Warning: Dangerously Long Author's note ahead; please read!

Hey, everyone. Yesterday's election here in the US was... quite a spectacle. In case you didn't guess by the description, this oneshot gets pretty political.

That being said, I'm not trying to rant or shame anyone's views. My characters might, sure, but they're all confused and conflicted.

I'm guessing that if you're reading this you're probably not a big Trump supporter because:

-Most millennials aren't and I honestly can't see anyone over the age of 25 or 30 reading this.

-The religious right carried Trump and we all know that video games are satanic for many of those people (pokemon especially, but any one will do)

-Mother 3 in particular goes in direct contrast to Trump's authoritarianism while emphasizing love and respect

So I'm probably inside my own liberal echo chamber, just like my characters are. But I wanted this story to be about... well, the story. My characters express strong views, many of which are not completely logical and stem from anger or feelings of powerlessness. They're pointed, biased, aggressive in their opposition to Trump... but I think that there are real people like this, and I wanted to tell their story. Not to say that they're right or wrong (although it's not terribly difficult to discern my personal opinion), but because stories matter for what they are.

And what's a more time-tested story than a teenager feeling rejected by the ever-changing world around them? The characters struggle to find their own place in this hostile political environment, and I don't think that their specific views really matter in the end. In this story, Lucas and Claus take the role of Nowhere Islander refugees in America, trying to come to terms with the hate around them. It's not even about the election, really. This story has been told many ways, and I simply want to put my own twists on it.

So even if you disagree with my politics, I hope that you enjoy the narrative.

Best wishes,

Connor

End of Author's Note

Love Fades Into the Night

"Claus."

No. This couldn't be possible.

"Claus!"

He dreamed about this. He feared this. He wondered what he could possibly do if it happened.

Now, he had to live through this new reality.

"Claus, can you hear me?"

Lucas walked into Claus' room, the light of Claus' computer screen dancing off of his soft face. His eyes were wide, pleading. Claus couldn't bear to look into them.

"Lucas, I…"

"You don't have to tell me." Lucas' voice quivered like a leaf in the wind. "I saw who won the election."

What should Claus say to that? What could Claus say to that? When Trump supporters vandalized churches in black neighborhoods or threatened to tear down mosques, Claus always told Lucas that they were just the vocal minority. Their bluster didn't match up with their actions, and even if it did… well, there were only a few. Most people would be fine, and they wouldn't dare come after Nowhere Islanders next.

All of those words had been lies. Claus lied to Lucas; Claus lied to himself. The American people wanted a president who would unleash his followers like rabid dogs upon the weak.

"Give the people bread and circuses," Claus muttered. "That's his plan, but he's not even giving them the bread."

"Claus?" Lucas said. "Are you all right?"

"Am I all right? What do I say to you, Lucas? All of this time, I told you that everything would be okay. I told you that nobody would actually vote for a maniac like him. And now…" Claus pounded his fist on the desk. Hot tears rolled down his cheeks. "And now…"

"Claus."

"I betrayed you, Lucas. I deceived you. This isn't a country bound together by hope and love. It's a country torn apart by hate. And in this country, we don't even have the right to exist."

Because as everyone knew from stereotypes, Nowhere Islanders were lazy and spent most of their time drinking. They were almost something less than human.

It didn't help that Claus' father Flint fit that stereotype perfectly.

"What do we do, Lucas?" Claus asked, burying his face in his hands. "What do we do?"

Claus heard a knock on the front door. He looked in the direction of the sound and saw Lucas' body stiffen.

"Don't worry," Claus said, putting a hand on Lucas' shoulder. "They aren't going to storm our house down. Even they wouldn't go that far."

Lucas started crying.

Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. Now Lucas was terrified that angry men with guns would shoot up their only safe space and leave it in ruins as an offering to their candidate.

And honestly? Claus wasn't exactly calm, either.

Claus walked up to the door, hearing Lucas tiptoe behind him. Claus ran a finger over the rotting wood of the door, wondering offhandedly if it would give him a splinter if he touched it too often.

Another knock on the door. Claus took a deep breath and swung the door open, revealing a pale-faced Fuel.

"There's something that I think you should see," Fuel said.

Claus honestly expected Lucas to stay behind. But here he was, walking alongside Fuel and Claus in the dead of night. Claus used the flashlight feature of his phone to keep the path ahead of him clear in the darkness of the night, but he also wanted to keep Lucas' face illuminated. How else could he tell if his brother was hurting?

