The Diaries of Kairie Lawless

By Nicole Kiefer

Four years go by as Kairie grows from a teen into a young woman. Years in which she watches the world around her change. Seeing how it became less tolerant, more cruel, discriminating and violent towards minorities. Changes she hates to see but is unable to stop.
When it seems like President Rud won’t be elected again Kairie sees an end to it all and hopes for better times. Then the worst night of her life happens, and many of the subtle changes done over the years are put in a new light, as President Lando Rud takes the country in one swift, violent and devastating move.
When the next day begins Kairie’s world has drastically and irrevocably changed, and not for the better. Being different is a crime, being tolerant a capital offense and Kairie encompasses all that now is considered a danger to society, labeling her as a Zero. A person with no rights, no name and no right to a future other than a life in isolation and constant hatred. Yet, in all her misery, pain and grieve Kairie finds a way to fight back. Soon her only goal becomes the most dangerous of goals. To kill the President turned dictator Lando Rud.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nicole Kiefer
• Release date: May 12, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370514984

Nicole Kiefer

I was born in 1979 in German, my parents called me their miracle child, because by medical standards then, I shouldn't have come into existence. Still I wasn't born perfect, but with the typical deformities for Nail-Patella-Syndrome. As the name says it causes deformities in nails and joints as well as deformed, or to small patella's.In 1995, I finished school with a secondary school degree, glad that school, which was hell in many ways, was over.My first endeavor into the world of labor wasn't successful, and I returned to school for a while but then after turning 18 discovered a new world and lifestyle. I discovered the bar scene, and quickly fell under the spell of alcohol and fun while changing into a different version of myself. A version that was freer, and which less high emotional walls, outgoing and capable of connecting to other people.Then after meeting my first love, I was diagnosed with Dyslexia and some of my life suddenly fell into place, like this one missing puzzle piece that when you place it into the puzzle reveals the whole picture and makes sense of it.Less than a year later I became pregnant and my life and the way I lived it changed. I stopped drinking, got my life in order and became responsible. After having the child, I took a job, with the help of my parents support. Another year later I got married and moved with my husband into a larger apartment.In 2002, I had my second child and we moved to France where we had found a larger apartment and much needed relieve from the horrendous taxation in Germany.Being a home staying mom gave me the time to explore the internet, to relieve the boredom I felt between housekeeping and diaper changing. During my excursions into several online communities, I was often asked about rules and regulations when it came to immigrating to France. The questions became often enough that I decided to put all info on a website, simply because I didn't want to answer the questions over and over again.In 2005, a publisher stumbled upon my website and talked me into transforming it into a book and getting it published. I warned the publisher that I was dyslexic and making a book out of my data would be a lot of work since I had nobody to look over what I wrote. Yet the publisher just shrugged and told me that this was what editors were for. I agreed and got to work, then in March 2006 my first book was published.It was a heady feeling to hold my own book in my hands, exhilarating and exciting as nothing else. It wasn't a big book, just 80 - 90 pages, but it was a testament that I could write after all, maybe not spell it right but produce something with meaning conveyed by words on paper.Since it was a small publisher I took it upon myself to help promote the book, putting the information about it in all the communities I had talked to before, as well as new ones. Only to discover adversity and insult far too often. When I even got told that people like me should be put down, I had enough and in a way snapped. Since I could hardly strangle someone through the internet, I sat down and poured all my anger into words. I was fed up with being insulted, hearing how useless I was since first grade, I not only poured my new anger into those pages but all my anger for all the years gone by.I didn't do it planned, but a few days later I not only felt better but held the draft of my life's story in my hands. Reading it again, I decided to try and offered it to my publisher, not really believing he would go for it. After all, who was I that anyone would want to read about my life. It wasn't like I was someone of importance, so why would anyone care to read it. When my publisher almost jumped on it, I was more than just surprised, I was stumped.At the end of 2006, my life's story was published, at the same time as we decided to immigrate to Canada. My husband had lost his Job earlier in the Year and hadn't been able to find a new one, neither had I any success in finding a position. It was a hard and life altering decision, but not long into the New Year did we get ready to move.Mai 2007 we entered Canada with a work permit, and for reasons I will never be able to explain, it felt like coming home. I had left my parents behind, my family and friends, and yet seeing the open fields and prairie, the little towns surrounded by it, it felt like I belonged. As scared as I was taking the step, I never regretted it.After we settled in and the kids were settled in school, I joined my husband in the labor force. And for the next few years, we were a two-income household, until I got sick in 2011 and was diagnosed after half a year of living in pain, with Fibromyalgia. As I read up on this chronic pain illness I had developed I realized that at some point I wouldn't be able to continue with my job as a cook, or any job with physical labor.I knew that finding an office job with being dyslexic was just as unlikely as finding a job with no physical labor that wasn't in an office. Unsure what to do I started writing again, first just for myself to cope with this new situation. A while later I worked consciously on improving my English and adapting a writing style fitting the North American market.In 2013 I had to stop working and not long after quit my job, knowing I just couldn't do it anymore. Still undecided what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, I got a little depressed and felt lost for some time. Then in 2014, we had to go to Toronto to get our German Passports renewed and the change of scenery was like a being battered with inspiration.Back home I began to write to create a world like nothing I had ever read or seen or imagined before. What had started as a short contemporary romance short story, became a fantasy romance novel series of five books. Representing anything and everything I loved about history, mythology and fables. I had created a world but knew it was far from ready for publishing.In early 2015 my husband fell ill with a hernia and went into emergency surgery. While waiting in the visitors lounge, pacing from one end to the other, dark worries and thoughts swirled through my mind. The next morning, back home, knowing my husband would be fine, I sat down and began to write mostly in order to come with the experience. One that had me rattled and unsettled.Before I knew it I had the draft to a full blown contemporary romance novel in my hands. Waiting in the Wings was born, and after working on it for a while and having someone look over it, I published it independently. My spell and grammar check couldn't find anything, neither could the person I had asked to look over it, or anyone else I asked. I was thinking I had done it, I had written a book without mistakes as dyslexic.Well, you might imagine that I was wrong, which I was told not long after having it published. I invested the money for a professional editor and republished it a few months later.And that is how my writing career in North America begun.

