Stolen Liberties & Echoes Of Freedom
by CK Sheldon
Chapter 1
The soft rustle of blankets filled the room as Susie and Mikey leaped onto the large bed, pulling the covers up to their chins. Luke, their grandfather, couldn’t help but smile as they snuggled close, their eyes wide with curiosity.
“Grandpa,” Susie said, her voice eager, “can you tell us about the revolution some more? How it started?”
“And you still never told us about Sgt. Pat!” Mikey added, eyes gleaming. “He was your best friend that you grew up with, right?”
Luke’s face softened, a mix of fond memories and long-held stories playing in his mind. He loved these moments, recounting the strange, dark days of the Democrat coup that had gripped America in terror back in the 2020s. It was a tale he had told many times, first to his own children, and now to his grandchildren. But there were still parts he had kept close, moments too personal, too raw.
With a sigh, Luke shifted, sitting on the edge of the bed as the weight of those days pressed on him. He knew it was hard for him to just tell it all. Too many emotions, too much was on the line and he thought he was a dead man on more than just one occasion. “Alright,” he began, his voice carrying the gravitas of a man who had seen too much. “Let me tell you about my best friend, Sgt. Pat, and how he helped save us all from the evil of the Democrat Party.”
The children’s eyes widened, leaning forward as if the weight of the story could draw them in. Luke gazed into the past, back to the time when everything had gone sideways—when freedom had been stolen and people like him, like his friend Pat, had been thrust into the fight for survival.
“Our country and the entire western world went from free to dictatorship almost over-night back in the 2020s. The Marxists and Deep State moved on us all starting with Covid,” Luke started, his voice steady. “America had been slipping away, inch by inch, under the weight of their plans, their control. And when the Marxist coup came, everything we believed in was ripped apart. But Pat… Pat never gave up hope. He saw through the lies, even when the world fell into chaos. He was the first of our friends calling for revolution. He was the first of our friends to come to the realization that someone had to sacrifice first, to start it off to make sure you kids, and all children would not grow up in a dictatorship.”
The children listened intently, hanging on to every word as Luke prepared to dive into a story that would change their understanding of the past and the world today…
“Okay, kiddos,” Luke smiled, adjusting himself comfortably on the bed. “The story begins on that fateful day—the day they first tried to kill President Trump. It was a scary day for us all.”
Luke’s voice softened as he spoke, but the tension beneath his words was unmistakable. He glanced at his grandchildren, Susie and Mikey, their wide eyes fixed on him, hanging on every word. The memories, heavy and vivid, came rushing back.
“It happened at the rally,” Luke continued, his face hardening slightly. “We were there, right near the front. Me, Pat, your Uncle Ben, Kathy, and your Grandma too and many others. Those of us that didn’t grow up together had met online originally. We all volunteered for Whatfinger News together to fight censorship and what is called the Mockingbird media. On stage, The Founder himself, President Trump had just started speaking…’ The memories, heavy and vivid, came rushing back. Susie interrupted ‘what’s a Mockingbird media?’. With so much to tell, Luke just smiled. ‘The media back then was controlled by what we called the Deep State. They had agents in all news outlets on their payroll, to force their views and create fake stories to help their agenda. We’ll go more into Mockingbird later on.’
The rally was packed. A sea of red, white, and blue stretched as far as the eye could see. Luke stood with his old friends, all of them New Yorkers who had come together once again, not just for the rally, but for something much bigger.
Trump’s voice boomed over the loudspeakers, confident and defiant. The crowd roared in approval. Luke and the whole crowd of many thousands felt the energy rise, like a wave about to crash. But then—gunshots.
At first, it wasn’t clear where the shots were coming from, but the unmistakable crack of gunfire cut through the cheers. Trump was suddenly pulled down by his Secret Service detail, their bodies forming a human shield around him and over him.
Luke froze for a split second, his eyes darting to Pat, standing to his right. Pat didn’t flinch. His face, once calm, had now hardened into something primal. He was a born fighter and ready for action.
“They’re shooting,” Pat said, almost growling. His voice was low, but filled with anger. “They’re trying to kill him.” A combat vet himself, Pat knew gunshots better than most.
The rage that had simmered within them for years erupted in that moment. Luke felt it too. He wasn’t afraid. No one in the crowd was. Fear had long given way to something else—something stronger.