Claus' heart pounded louder and louder in his chest with every step that he took. Nothing fazed Fuel, not facing down a horde of jeering bullies, not facing down his 200-pounds-of-muscle father, nothing. And here he was, visibly shaken.

"I think that there's technically a curfew," Fuel said. "And I think that we're past it. So if any cops show up, we need to scatter."

Claus shook his head.

"They don't know that we're Nowhere Islanders at first glance," he said. "If we were black then they might hold us at gunpoint, but we're protected by the color of our skin. So long as we don't talk and give away our accent, we should be fine."

"That's just so wrong." Lucas bit his lip. "Why should our skin color even matter?"

"Well, not all cops are like that," Claus admitted. "I'm just having a bit of a bad day right now."

"But many of them are," Fuel said with an edge to his voice.

"Jeff told me that the main problem was that the police don't have a way of weeding out blatantly murderous cops, not that most of them are actually malicious."

"Of course he would," Fuel spat. "That kid thinks that he knows everything."

"Fuel," Lucas said. "Please. Jeff is a nice person. He…"

"All right, I'm sorry." Fuel sighed. "It's been a long night."

"Hasn't it indeed?" Claus said, shaking his head.

Silence reigned as Claus walked alongside Fuel and Lucas for several more minutes. Even the sounds of footsteps seemed to fade.

"Well, here we are," Fuel finally said.

Fuel led Claus and Lucas off of the dusty road and into a field of tall grass. Claus sniffed and picked up a burnt smell nearby. That was odd…

"Fuel," Lucas said. "Your house is close, right?"

Oh no.

Fuel nodded, his face grim.

"I think that it would be better just to show you."

Fuel motioned for Claus and Lucas to follow. Claus waded through burnt grass, his heart in his throat. He looked into the darkness and shrunk back. What could be hiding in the everlasting shadows?

Remember, Claus, he told himself. Your skin color will protect you. It's the last bit of safety that you have. They won't go after you and Lucas first.

Claus made out the general, shadowy shape of Fuel's house. Fuel motioned for Lucas and Claus to hurry up.

It didn't take long for Claus to see the burn marks on the side of Fuel's house.

"Fuel…" Lucas said. "What happened here?"

Fuel sighed, walking up to the side of the wall and running a hand over the wooden panels, sticking his hand through burn holes in the wall.

"…It was the pigmasks," Fuel said.

"Not surprising, all things considered," came a voice from behind.

Fuel stiffened; Claus knew that they both would recognize that voice anywhere. He turned around to see Jeff walking towards the house, his spectacles flashing in the light emanating from Claus' phone.

"Jeff," Fuel said, his voice cold.

"Yes, you're wondering what I'm doing here." Jeff frowned, examining the black wall. "Hmm, that is rather troublesome. Most people don't really like the pigmasks, but I never thought that they'd go this far."

"Get away from my house," Fuel said, his eyes turning murderous.

"Fuel," Claus said. "Give him a chance to explain himself."

"Your father sent me here to assess the damage, actually," Jeff said. "Architecture is not my strong suit, I must admit, but…" Jeff turned to face Fuel. "I'm free and awake on this cloudless night."

"Hmph," Fuel said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, get on with it then."

"Fuel…" Lucas said, his eyes conflicted.

"There's something else that you should probably see," Jeff said. "Follow me."

Jeff led Claus and the others over to the other side of Fuel's house. The writing was so bright that Claus didn't even need his phone flashlight to see.

On the side of Fuel's house, the words "Trump 2016" were spray-painted in red. A red cross made of the same spray paint surrounded the words, giving off the appearance of blood.

"No," Fuel said, running up to the wall. "Those fucker-"

"Looks like they took some inspiration from the Klan," Jeff said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Makes sense, I suppose. The pigmasks dress in uniforms to hide their faces. They lose their status as an individual and simply become a cog in a larger machine. In their mind, any action that they commit reflects their group and cannot be pinned down to an individual."

"Right, the effect of groupthink," Claus said. "We learned in psychology class about how cults operate that way, but…"

"But it's all around us," Jeff said, "From these pigmasks here to equally radical liberal groups to even our military."

"I'll kill the people who did this," Fuel said, his voice dangerously soft. "We're allowed to buy a gun here in America, right? I'll get my hands on one and shoot holes in all of the pigmasks I can find."