Book preview

Prologue

In 1932 in Germany a man, with a vision rose to power and promised change. Change came and with it descended a time of darkness, pain, and suffering. Crimes were committed so cruel and gruesome nobody should have ever forgotten them. It took years and the combined effort of nations to stop the plague that was Hitler. In the decades that followed his crimes were constantly analyzed, shown and drummed into the heads of students all over the world. It was a dark part of history.

Those who forget history are damned to repeat it

I was born on May 17 / 2002 in a small town in North Dakota with the name Kairie Stone. My parents were an odd couple. My mother was part Asian and Buddhist while my father had come from Syria as a boy and was a Muslim. Their marriage wasn't looked upon with kindness from either religion, yet neither were they punished or shunned. As I grew up I knew that their combination was an unusual one but they taught me that all religions had certain beliefs in common, and those were the once most important. To love and co-exist with others, to respect them as you wanted to be respected and to honor life. That's the belief I grew up with and by which I lived by.

In the summer of 2016, I was thirteen years old, it was an election year in the United States of America. Two people, a man, and a woman fought for the presidency. I have to admit that I can't even remember who the woman was, only that long before the Election Day it was clear that she would lose. The man on the other hand was and always will be in my memory. I was a child and my attention was anywhere but at politics, but even then I heard enough to know that the opinions on that man were controversial.

Looking back today I wonder how the similarities to 1932 could have been missed, how none of the adults could see it coming and stop it in time. Yet, Lando Rud was elected president the same year, and the first year almost seemed like the changes he brought forth were actually working to the benefit of America. So much even I, in my youth, noticed them to some extent. I wish I would have noticed the bad once just was well, but I didn't and neither did most of the country. And those who did notice were either ignored or quickly shut down.

Now 14 years later I sit in this cell with a view of the capitol and write it all down. I didn't begin to keep a diary until a few months before the great separation, but now I have several and they will make up this one book, written for those of you who are willing to not forget history, so it may never repeat itself again. Yet more than that I fear that in time the following generations will forget how this came to be, how the great separation happened, the conclaves were founded and the dome cities build. Many in our society want those points in history forgotten, but I have help and my story will survive and be told to those who go on after I am gone.

