WARNING: Politics, illegal substance use, depression, and references to sex. Please keep yourself safe. I'll explain why I wrote this later.
Rating: M. This by itself is getting an M rating. It's not the happiest of chapters. I wouldn't call it incredibly angsty, but it's not lighthearted. (If you're into politics, you might find Florida's bit either funny or infuriating— it's also a little bit sad. Depends. California's part, though, just gets really depressing, and also references cocaine and sex. It's not really dark but it's certainly not light.)
Here's a funny bit. I actually never had to create a new chapter from the browser before, so I had to take about five minutes of sheer panic to figure it out.
Florida wanted to scream. He wanted to shout and kick and cry.
There he sat, in his yoga class, watching people fighting each other over politics. "How could you possibly vote for the Democrats right now?"
"Because how the fuck could you vote for the Republican candidate? He's a racist—,"
"At least he's not a Dem! Fucking Democrats, dude!"
"What, and all of the New Yorkers dying didn't matter to you? During the coronavirus? Do you remember that?"
"Oh, and the fucking Speaker isn't a bullshit person? What about California?"
New York had screamed at Florida a lot during that time. She'd screamed at everyone a lot, but everyone hated Florida, so him getting screamed at more often was expected. California always argued with him over this, saying that all of the Midwest hated him (except for Colorado, or so California said). Florida still felt like most people hated him, although he supposed that could've been because of how loud certain southerners were.
"Oh, you motherfucker. Get your filthy misogynistic hands off of me!" The Democrat punched the Republican. Granted, the Republican had just tried to grab him.
"Fucking child killer!"
"Hey, guys, guys, let's just stop. Yoga class is supposed to be calming." Florida tried to intercept them.
The Democrat punched him in the jaw. "Oh my god, dude, I'm like, totally sorry! I meant that for Mr. Rebooblican over here, not you!"
"It's fine." Florida spit the blood out of his mouth. Goddamnit, why couldn't he just have a nice yoga class?
The Republican grabbed an ice pack from the freezer (this was a common occurrence) and brought it back to him.
"Thank you." Florida reached for the ice pack.
"Who are you going to vote for— the Democrats or the Republicans?" The Republican asked. Florida noted with something akin to annoyance that the ice pack was not currently numbing his jaw.
"I'm... not sure yet. I sort of forgot about the Democrat candidate until the primaries," Florida admitted.
"Oh." The Republican hesitated for another minute, and then reluctantly handed him the ice pack.
The silence was uncomfortable.
Florida was just starting to calm down, the prolonged adrenaline of being hit fading away. "I mean, I've swung like... four times throughout this conversation. I'll have to go home and do some really good research then, right?"
"I can send you articles!" The Democrat and Republican both spoke at once.
Florida sighed. "No, I'm fine. I think I'll just read some BBC or something."
"Oh. Well, fucking Big Boy wants to shove the government up your ass," the Republican said. "You should talk to me once you're done doing research."
"Well, Mr. Rich over here supports nepotism. As is evident by our recent White House advisors."
"Dude, what party are you a member of?" The Republican asked, turning to him again.
"Me? I'm— I'm an independent."
"Well, yeah. Everyone is... but what party do you follow?" The Democrat asked.
"I'm a registered Republican," the Republican said. "Are you an independent? Guess we know who the traitors are, eh?"
"How about... how about we find something to agree on?" Florida interrupted. "Just to calm down a bit."
"Okay. Fine." The Republican paused. "You know what I really hate? Living here."
"Oh, yeah, totally," the Democrat said. "I mean, my wife wanted our kids to live here, and of course I couldn't exactly compromise. But if I could I would pick up my bags and move to Colorado in an instant."
"Yeah man, fuck Florida. I would've moved by now, but sometimes ya just can't move from where you're born. My parents fell ill when I was in high school. I always wanted to get out of this fucking dump, but I... I never got the chance. My parents are ailing now, so it's only a matter of time, right?" The Republican laughed. "I always feel bad about thinking it, but goddamn. I just wish I wasn't affected by hurricane season... although I'm more of a Wyoming man myself."