"Careful," Jeff said. "If you make it sound like an actual threat, I might have to report you to the police."

"Oh is that so?" Fuel bared his teeth, taking a step forward and looming over Jeff. "Well, why don't you try having pigmasks burn your house down? Oh, wait. I forgot." Fuel kept his tone and pitch at a natural level but added venom into his words. "You've never had to go through anything difficult in your life."

"That," Jeff said, crossing his hands over his chest. "Is entirely irrelevant. In America, we don't shoot holes in anyone who we think is a terrorist."

"So long as they're white, anyway," Claus said.

"There is a bit of sad truth to that," Jeff admitted. "And trust me, Fuel. I do understand why you're angry. But if you strike back now, you look like the bad guy. You don't want to opt into fights that you can't win. I, too, would enjoy those pigmasks a lesson in a gruesome manner, but it simply isn't practical."

A smile slowly spread on Fuel's lips. After a few seconds, he laughed.

"Even when you talk about violence, you keep that same, dull tone of voice," Fuel said. "I'm glad that you get it. I was scared that you were going to defend the pigmasks for a second."

Claus realized that he had been holding in his breath and exhaled. He didn't know how someone as small and physically frail as Jeff could stand up to an angry Fuel. When Fuel spouted steam out of his ears, Claus usually took that as a sign to run away.

He looked over at Lucas to see his brother shaking, staring at the words spray-painted on the wall.

"Why?" Lucas said. "I just don't understand it. I know that there are some bad people in the world, but…"

"I could go through the psychology behind the pigmask organization," Jeff said. "But I doubt that's what you're looking for right now."

"Why?" Lucas repeated, his eyes wide with sorrow.

"People gain joy out of hurting others," Fuel said. "And we Nowhere Islanders are just ants to be crushed under their boot."

"Most people are," Jeff said. "While Trump's supporters argue that he will not follow through with all of his promises and threats, this incident shows that he certainly emboldens his followers. Here, they take out their anger on immigrants and minorities… and I've heard them say terrible things to women as well."

"Then how did he win?" Claus said. "Those people make up more than half of the population."

"That's the question, isn't it?" Jeff said. "People have always found ways to oppress the powerless majority. That didn't change with democracy; people just need to find more creative ways to do it."

"I want to go home," Lucas said. "But… This could have been our house, couldn't it?"

Silence fell over the group.

"As much as I want to deny it…" Fuel snarled. "My father and I didn't really do anything to anger the pigmasks in particular. I think that they just assaulted our house because they were bored and angry. I would cheer if everyone who voted for Donald Trump died tomorrow."

"That… is a bit extreme," Jeff said, adjusting his glasses. "But I won't deny that we live in a scary time. Statistically, we're safer than ever, but it does feel like there's a terrorist in a pig suit always waiting around a corner, doesn't it?"

One look into Lucas' eyes told Claus the truth: Lucas would live in constant terror for the next four years.

That realization nearly broke Claus' heart.

"Yeah," Claus said. "It's late. We should probably get some sleep before school tomorrow. Make sure to tell everyone you know about this, Fuel. Our generation gets a lot of flak for various practices, but in our hearts…"

"Most of us aren't terrorists, and we have at least one redeeming quality that separates us from tapeworms," Fuel finished, his lip tilting upwards to form a sneer. "Yeah, they'll understand. I'll let people know. Try to get some sleep, you two. We can't have our two Nowhere Islander superstars failing tomorrow's math quiz, can we?"

"That we can't." In spite of himself, Claus smiled. "Good night."

Claus led a shaking Lucas back to his house, but he had no intention of staying there once he put Lucas to bed.

Claus checked the time on his phone. 2:00 AM. Might as well stay up for the rest of the night since he had to wake up at 6:30 to go to school. A breezed passed over him, penetrating through his puffy jacket and chilling him to the bone.

No matter how many layers Claus put on, he felt exposed to the chills that came with the dead of night.

He sighed, stepping onto the wooden porch. He noticed a swing hanging down, held up by a pair of ropes. A smiling doll sat on the swing, but Claus couldn't picture the grin as anything other than mocking.

The institution of this country is against us, Claus thought. Better get used to seeing knives and blood in the shadows.

Claus walked up and knocked on the door.

