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Wolfheart1002

Rising Fire

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Hello, everyone. I'm back again, and I'm here to have a brand new novel for everyone to enjoy reading. This one is what I hope will be my best work here yet. I'll post 1-4 entrees every week, but it may be delayed due to future unknown events.


Attention: the novel "Rising Fire" and all other related works, including sequels, prequels, and spin-offs are literary and intellectual property of the user profile Wolfheart1002 and its owner. "Rising Fire" is copyrighted by the owner of Wolfheart1002's profile, and is not previously owned or created by any other author or person.

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Introduction


Dear Thomas, if you're reading this, that means that you've either broken into my desk, in which I recommend you put this book back, or I have died.

If I have died then this book has been passed down to you through my will. You are my oldest son, and I feel that it be only right that I tell you the truth. The whole truth. I know that I was never the best father; but I tried To provide as best I could for your mother, you, and your brother.

Somehow, I hope that this book will help give you a better understanding as to why I may have been so distant while you were growing up. This book was written as a way to inform you about both myself and the experiences people like me had during the war. Considering that the doctors said I had less than two years to live, I've decided to spend it wisely. This is what is essentially my auto-biography, written much like a novel with a first-person perspective. I hope that you will publish this book in time. For I desire to let others know the struggles the people of my generation faced in those dark times.

Thomas, I love you. I hope that one day you can forgive me for how I may have seemed uncaring. But I assure you that I love you above all else. This is my story. My life.

Edited by Wolfheart1002

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Chapter 1 - An Elder's Beginnings.

Page 1.

I was born Jonathan Lyle Alden on September 18th, 2005 in Fort Worth, Texas. From the time I was born to when I left for college, my family has lived in a very wealthy suburban neighborhood in the northeastern part of Forth Worth known as Oakhurst. As a child, I lived with my mother, Catherine Alden, my father, Henry Alden, my older sister, Rebecca, and, my younger brother Stephen.

When we lived in Fort Worth, my family lived a very large house. An extravagant building with red bricks for most of the body. White columns and molding that ran along the sides of the house only served to magnify the grandeur of the land. The house that sat upon our fifteen acre plot was built in 1921, modeled after the traditional Greek Revival stylings of the early and middle 1800s. With the house's historical beauty, it was truly a sight to behold, and even more of a gift to spend eighteen years of your life in it.

Yet, my life, while being materialistically easygoing, was nothing if not painful to me. When I was five years old, I finally understood the careers of my parents. My father, Henry Alden, a thirty-four year old tax lawyer for Alden & Sandoval, a law firm that my father set up with a friend from his days in law school. My mother, Catherine, was a thirty-one year old nurse who worked as a consultant for various hospitals in the county.

Despite my youth, I understood why my mother spent more time with us. She would play with me and my little brother, who was always four years younger than me, in back yard. Or we would go to the zoo occasionally, or simply play a board game together. Our mother cared for us the most. She spent more time with us than we may have liked. My father was nearly the exact opposite. He was caring, and took pride in our achievements, but that seemed to be the extent of his love. He loved us when we did well, and hated us whenever we diverted from his commands.

Now that I look back upon my life, I realize that I've always hated my father. A story I remember very clearly about my father was when I was seventeen. It was in February or March of my senior year at Cassata High School. My brother, a child with a genius intellect and an abundance of creativity, was in the eighth grade. Stephen was intelligent, this was true, but he could be a bit lazy at times. He would often be careless when it came to his grades.

One day, after Stephen had come home from school, my father asked to see his report card. When my father saw that Stephen had gotten a seventy-eight in Pre-AP algebra, he tore up the paper and stuffed it into the trash can. Furious, my father demanded that Stephen take out every piece of trash to look for every slip of paper.

My brother, already distraught by the fact that his father may hit him, my father's anger released, waded through the day old trash to piece together the report card. Henry, my father sat in the living room filing paperwork. I sat in my room, only a few yards away from the kitchen, while working on homework, listening to my brother quietly sob on the kitchen floor. I always hated my father after that. I had issues with his evident bipolar disorder before, though he refused to think anything was wrong with himself, through now I truly realized how self-absorbed he was.

Edited by Wolfheart1002

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Chapter 1 - An Elder's Beginnings.

Page 2.

