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The Falling Down Man by J.L. Bourne

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  • The Falling Down Man by J.L. Bourne

    It all begins with a series of tragic discoveries. Morning earners encounter rioter corpses in alleyways and ditches during commutes and exercise routines.

    More bodies are discovered when concerned family members come looking as calls go to voicemail. They frantically check apartments and areas last posted on social media.

    The only man that knows what happened will wake up early, shave, and put on his shirt, tie, and slacks before getting into his budget-minded four-cylinder car or truck—albeit a little tired from staying up too late the night before.

    He’ll do his 34-minute commute out of suburbia. Then he’ll walk right into corporate America, greet his coworkers and talk about sports. He will look and sound perfectly normal.

    Around the water cooler, we hear things like, “Gosh darn it, those [insert inane sportsball team] need to get better,” and “we’ll get through this COVID mess.”

    This man is fed up with everything. He’s tired of it all. He knows the truth about society, [REDACTED], and the culture war ahead.

    There is only one problem. None of you know who he is or how he truly feels. He stopped speaking his mind a long time ago—when his best friend got fired for saying something wholly harmless on his social media page.

    The man starts his 40 minute rush hour commute back home after 8.6 hours of work, listening to a few podcasts along the way. His favorite shows were purged over the past few years.

    He has thoughts of his young sons, who he knows will never receive unearned advantages in life. They will earn straight As in school and not receive the college admission they worked 12 years to secure. Those appointments convey to average performers that are different than his sons. For the Falling Down Man and his people, there is no such thing as a free lunch.

    During the last leg of his commute, he has thoughts of how many grains to load into his next batch of boutique rounds to keep them subsonic for weekends at his local gun club.

    He arrives at home, kissing his beautiful wife and spending time with his sons, letting them help him on the bench in the garage. He knows that they won’t be young forever and cherishes every moment.

    After dinner, he remembers that he has an overdue task at work and needs to go in for a bit. He kisses his family goodnight, telling them that he might be late, before heading for the door.

    He leaves his phone, smartwatch, and 5G work tablet on the coffee table.

    It’s going to be a productive night.

    No one knows who he is.

    There are thousands like him.

    No one knows who they are either.

    Read more from JL Bourne here.

  • #2
    I present to you the dangers of intolerance, cancel culture, SJW doctrine and everything that goes with it.

    J.L. Bourne
    Pensacola, FL
    October 2020

    Attached Files


    • #3
      Nice, brother. A small peek behind the curtain to come. They push and they push, until, when pushed to their limits, turning the other cheek is no longer viable. They we push back.


      • #4
        Sounds like a good story that I would love to read. It sucks but things gotta end sooner or later. According to history the dollar is reaching it's limits as well.


        • #5
          I smell what you are cooking.


          • #6
            I would read does have some similarities to some other works that have been purged.


            • #7
              This aged well, unfortunately.