“If he’s dead,” Pat said, his eyes narrowing, “all bets are off. We fight. No more running. We take this country back. We will set the sparks as agreed.” He glanced at all of them, and hundreds of others who could hear him shout.
Luke could only nod, his fists clenched at his sides. He scanned the crowd. No one was fleeing. No one was hiding. They were all standing, waiting. Pointing toward where we all believed the shots came from. The air was thick with tension, and the anger was palpable.
“F***in’ A,” Ben shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. Ben, always the loudest, was a former Marine. His blood was boiling, and Luke could see it. Pat had served in the Navy for eight years. Luke himself had served in the Army reserves as an MP, a fact he often joked about with their other friend, David, who was always quick to remind them of his 11 Bravo infantry MOS in the Army. They were all fighters in one way or another.
The crowd around them bristled with fury, ready for what was to come. Kathy, the only woman in their group, glanced over at them, her face a mix of worry and determination. You know who was scared? The media. They cowered like little weasels that they were. Kathy…She had served as an MP at Ft McClellan in Alabama along with Luke, but never saw combat. Strangely though she was the best shot of all of them, and was an expert marksman. Women often were better shots than the men. If they only had the upper body strength of men, they would admittedly, on average be better soldiers than men were. Of course men in the military never liked to admit it, but the results were always there for anyone to see.
“Okay, guys, chill,” Kathy said, her voice trying to break through the storm of emotions. “He’s up.”
Luke turned, following her gaze to the stage. President Trump was on his feet again, bruised but alive. His face was a mask of defiance. He grabbed the microphone, his voice cracking but loud enough to be heard.
“Fight!” Trump shouted. “Fight! Fight!”
The crowd erupted into chants. “Fight! Fight! Fight!” The words echoed through the air, unrelenting, like a battle cry that had been waiting to break free for years. Tears filled the eyes of many, not from fear, but from the overwhelming sense of purpose that had gripped the crowd. Pride and patriotism ripped through the crowd. All history was changing, we knew. We felt it. At that very moment, we could face down a real army by ourselves, showing no fear.
Luke looked at Pat, then at Ben, then at Kathy. They all knew. This was the moment. They had talked about it for years, sitting in bars, huddled over beers, discussing the inevitable collapse of the country they loved. The day had come or was soon to arrive. Pat said they would try to kill Trump. Glenn Beck said the same, as well as Tucker and Alex Jones and many who understand the evil of what the Democrats truly were.
Kathy’s voice broke the spell for a moment. “Okay guys,” she said, her relief visible, “the revolution can wait, thank God.” Pat gave her his usual sly look. They had dated briefly, and she had dumped him due to his constant need to organize, and shoot, and train, every weekend, preparing for what he always said would be a real revolution in the United States. It was on and off again for them for many months.
Kathy calmed us all, but Pat wasn’t convinced. His face was tight, eyes still scanning the horizon. “This isn’t over,” he muttered. “They’ll try again. Maybe even today. You notice how the SS didn’t follow protocol. They wanted him shot folks… someone in the SS is a traitor. ”
Kathy shot him a warning look. “Maybe, but for now, let’s not do anything crazy.”
The Secret Service began whisking Trump away, his hand raised in defiance as they pulled him from the stage. The crowd, once chaotic, now focused on a singular purpose. Pat’s eyes followed the Secret Service, but his mind was on something else. The frustration of watching everything he valued slip away under a corrupt system was too much to bear.
“They almost killed him,” Pat said, his voice louder now, addressing the growing crowd around them. “We need to organize. We need to be ready.”
Ben’s jaw tightened, his eyes scanning the faces around him. “This is the time,” he said quietly, but with firm conviction. “I’m done talking.”
Luke’s heart pounded in his chest. He had known this day would come. They all had. The erosion of freedom, the lies, the corruption—it had all led to this moment. The anger, once simmering, was now a roaring flame. Something clicked in us all, knowing the time would soon come for what Pat wrote on the boards at his site Whatfinger as well as on the message boards on Breitbart and Gateway Pundit, almost daily. He would say, soon it will be sacrifice time.
Pat grabbed a nearby megaphone from another protester and raised it to his lips. “Who’s with us?” he shouted, his voice booming over the crowd. “They tried to take him out. What are we going to do about it? We all need to organize. Listen up…”
Continued on page 2 – CLICK HERE
Chapter Links
Chapter 1 page 1
Chapter 1 Page 2
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