I have no regrets, I would do it all over again, because any sacrifice is worth it, if the reward is freedom.

Hidden Signs

-Sometimes you need to read between the lines to find the truth-

To me, it began in the summer of 2017 and it was a hot one. I was 13 and liked it hot since it gave me a reason to hang out with my friends at the lake. Soon enough the heat would retreat and make place for the harsh winter months. Maybe it was because of my youth, but I couldn't understand how adults could complain about the weather. Yet neither could I understand why they got worked up about politics, religion or money. It was summer, school was over and wouldn't start for another three weeks and life was good.

I actually liked school, but still what teen wants to think about school during summer break? Not one. Or at least none that was sane. Even the geeks and nerds hung out at the lake instead of sitting behind their computers and game consoles.

So you might understand that when one morning the traditional supply letter came from school I wasn't exactly excited about it.

It came just when I was sitting in the kitchen for breakfast. The moment my mother opened the letter and read it, I knew that something was amiss.

What is it, mom? Lots of new stuff that costs a fortune? I asked knowing that it would be what she would hone in on, as always. How expensive everything was.

She shook her head, no that's not it. She said and held the letter out to me. They send an updated guide book with the supply list, and I don't like it.

I took the letter and began reading. By the time I was done I had to admit that the changes were unusual, but I didn't see a big problem with them. So we were no longer allowed to wear things that made us stand out. Like piercings, tattoos had to be covered, and clothing to be neutral and without a visible brand name. Thinking of my wardrobe I didn't see why my mom was upset about this. Not that I agreed with the school board that it would reduce bullying, but to me, it didn't matter and I thought if it helped then they should try. With a shrug, I handed her the letter back.

Taking it she shook her head, aren't you upset about this?

Again I shrugged, not really. I mean my clothes are already like they want them, I don't need to wear earrings to school and I don't have any tattoos. Knowing that my mom would never be happy with such a superficial answer I leaned back and sighed. Look, mom, if it will reduce the bullying then I think they are right to do it. We had a lot of problems last year, lots of kids that got harassed for all kinds of reasons. If the school board can do something about it, I think they should.

For a moment she stared at me, were you one of those getting bullied? Because you don't wear designer clothes.

I shook my head, lucky for me I had good friends and nobody bothered me much. Not me, but I heard about others that had been.

Reading over the letter again she sighed, I still don't like it, to me this reads like they try to take your personality away. The freedom to express yourself with the clothing style you wear, you know.

Rolling my eyes I grinned, You sound like those hip chicks in school. You know those in-crowd girls, which need a brand name to feel like they are someone. Aren't you the one who always told me that clothes don't make people and especially not good people?

Smiling she nodded, your right, at least I know you have the right mindset. Now let's see what we need to get you on supplies.

I had quickly forgotten this first sign of change. By the time school started I hardly remembered what my mom had said about the new rules.

Yet soon it became obvious that many didn't like the new rules, and that it didn't make a difference in the bullying, at least not a positive one. Instead, the hatred towards those with less money grew. Now they weren't just bullied because they were poorer, but because they were the cause for the new rules. Even I who never had trouble with bullies was verbally attacked now because most of my fellow students knew that my family wasn't rich. I never cared before this about who dressed how, but when the bullying became worse, I began to like seeing the rich kids in the same kind of clothes as me. It became a feeling of satisfaction to see them taken down a notch. Only now, when I look back do I understand that I would have never started caring if that rule hadn't come into existence.

By introducing this rule, masking it as an act of solving bullying, a rift between the classes was created that was invisible, yet more effective than the one that had existed naturally before. Back then, even if I had realized it, I would never have believed that it was on purpose.

Not long and the school founded a group of older students that would patrol the hallways and school grounds to intervene when a student was bullied. They became the protectors of the little people, and years later they would become the protector of the lower humans, or rather their jailors.

