“No matter who wins, we all win! Because we all voted,” he said, and I cringed.

Dude saw this and zeroed in on me. I felt the familiar clench in my gut, systems going on yellow alert, a man is unhappy with me. “Do you disagree?” he snapped out, doing that thing men do, that forward jut and slightly open arms. A stance you can’t accuse them of; they didn’t threaten you, don’t make shit up.

“I feel exactly the opposite,” I snapped back, before I could chicken out.

He scoffed, stormed off, and I relaxed minutely.

Beside me, the older dude who’d been here the first time I came to this IOP let out a hefty sigh, leaning forward on his cane and making brief eye-contact with me. “I feel just the same,” he muttered before leaning back.

Soon the therapist would come in, talk to us again about living clean and sober, about taking our medication, about how these simple steps would lead to financial security, a safe home, a good career, and a family we didn’t have to fear for.

Trump hadn’t been declared the victor yet; that wouldn’t be till the next day. I was already wound up in my fear, though. Yellow alert had been running on that plane for a good long while. I think I was seventeen when I finally realized society was already all set up to devour me in whatever way it could. Casualties of a war fought via puppeting the limbs of other, death coming only to those who never gained anything from it.

No matter who wins, nothing changes down here. That’s on purpose. It’s set up that way.

So long as we think we have a choice, it’s easier to keep us in line. The illusion of power pits us against each other. The enemy becomes the neighbor who liked the one with the blue tie instead of the red one. What’s left of our strength goes towards fighting them, and they fight us, and it all stays quiet up high.

They don’t even watch us. Hunger Games got that wrong. They don’t care.

No matter who wins, they eat us all either way.