“This isn’t how it is supposed to end…” Is all I could muster as I watch my family home fade into the background. I do not know the men surrounding me or this bear of a man holding me like a bag of rice: sometimes over the shoulder. Gently held with two hands at times. But most definitely thrown on the ground when the bear man decided he wasn’t bear enough.

I am terrified. What person wouldn’t be? But I made only the most sincerest promises to myself: “Give Them Hell!” Given how swiftly I was taken, I do not believe I will be the only prisoner to lay claim to the thought of giving them karmatic justice. As I plan their demise, I try not to let the fear in my throat reach my stomach or I am fucked.

We make it to whatever shantytown they have made to run their “business.” I hear muffled voices everywhere. Screaming is heard but faint. I look around and I recognize so many of these folks: neighbors, friends from school, parents and kids. I wish this were a dream, but we all knew something like this would happen.

We are lined up, given numbers and labels. But these aren’t our names. These are genders, pronouns, races and disabilities. Not ones we have chosen or even ones we had entering the world. These are ones we are told to be. Once a person is captured or has been accused of any crime of identity, they are to be removed from society and restructured to their liking. Whatever it takes. Pills, drugs, torture. Anything to make us pliable for their agenda.

We must resist. But how? If we lose hope, they win. If they succeed, we die. I am willing to burn everything down and die with it if it means stopping the war on being human. Would you?