seen on


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Short Story Series: Story 9 – How About Canada
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5 thoughts on “Short Story Series: Story 9 – How About Canada

  • June 2, 2018 at 6:55 pm

    Yikes! Her whole life was altered because of a misidentification. And even if she had done those things, where is due process of law? Scary. Yet not all that hard to imagine these days.

  • June 2, 2018 at 7:27 pm

    Whether it be in America, anyplace in America for that matter, OR a foreign country – Incarceration, of any type, is scary. Take it from an ex-con. In a foreign country, there are no 5th and 6th Amendment rights. Great story, K.T.

  • June 2, 2018 at 9:33 pm

    I feel like I read a real-life story like this not that long ago. It really made me stop and think and it makes me stop and think now. As an aside, I like your snarky description of your character. I’m assuming it was a she but totally could’ve been a he too. Great job.

  • June 3, 2018 at 7:56 am

    This story took me away and captivated me as I read. I felt as if I were there in the cell, outdoor cafe and hospital. Thank God for people like the orderly who give us hope. Your writing is amazing. Can’t wait to read Conjoined.

  • June 5, 2018 at 11:26 am

    I can’t decide whether to like this or hate it. The absurdity of the Instagram fellow had me laughing, but the arrest part made me cheer until you mentioned Mainstream Media. I think the government has the right to arrest people who might be a threat to our safety. And they have the right to do their investigation. Not sure our civil liberties should be violated, but we are stuck between a rock and a hard place. Anyway, for a fiction story, it got me thinking and that is something. Kudos for that!


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