"Eh... Well, Wyoming's not too bad." The Democrat smiled, in a classic display of 'please-don't-argue-I-was-only-joking-holy-shit-stop-sharing-your- opinion'. "I'm sorry about your parents."
"What do you think of Florida?" The two turned to Florida.
"Oh... Florida?"
"Yep. The state we all share at the moment."
Florida shook his head. "Hate him— I mean, it. Sometimes there's nothing you can do, though, right?"
"Well, that's no way to think," The Democrat said. "There's always opportunity for change!"
"Sometimes there's not," Florida said hesitantly. "It's just... Well... I've lived here my entire life, you know? I love this state, but these days I find that... well... I just don't love it like I used to. I wonder if I'm never going to be as happy as I was when I was a kid. But there's nowhere else for me, so I can't help wondering if I've already lived the best part of my life, and I'm just not ever going to be as happy as I used to be. I wonder if I'm going to spend the rest of my life reflecting on how happy I was and comparing it to now."
"Okay... but what does that have to do with living here?"
"Eh... nothing, I guess."
Florida's ice pack was starting to leak, and he supposed he'd overstayed his welcome. The instructor was looking at him weird, stopping from his fast-paced scribbling of 'N O POLITICS' on the white board. Everyone was staring at Florida.
Florida just wanted to disappear. What the fuck was he saying? After all, he hadn't even been American for most of his time as a kid! He was pretty sure he hadn't had it as bad as Massachusetts, or any of the thirteen original colonies— apparently they, along with America, had all sustained some sort of trauma— and therefore he ought to be fine. Sure, he'd been happy, but wasn't he happier now? What if he'd only been happy because he was an innocent little kid?
Florida sheepishly excused himself and left.
Florida, of course, got stuck in traffic. He went home to find that all of the people on his block had yard signs for the Democratic candidate, which put him in a bad position. If he didn't put a yard sign up now, it'd look bad, but if he put one up for the other candidate, it'd look even worse. Normally Florida might not care, but he was rather desperate when it came to social matters.
He opened his door and went inside, falling into the comfort and safety that only a strong A/C could provide.
Florida hated election season. Seriously, hurricane season and then— and then what, a month, maybe three, of respite, and then it was election season every couple years! It sucked!
Most of the other states didn't have it as bad as he did. In fact, a few of the other states hated him just because of how important he was. They said he ought not to be depressed (Hawaii), that America loved him (Wyoming) and everyone wanted him on their side (Vermont), that he was lucky he was so fortunate (West Virginia). Florida still felt like shit anyway.
Even worse, he felt like he couldn't go back to his yoga class.
Florida ended up sleeping the next eighteen hours.
(Linebreak.)
California was straight up not having a good time.
Here he was, sitting in something that a state like fucking Florida would consider Heaven. No risk of swinging. California was safely nestled in the 'love' of one party. He couldn't imagine being like Florida, hated by all but desired all the same.
That didn't mean that people left him alone. By all means, there were always issues. Almost all of the Midwest hated him, including Colorado, which was fairly difficult to deal with. Everyone else hated him, too, just less so. California didn't get what was wrong with him. Even the Democratic states hated him! Didn't they agree on things?
That wasn't even the worst part. No, the worst part was just that California was not having the time of his life like he'd always thought he would. People would ask him to protest and take to media to share his opinion, and California... couldn't. He couldn't do it. He just wanted to chill out, have fun, be loved.
He could let that go now. For just a bit.
California had found a new outlet: Comedy. He sat there, fingers itching around a bottle of water. He stood, watching anxiously, trying to ignore the people snorting cocaine a few yards away from him. California had been shocked when he'd first gotten into entertainment and had seen so many people wiping their noses, shaking off their credit cards and keys— but he was used to it now. He should've been, at least.