The wait was the worst part. If her parents came to the door, how could he explain what he was doing at 2:00 in the morning? Still, they should be asleep… But at the same time, Donald Trump should have lost that election. Claus wondered if the universe had something against him and Lucas.

The door swung open, revealing Ana's concerned face. Thankfully, she didn't look annoyed, although she did raise an eyebrow in question. After a moment's pause, she motioned for him to come in.

Claus had seen Ana's living room a couple of times, and it looked as orderly as ever this time. White and beige cushions matched colors with couches and chairs. Antique pottery stood on shelves and the floor. Ana sat down on the couch.

"Why don't you sit down?" Ana said, tapping on the cushion to her left. "And please, tell me what's going on. I assume that this isn't about some last-minute question for the math quiz tomorrow."

Claus gulped and nodded. He set himself down next to Ana on her couch, still trying to distract himself from how nice and clean everything was. Claus' home always made him feel sad, stressed. It served as an analogy of his life: falling further and further beyond repair.

If money could buy a nice, orderly house like this, then Claus hoped to strike it big one day.

"Why don't you explain what happened?" Ana said, placing a hand on Claus' arm.

Claus told her everything, from Fuel's threats to Jeff's logical evaluation of the whole situation. Ana's face grew darker and darker as he continued his stories.

"The pigmasks spray painted a cross around the words 'Trump 2016?' They're a disgrace to all true Christians." She paused. "It sounds a lot like something that the Klan would do, actually."

"Jeff made that comment as well." Claus shivered. "It feels like I'm living a hundred years ago. I thought that people were good, that we would be able to band together and defeat the darkness around us, but that only happens in the stories. In real life, most of us are cold-hearted and act on sadistic tendencies."

"Well, I don't think I'm in a position to deny that claim. And these pigmasks… they've been getting bolder and bolder recently. Your story is quite sad, but I'm not really surprised at what happened." Ana paused. "I'm sorry; I probably sound insensitive right now."

"No. It's fine." Claus took a deep breath, taking in the clean smell of the room. "You have personal reasons for hating Trump as well."

"That's true." Ana made a disgusted face. "I don't particularly want him grabbing my pussy. My mom does, though."

"Hmm?"

"She voted for him." Ana shrugged. "Both of my parents did."

Claus' heart skipped a beat.

"You're kidding."

"Again, it's not like I was surprised. The religious right generally supported Trump, despite everything that he says." She flashed a wry grin. "I wonder how low they'll descend to keep on justifying their hatred. Not that everyone else is a saint, but…"

"It's scary," Claus said, hugging his arms. "I don't know what to tell Lucas. When I got home after the incident, Lucas asked me if we would be okay. He asked me if we would get deported. I wanted to say that we were going to be fine, but…" Claus squeezed his eyes shut. "I just don't know. I'd be lying to myself if I told Lucas that people want us here."

"Well," Ana said, looking into Claus' eyes. "Some people want you here."

"You know what I mean." Claus shook his head. "I can see Lucas starting to crack. He's looking at all of the hatred around him, and he's terrified. He doesn't know if we're even going to make it four years, and honestly? I'm not certain either! I want to reassure him, but I don't want to lie to him."

"I'm… sorry." Ana averted her gaze. "I wish that I could help, but I have no idea what to do either."

"I remember when I first found Lucas with a bottle," Claus said. "It was a couple years ago. He had taken up drinking just like my dad. I took it away and tried to make him stop. I spent more time monitoring him, and I started to see his life. Bullies would harass him around every corner, and he would never fight back. He would just shrink back and cry. Once I taught him to stand up for himself, the alcohol went away."

"You're scared of him relapsing." Ana's eyes widened. "As if you didn't have enough on your plate. I'm really sorry, Claus."

Claus bit his lip. Was it really fair for him to dump all of his problems on Ana like this? In fact, she always seemed to be the one giving, and he always seemed to be the one taking. He would head over to her house on an almost weekly basis to study math and chemistry since she could explain concepts better than the teachers… And because her house gave off such a relaxing aura. In his own house with Flint, Claus always had to be on guard.

"Did I ever tell you how much I admire you?" Ana said.

Claus blinked. He waited for the smile, the laugh, the "gotcha!" But none of it came. Ana looked at him with a concerned expression on her face.

"Wait, you don't actually mean that, do you?" Claus said. "You're wonderful! You got a 35 out of 36 on the ACT last year, you have straight As in school, and you're all set to go to college and make a difference in the world. Compare that with me…"

"Academic results don't mean everything, Claus."

