Dismantled

DISMANTLED

With tears streaming down his face, Alan Warner turned the key to start up the bulldozer. It sprang to life with a hungry, diesel roar.

"I want that camp leveled, do you hear me, Warner?!?!" His supervisor's voice crackled through the speaker. "Nothing left! Back to a parking lot!"

Alan's bleary eyes scanned the protester's encampment ahead of him. He sniffled and then reached for his radio. "Copy that," he responded, raising his voice above that of the bulldozer. "Over and out."

He dropped the receiver, and it bounced on its coiled cable like a cat toy in the hands of a four-year-old. Alan shifted his dozer into first, and pressed the accelerator. Black smoke erupted from the exhaust and a groan escaped the crowd gathered in the Harp Corporation's HQ parking lot. Alan steered the machine towards, them, oblivious to the rumble of the treads and all the sleeping bags, folding chairs, and reusable grocery bags they crushed.

"How could she do that?" he moaned. "Why would she do such a thing?" Alan fished his smartphone from his safety vest pocket while the front bucket slashed a -DOWN WITH CORPORATE GREED AND CORRUPTION!- banner. His now ex-wife's latest video was already cued-up as he swiped in his access code.

"And another thing, Alan!" shrieked Belinda, her face ruddy with marital rage. "Where was that official wedding ceremony you promised?" Foam and spittle sprayed her phone screen, and she wiped it frantically with her palm. "Remember when we go this, huh?" She held their marriage certificate in view of the camera, shaking it to emphasize. "You promised me so much on that day, Alan. And here we are, five months later. What's happened, Alan? What's happened?!?!"

Alan pivoted the dozer to topple a water and first aid station. "Oh Belinda baby," Alan pleaded. "I love you baby. Please... You don't mean this..." he mouthed to the video screen.

"You don't love me!" her recorded message seemed to reply. "You just said a bunch of words! Words that don't mean nothin'!"

"Baby Belinda, I love you!" Alan wailed in response. His eyes were fixated on the smartphone held in one trembling hand, as a pair of four-person tents disintegrated in the bulldozer's unrelenting treads.

PewTube was the conservative Christian community's video sharing website, developed exclusively for the use by believers to share their messages of faith and support for one another across the Internet, and across the world. Alan blubbered and wept as the number of views of his now-ex-wife's declaration of their divorce popped steadily closer to 500,000: the threshold number of views required for "Faithful Front Page Feature" status.

Two portable toilet shelters exploded when the front bucket of the bulldozer smashed downward like a mallet on a melon. The Harp Corporation's parking lot was instantly awash with feces and opaque, navy-blue detergent water. Protesters and members of the press scattered in a panic. Alan was inconsolable.

"Fantastic work!" crackled the voice of Alan's supervisor over the radio.

"I don't mean nothin' to you, Alan," declared a suddenly-composed Belinda. "And this..." - she fluttered the marriage certificate in full view of the camera - "means nothing to me." Her frantic, grasping fingers crumpled the legal document into a hapless ball. Her look was nothing but determination and gritting teeth.

"Baby, baby!" Alan wailed, hammering the walls of his protective gondola. One foot stamped a hopeless tantrum, while the other massaged the accelerator. Two more banners denouncing globalism and the exploitation of the working class were torn asunder, fluttering downward to join the blue, frothy mire of human waste.

In the video, one jump-cut later and Belinda was in the back yard of their Des Moines rancher. As she adjusted the camera in her selfie stick, her dried tears glistened on her cheeks. The camera jerkily panned to showcase a rusted red charcoal grill, and a single, stainless-steel saucepan huddled in the ashes. Belinda dropped the crumpled ball of marriage certificate inside, then began to spray it with what Alan knew was charcoal lighter fluid.

Some of the unreasonable protesters had begun retaliating. They were grabbing anything they could grasp, and were throwing it in the path of the bulldozer, or directly at Alan in his enclosed gondola. These bursts of violence were quelled by swift response of law enforcement officers, on standby from the outset of the demonstration to address such a display of resistance. Swinging clubs and tear gas canisters rained on the crowd in equal measure.

"You mean nothing to me, Alan!" Belinda declared in the video. Her fist shook in the frame, and clasped within was a flip-top, chrome-plated lighter. The camera view bounced closer to the marriage certificate, now soaked with lighter fluid. "Praise Jesus!"

A whorl of tear gas swept around Alan's bulldozer and was sucked into the engine system. Still he rolled on, alternately steering the massive machine and swapping his face with his pocket bandana. The majority of his attention was devoted to the smartphone in his other hand, riveted by the tragedy unfolding on the screen. He still spoke and moaned, desperately trying to communicate with his former wife through a pre-recorded video.

"We can work it out, baby," he reasoned. "I love you more than life itself. More than anything!" Alan's bulldozer rammed into a concrete planter, decorated by demonstrators to resemble an enormous oil rig. The assembly wobbled and then crumbled into the billowing tear gas. Nearby bags of recyclables burst open, vaulting their contents in all directions.

Belinda's shaking hands caused the lighter to flicker and then catch flame. Her hand sank into the stainless-steel saucepan, and for an instant a fireball engulfed everything in view. Belinda yelped, and dropped the lighter in the saucepan. "Burn in hell, Alan!" she shrieked.

Alan's dozer plowed forward, scooping up the central support of the oil rig decoration: a reclaimed telephone pole easily 30 feet long. The front bucket drove into it at a perpendicular angle. Alan engaged the timber claws of the front bucket and the telephone pole was held fast, clamped under 30,000PSI of pressure. Blubbering and incomprehensible, addled by the new shock of his divorce and perhaps the tear gas, Alan threw his vehicle into reverse and set his sights on the speaker's stage.

On PewTube, the video's views climbed steadily higher. Comments began popping up in Alan's feed, and he feverishly scrolled through the most recent:

"YEah Belinda!"

"Bern in hell Alan"

"alan made you feel horrible and he belongs in hell. GOD bless."

"LOL Prainse Jesus name. Alan owes you an apology."

"+Belinda Fire It Up! LOL"

The scene in the video was a burst of light as the flip-top lighter exploded. The camera fell sideways and Belinda could be heard screaming and jeering Alan, pictured but out-of-focus in the background. Gas-masked police and blue-stained protesters were awash in a roiling sea of tear gas. The bulldozer thundered headlong into the stage, crushing the support poles and platform frames. Explosions rocked through the sound equipment and dramatic arcs of electricity shot flaming azure arrows of overloaded audio cables through the chaos.

Sheltered in his gondola, an insensible Alan screamed, "Lo-o-o-ove!"