California paid attention to the current performer's jokes. He couldn't help the poor souls in his life. God, this performer sucked. A lot of people in the audience were laughing, but mostly the performer was rolling off dad jokes. California was powerless, but it wasn't his job to help people— help them, help them, they're your citizens—
"Thank you, everybody. You've been so awesome. Have a good night." The lady stepped off and gave him a curt nod.
California smiled and stepped onto the stage, put his water bottle next to the podium. His mind went numb; all he was aware of was the crowd, staring, waiting. They wanted to be entertained, and he couldn't do this.
"Hey, everybody. It's a pleasure to be here; to see all your absolutely dazzling faces. I love Los Angeles." California kept a grin plastered to his face.
The audience laughed at this. "I know, I know. Los Angeles fucking sucks." More laughter. "But, you know, I've lived here my whole life, and sometimes shit just doesn't change."
He proceeded to zone out for the next five minutes, and then his bit was over and he stepped away.
"You did great, bro," the owner said.
"Did I?" California laughed, but he was feeling a bit shaky and he ended up just going home.
The drive home sucked. California didn't know what New York thought, or Florida either, but he knew what he thought: he would give up everything and restart his life from scratch if only to put an end to Californian traffic in a good, reasonable manner.
His phone rang. He almost jumped, and then turned the radio down and answered. "Hello?"
"Hi... Dude, could you show up to the rally tomorrow?"
"Sorry?"
"You know. The rally."
"Oh, right. This is kind of late to be asking, don't you think? I mean, it's six in the evening. I was just—,"
"So will you or not?"
"Yeah, of course."
...
California showed up to the rally the next day. California hadn't been sleeping well recently, and had actually intended to use today to catch up on work and sleep. Maybe go grocery shopping too; he had little in his apartment.
Instead, here he was. California almost regretted this, but he knew he would've felt bad if he hadn't shown up. He supported this cause, after all.
He hadn't slept last night, either. At all. Instead he'd used last night to go grocery shopping and catch up on work. If cities never slept, California shouldn't have had to either.
Maybe it was just him, but even though he'd lost sleep to come here it seemed as though his friend group, which hardly liked him at all anyway, was mad at him. They weren't really including him in the conversation. California was always just there because of the connections he had. California was one of those motherfuckers that somehow knew everybody, and that was useful.
It wouldn't be too surprising if they didn't actually like him and just wanted him there because of his influence. That was how it always was. California knew that if he disagreed with anything they said he'd be a lost cause to them. They'd give up on him, instead going to all of the people he knew. California was easier, but not very worthwhile, apparently.
...
Even if they didn't really like him, they still invited him to a party afterwards. 'That's showbiz, baby,' was the first phrase that came to mind.
...
California woke up the next day with someone in his bed. His lungs hurt and his mouth was dry, so he headed downstairs.
He caught his reflection in the window, and quickly shut the blinds. Apparently he'd had a nose bleed at some point. Even if he didn't really remember what happened, he was surprised that someone was in his bed, then. After all, successful sex was hard to come by at after parties, depending on what you took.
He made breakfast and kept on with his work. When the woman he'd slept with came downstairs, he offered her breakfast and a ride home. California waited patiently for her to finish eating. Apparently it was her car in the driveway and not his, so he just told her to leave.
Okay, now for the exciting reason for why I wrote this: I don't know. Really. It was supposed to be funny and then it wasn't, and then it was more of a rant, and then it went straight to depression and drugs, as a lot of my writing tends to. And then I got too attached to it, for whatever reason, to not publish it. Originally, though, this was very, very political, and just a 'funny' bit about Florida's suffering as a swing state. I had to tone it down a bit, and then the words just kept tumbling out. I hope I didn't seem too biased. Florida and California both go through events in this story that are inspired by real life. Not necessarily my life; just shit I've read. If you did read this, thanks.
Also, I'm sorry for such an unhappy chapter. I will probably be writing a chapter on West Virginia soon— as you might imagine, it's not going to be too positive. There will probably be more additions like this in the future, but I'll try to not let angst consume me. There'll still be happy chapters as well. Regardless, a review would be very wonderful. Have a good day.