Despite how my father would often be callous and heartless, I enjoyed my childhood. I enjoyed having everything a boy could ever want. I remember that during my third grade year in elementary, the school counselor once asked me this question "So, John, what exactly makes you happy?" I didn't really know how to answer then. Yet during my years in high school I finally realized that the answer was anything that made you happy. Since happiness is only temporary, most people chase any temporary hobby they can find. Hence why I never truly thought of myself as happy, I refused to let temporary things fill my time. I've always focused on the long term, never what's

As a child, happiness is the ultimate goal. Few children actually seek to volunteer at a homeless shelter, or participate in a "walk-for-cancer" fundraiser. But by the time I realized this, I understood that I didn't have much of a childhood. Most of my time through elementary to middle school went towards my future. Towards getting into the best grades. Towards being the best in whatever athletic event my father would sign me up for. Towards being well-mannered and polite. Towards being perfect.

As the years went on, a rift began to form between my father and I. The rift, like many others was in relation to both my personality and my politics. Around my ninth grade year, I began showing an interest in politics, because of this I joined the Cassata High Debate Team at my school. In debate class, we learned a great deal of the art of argumentation. A skill which one does not forget throughout the years. I'd say that overall, my high school years have been some of my fondest. Yet, the first eighteen years of my life constituted only a small part of the world's progress during my lifetime.

Edited by Wolfheart1002

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Chapter 1 - An Elder's Beginnings.

Page 3.

 

By the time I was eighteen years old in 2023, I was accepted into the University of Texas at Austin. In Austin I was beginning my freshman year as a political science major, full of ambition and determination for a successful future as either a trial or medical lawyer. Even though my future was secured, guaranteed by my parents' wealth, the future of many individuals in the world was not.

 

You see, by the year 2020, over forty percent of America's working-age population was unemployed. Infrastructure breaking down in The reasons varied for this economic catastrophe, and politicians and historians still debate over the official reasons that the world was plunged into such a debilitating state. However, anyone that's opened up a history book of the 20th and 21st century knows some of the key incidents that played a roll in both the USA's and the west's failure.

 

In order to elaborate upon how the world's economies and societies broke down, you have to go back to the 1970s and 1980s. Since the end of the modernity-era during the Ford and Carter administration, the post-modern society began, signaling a steep decline in domestic industrial manufacturing. As manufacturing gradually declined in both Europe and North America, the markets in Asia and South America began to fill the niche.

 

 

By the time the year 2015 began, only around four percent of the USA's workforce was employed in manufacturing. While serviced-based jobs accounted for seventy-five percent of the job market. This led to an enormous wealth gap in both the US and Europe, where low skill and low paying jobs grew, and high paying, high skill jobs required more experience and college degrees to be hired for. Because of this wealth gap, the middle class has virtually disappeared, while the rich get richer and the poor get poorer. That's the beauty of consumerism and outsourcing, isn’t it?

Edited by Wolfheart1002

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Chapter 1 - An Elder's Beginnings.

Page 4.

 

With the lack of available, profitable jobs in the US, and poverty nearing an all-time high, faith in the US government was decreasing rapidly. An example of this dissent was on July 26, 2017, various groups in Texas, Oregon, Washington, Alaska, and Florida emerged in the hundreds of thousands, up to 400,000 protestors to march on Washington DC against the federal government. The protest, known as the “Regionalist March” was extremely important in the development of secessionist fervor in the nation.

 

By July 30th, the fourth day of the protest several skirmishes between activists and police had broken out. But one severe incident occurred between Washington DC police and secessionist protestors that greatly lowered the opinion of the US government greatly. Henry Santiago, a twenty-four year old hispanic, medical student and five other Texan secessionists were arrested by the DC police for throwing bricks at riot vehicles reinforcing the existing forces around the National Mall. In defiance of their arrest, over twenty Texans wrested their allies from the riot police. What ensued afterwards can be only tantamount to a full-on street war. Police reacted by shooting tear gas and rubber bullets at the protestors. The secessionists, armed with baseball bats, pipes, fists, and the occasional molotov cocktail fought valiantly against the police.

 

At 8 o’clock that night as the riots died down, eleven protestors lay dead, with over forty wounded. Known as “The Day of Insurrection”, July 30th has marked the day the US government began its true descent into deterioration. The failing relationship between the federal government in Washington DC, and her states was now irreversible. Only time could tell when teh first shot was fired. For after that shot is fired, the last will take years to occur.

Edited by Wolfheart1002

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