Jane is a Patriot


Jane Morris was a deeply patriotic and committed citizen of the United States. A CIA analyst and interrogator by the tender age of 22, she had risen rapidly through the ranks on the energies and passion of her uncomplicated nationalism. She said the pledge of allegiance when no-one was around to hear it – in front of the mirror every morning and before retiring to sleep every night. A huge, faded American flag was pinned above the headboard of her bed. So intense was this patriotism that Morris’s heart never really had the space to incorporate affection for any individual human being. She rarely had boyfriends or personal associates, preferring to invest all of her hormonal and intellectual drives into her national service. It was only after she was forced to retire early (at the age of 27) because of a psychiatric complaint that Morris began to consider the idea of fellowship with another person. And the first person to accept her advances was Derek Peterson, an 18 year old army cadet.

The first few meetings between the two were ordinary enough. But such was Morris’s insistence on discussing politics (particularly threats to America’s national security) that Peterson eventually advised that they no longer see each other.

Morris didn’t take this well. This much was obvious to Peterson the moment he came around in Morris’s bedroom, his mouth gagged, his limbs strapped tightly to a long gurney, and with long streams of angrily delivered spittle and phlegm running down his cheeks.

“You wouldn’t last a minute in combat,” Morris seethed, looking down at him. She was now dressed in full military uniform. “You’re fucking useless. No use to the national organism.”

Peterson writhed in vain beneath the straps, all of them expertly applied to nullify his every means of rebellion.

Morris pushed her olive green trousers down to her knees, exposing her thick and pale American thighs.

“I swear allegiance to the flag of the United States of America,” she declared, pulling her underpants down to her calves and taking a seat on Peterson’s terrified face, her cold and white buttocks pressing the full weight of her body onto his head, cutting off his airways.

“And to the republic for which it stands…”

Peterson jerked and wrestled with everything he had, desperate for another breath of oxygen. He could see nothing but blackness. He could move only his shoulders.”

“One nation under God,” she continued, pulling up under the gurney to keep her victim tightly fastened beneath her.

“…indivisible, with liberty…” she paused as the squirming began to lessen, “…and justice…” The squirming stopped altogether. “…for all.”

“God bless the United States,” Morris added, standing up. And then, with her trousers still at half-mast, she saluted the flag above her bed.


You can support my writing by buying my novel: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B075CK7LB9    – or by sharing my work on social media. Gracias

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