Author: Troy Ard

In the First Person

I have spent my entire career in politics fighting for the causes of a just society. As an eighteen-year-old, one of my first challenges was to choose between two sides. After serving as the Field Director of the Republican Party in my county, it was clear on election night that there may have been some election fraud taking place. Election fraud in my hometown was something of a dirty secret. It was known, but not seriously discussed. My options were to ignore the possibility of fraud for my own reputation, or to join a rag-tag motley crew of individuals who may have also believed that the CIA and aliens were involved in order to investigate the truth. Risking my career and my reputation as a young-gun with a pretty substantial success for his first time out, I chose the latter. Risk has always outweighed my reward in politics. However, I was proud to serve an even prouder Grand Old Party and to make a difference in my community. But in many ways, neither party is what they were before. I am not too young to remember the days when Republicans would rather be caught naked in public than to openly violate Ronald Reagan’s 11th Commandment. Now, it would seem, the mantra of “Republicans do not air their dirty laundry” has given way to a circular firing squad. It was...

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Fire or Ice

From a front row seat atop a bluff, the sun bids farewell behind the majestic granite curtain of the Rocky Mountains. The snow—like roses thrown by adoring fans not ready to bid farewell—falls to the ground as the orange dusk is overtaken by night’s dark. There is no doubt that summer is long gone, killed off like a soap opera celebrity by some bizarre storyline. Winter has come. As he looks, he remembers the months gone by. Under the warm kiss of summer it seemed he was god, as one-in-all and as self-as-one. Nothing could stop him; there was nothing to fear. Leather seats sticking to bare back. Sweat beading down from dark hair needing a haircut flowing in the wind with windows open. The rhythm and words of Everclear’s chillaxed but upbeat Santa Monica overpowered the soul of a mindless driver, living in seeming autonomy with the world around him. Sam couldn’t help but think that this first snowfall defined his existence. All of his years had been something of a miracle. He was not old by any means. But at the same time, he had entered a phase of bittersweet young adulthood. Accolades and triumphs surpassed by nobody of his tender age marked every step of his life thus far. His successes were no easy glories like many of the easy-street friends with which he had always...

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