A Tale of Scared Orphan Children Takes a Familiar Twist

Immigrant kids

“From the Desk of NickiLeaks”

In reading about the children who had crossed the US borders alone, believing even such a harsh journey was better than being in a corrupt Latin country surrounded by poverty and violence and that the US was not a corrupt democracy with people surrounded by conservative-spawned poverty and unchecked gun violence, a reporter in the NickiLeaks newsroom turned on the reading light on her cigarette-scarred desk and opened a copy of Dickens she hadn’t seen since high school, thinking she had seen this all before.

And, as it turned out, she had.

. . . The evening arrived at the immigrant detention center and the young Latino boys and girls took their places.

The privatized master, in his corporate cook’s uniform, stationed himself at the copper; his minimum-wage pauper assistants ranged themselves behind him; the gruel, genetically modified and loaded with carcinogens, was served out; and, despite Supreme Court rulings, a long grace was said over the short commons. The cheap and non-nutritious gruel, disappeared; the boys and girls whispered each other, and winked at Oliviero; while his next neighbours nudged him.

Child as he was, he was desperate with hunger, for a better life in America than his troubled and war-torn homeland and reckless with misery. Oliviero rose from the table; and advancing to the master, cheap plastic basin and spoon in hand, said: somewhat alarmed at his own temerity but believing in the promises of free speech:

Please, sir, I want some more freedom!”

The master was a fat, healthy man, much like Karl Rove; but he turned very pale, which for someone already that white, was hard to do. He gazed in stupefied astonishment on the small brown rebel for some seconds, and then clung for support to the copper. The assistants were paralysed with wonder, wishing they had the guts to speak up on their corporate slave status; the Latino boys with fear.

What!” said the master at length, in a faint voice.

Please, sir,” replied Oliviero, “I want some more freedom.”

The master aimed a blow at Oliviero head with the ladle; pinioned him in his arm; and shrieked aloud for the beadle, a withered and weaselly little deacon sent by the so-called religious county commissioners .

The board was sitting in solemn conclave, when Mr. Bumble rushed into the room in great excitement, and addressing the Republican gentleman in the high chair, said,

Mr. Limbkins, I beg your pardon, sir! Oliviero Twist has asked for more freedom!”

There was a general start. Horror was depicted on every caucasian countenance.

For MORE FREEDOM!” said Mr. Limbkins. ‘Compose yourself, Bumble, and answer me distinctly. Do I understand that he asked for more freedom, after he had eaten the supper allotted by the under-funded dietary?”

He did, sir,” replied Bumble.

That boy will be hung,” said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. “I know that boy will be hung in total secrecy and away from any liberal media coverage.”

Nobody controverted the prophetic gentleman’s opinion.

An animated discussion took place.

Oliviero was ordered into instant confinement; and a bill (to taxpayers) was next morning pasted on the outside of the detention center’s massive gate, offering a reward of five pounds to anybody who would take Oliviero Twist off the hands of the ICE and the conservative parish. In other words, five pounds and Oliviero Twist were offered to any man or woman who wanted an apprentice to any trade, business, or calling.

Or had a convenient war to send him to.


– By Nick Vanocur for All-len-All.com

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