HUNTING US DOWN LIKETHE ANIMALSCONSEVATIVES SAY WE ARE, GAY HUNTING

GAY HUNTING. BY MATTHEW LUCAS BECKETT The gavel came down with such force that not only it but the desk beneath it shattered. “And with that,” came the thunderous voice of The Speaker of The House, Fred Homophobe Hatemonger, with his Dread Pronouncement. “All Gays in this country can be hunted down and shot dead on sight like the dogs that they are. So ordered.” As if they hadn't already made it hard enough on people like me, I thought, then I fainted. “John always was a soft touch,” I muttered, looking at my unconscious brother in law. Then I pulled out my revolver and shot him once in the chest and once in the head, just to be sure. “You weren't much sport to hunt, Buddy,” I tell his corpse. “But then you wouldn't have been much sport awake either.” I leave a note of explanation for my wife, his sister, on his undamaged arm, then go out to hunt me some Gays that will, I hope, be a bit of sport to catch. Larry and I ducked into an alley and then an abandoned building. “I think we lost them,” I whisper in his ear. “I hope so, Paul,” he replies. “How did they know about us, though? I never told anyone. Did you?” I laugh. “With a family as Conservative as mine, if I'd ever even just played a Gay Character in a High School Play, I'd have been on the street, so no.” “I guess they have ways of knowing, somehow, to state the obvious,” my Boy-Friend replies. I nod, saying no more, for there is no more to say. When it has been quiet outside for some time, we leave the building, turn in opposite directions to avoid suspicion, and then I head for my home, assuming that he heads for his. My first night Queer hunting is disappointing. Sure, I track down and bag a few of John's friends I knew were Fags too like the dogs they are, but there are no surprises, no big catches, and no one that puts up much of a fight or a chase. I get home to find Liz burning her brother's body with the rest of the trash. “I was mad at first,” she tells me. “But then I thought about it and realized that you were right, he was a piece of trash and a waste of space and oxygen. Did you burn any more trash?” she adds with an anxious hunger. “Just a few of his Fag Friends,” I reply. “No big surprises or big catches. No live in action busts and kills, just people that I already knew about. No one put up enough fight or chase that I would personally even call it hunting, but maybe there will be some fun ones tomorrow night.” “I'll join you on that, Matt, MR. Matthew Thomas, I should say, Queer Hunter.” I chuckle. “Matt will do, Jane.” Larry and I stay out of contact as long as we can stand. Every night the news reports how many “Queers Bagged last night and today,” with no more comment or reflection than reporting the deer numbers in deer hunting season or the rainfall in wet season, which is pretty much all year in Vancouver, Washington, I thought one of the more Liberal cities in the country, but then, the whole Nation has gone mad with this 'Queer Hunting'. I hear from friends all over the country three times a week or more about more summary executions of People whose only crime is Being Gay, many of them teenagers too young to have ever done anything about it, even if it didn't take them as long to figure things out as it took me. But, of course, you can't stay away from someone you truly love forever. “Paul,” he says when we meet in the sub basement of a long abandoned building. “I know we have to be. . .” he struggles for a strong enough term. “Beyond careful,” he finally compromises on. “But I couldn't stand to be away from you for another hour.” “I know, Larry,,” I say. “I feel the same. But since we may only have a short time, let's not dwell on the outside world. Let's focus on us, at least for these few minutes.” He nods and we start to kiss. Suddenly though, I hear something. Footsteps? From Larry's suddenly wide eyes, I know he hears them too. “Let's get out of here,” I begin, when I hear to clicks, one behind me and one in front of me, behind Larry. “Too late to run, Queers,” says a harsh, female voice. “You broke the Laws of God and man. Now you'll pay. And don't expect any mercy from me, I burned my own brother's body this afternoon after my husband shot him because he was a Fagot, so we certain;y won't be showing any mercy to strangers.” “Why can't you just leave us a,lone,” I cry. “We're not hurting anyone. We're not even asking for the right to marry or anything, just half an hour togeth. . .” I stop and scream as I hear a bullet and then feel it connect with my skull. Larry is sobbing as another connects with his skull. Then my brain explodes in a red universe of agony and then everything goes black and is gone. Matt and Jane Thomas looked down at the corpses for a moment. Then they spat on them, poured the oil they had brought with them all over both, lit a match, threw it at the pile and then walked away from the burning pile of trash.