"Fine." Claus rolled his eyes. "You're also one of the nicest people I've met, and you're playing varsity soccer. I still don't know how you do it!"

"It's easy," Ana said. "All my life, this is what I was expected to be. You always talk about how I know so much about calculus and chemistry, but I've learned a lot of this stuff before taking the class. You, on the other hand, need to catch up on years of education that you missed, while working on your father's farm and babysitting Lucas."

Claus blushed. He never knew how to respond to compliments, which usually wasn't an issue because he didn't receive them often.

"You get me motivated to work whenever you come over to my house and study," Ana said. "That determined look on your face just makes me smile on the inside. I hope that you never lose that, Claus."

Okay. Was she trying to make him feel better, or was Claus not just a parasite sucking up her valuable time and energy?

"I'm glad that you came to me," Ana said. "And I wish that I could do more to help. I guess I just wanted to say that you're doing a wonderful job. I know how badly you want to go to medical school and become a doctor. It suits you; you've always been better at mending things than breaking them."

She must be pulling my leg, Claus thought. There's no way that she could possibly mean all of this. She's probably going to be prom queen, and I'm just me.

"And I know how hard this must be for you," Ana said. "Again, I'm sorry."

Ana leaned over and kissed Claus on the cheek. Warmth spread through his body.

Did she just…?

"I had to do that," Ana said. "I apologize if you find the kiss repulsive, but it's been a long day for me too."

Repulsive? It was more than anything Claus could have hoped for.

"Are you…?" Claus asked, unable to get the words out. "Do you…?"

"Do I love you?" Ana said, sighing and looking up at the ceiling. "Honestly, I'm not sure what love is supposed to feel like."

Claus waited for her next words with bated breath.

"But these feelings in my heart for you…" Ana turned back to him and smiled. "I promise that they're real."

Suddenly, the world got a little bit brighter.

"I don't know if you want anything official to go on between us," Ana said, "But I'll always be here if you need me. I know that you must have a lot of built-up emotions, and I know that it can be hard to deal with them. If there's anything that you need to let out…" Ana smiled. "Let me help you. It's the least I can do."

Oh, Ana…

"Claus?" Ana said, her voice concerned. "You're… crying. I didn't offend you, did I?"

Was he? It took Claus a couple moments to register the tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Thank you," Claus whispered. "I…"

The rest of the words got stuck in his throat. Ana smiled and embraced him in a hug.

"Is this all right?" she said, bringing Claus in close. "If you're uncomfortable…"

"It's perfect," Claus said. "Thank you, Ana. It's just so hard to deal with this all alone. And I'm not even the person who's hurt most by this."

"You're not?" Ana said.

"Not on a general level. Even though Lucas and I are Nowhere Islanders, we can pass for European Americans because of how we look. I can only imagine how bad this must be for people who aren't protected by the color of their skin."

"We'll pull through," Ana said. "You and Lucas are going to be okay."

"Can you… really say that?"

"Things might get tough," Ana said. "They might get unbearable. But Lucas has you, and you have me. So if you go through hell and back, at least you won't have to do it alone."

"I don't think it's that simple."

"Maybe it isn't, but at least it's something."

At least it's something, and a better something than Claus would have received back in the war-torn Nowhere Islands. Ana released Claus from her embrace and held onto his arms.

"I don't want to keep you here if you need to go and sleep…"

"Yeah, I should probably head back to my house in case Lucas woke up or something," Claus said. "I'll see you tomorrow for the math quiz. I swear, related rates are going to be the death of me."

"Trust me, we all feel the same way," Ana said, rolling her eyes. "And we should do this again sometime. Maybe not at two in the morning, but…"

Ana reached over and kissed Claus, on the lips this time.

"I think that we both need the help," she said. "If Lucas wanted to escape your father, you could bring him along too. We could all work on homework together."

"That sounds wonderful," Claus said. "I'll see you then."

Claus tried to hide the smile on his face as he walked out of Ana's house and back into the dead of night. Perhaps there was something other than the color of his skin that he could hold onto for safety. People had a reason to be angry, but Claus couldn't afford to let the anger control him.

When did the "an eye for an eye" mentality ever work? By taking Fuel's stance, however justified it might seem, he would only sow more hatred.

Maybe he shouldn't give up on love just yet.