School was just one part where subtly changes, hidden rifts, and false protection was created. In the same year, several states released laws to protect the religious and ethnic beliefs. The thought was that nobody should be forced to offer services and or merchandise to someone who lived a lifestyle they couldn't agree with for religious or ethnic beliefs. To me, that sounded fair, and not much of a change. After all, I knew from my mother, who worked as a waitress, that she could refuse service already as long as she had a reason. All this new law did was extend the reasons.

I didn't pay close enough attention to what the definition of a proper marriage or what bathroom to use would do to some of my friends. I only looked at the surface and even when my friends bitched about it or voiced their concern about being discriminated, I shrugged it off as being unwilling to accept change. If I would have been directly affected, I might have realized sooner what it did to those who were forced to accept those changes. In that first year, I thought it was a small sacrifice to use a different bathroom to keep the peace. I was naive, blind and stupid.

A year later those laws got extended. Now service could be refused to anyone with a mental illness, was handicapped or of another religion. Unless it was a government facility, like school.

I wasn't blind or deaf, neither did I ignore the changes, but only when the effect on my friend became clearer did I understand how far reaching those changes were.

Bethany, was one of my friends I knew since kindergarten, she wasn't my best friend, but we hung out often and knew each other well. She was kind and funny, smart too and showed more compassion towards others then anyone I knew. What made her different from most kids at school was that she had two mothers. Her parents were lesbian and had adopted her when she was still a baby. At first it had been unusual but over the years we knew each other it became normal and didn't bother me. In addition it made for some funny situations when talking about her parents.

When it was close to the end of grade nine, she moved away. The reason was that her parents had been thrown out of the apartment they rented. Not because they did something wrong, or because the owner needed the space, but because they were lesbian. With the new law in place the owner claimed that it was against his believes that two women were in a relationship and raising a child. The day Bethany left she told me that she was scared to be taken away from her mothers. I told her that would never happen. A year later I was proven wrong.

Only a few months after grade ten had begun, another friend of mine, Charlie, moved not only into another state but his family left the country all together. His story was one that for the first time made me really think about the changes happening around me, because it hit close to home. The reason Charlie's family moved was not one alone. His parents were Muslim, a religion that became more and more hated because of a terror organization called ISIS. In addition his mother had been born deaf and when the new law took a hold, making it easy to get rid of her, she lost her job. The reason was that her employer claimed it was against his ethic believe that someone with a handicap should work. Not that she was doing a bad job. Seeing as my father was Muslim as well, it woke me up to some degree, but not enough. I still didn't contemplate the ramifications deeply enough.

By the start of grade eleven, the world I lived in had changed into something I didn't like but had no idea what to do about. With the new laws, many had become outsiders, singled out and left out for reasons that made no sense to me. Students that were gay, lesbian, transgender, queer or had any kind of handicap were constantly bullied now. The group that had been founded to suppress bullying, now only helped those who didn't fall into any of those categories. We now had a two class system in school, not that it was called that, or that it was officially considered such, yet still, it existed. There were those students that were normal and fitting into the definition of these new laws and those who didn't fit. No longer was the separation one of money and prestige but of sexual orientation, religion, and genetic disposition.

My best friend since I was a toddler, Clarissa, was the reason I began to look not only closer but also into the world outside of school and friends. Her story shocked me and rattled me so hard it felt like I was dying inside. I knew Clarissa who was born as Charlie, the son of two wonderful parents, since before kindergarten. Yet from an early age it was clear that Charlie didn't feel or act like a boy, but like a girl. At the age of five it was clear that she was transgender and found the full support of his parents to become what she already was, a girl. From that age on she was called Clarissa and wore girl's clothes. Doctors began hormone treatment and as we grew up she developed more like a girl then a boy. She never had it easy to begin with, but since the new laws came into effect, her life became even harder.

I noticed that she was more withdrawn, even with me. That she was often looking sad and that others more and more often treated her like she was some sick lunatic. I stuck close to her as often as I could, and stood up for her when insults were thrown her way. However, it wasn't enough. On the last day of school before Christmas break, she climbed to the roof for all to see, even from down below I could see the pain in her eyes as she took the last step of her life. As if in slow motion I watched my best friend fall. Watched as every bone in her body shattered and her scull split open. Blood painted the concrete ground as tears blurred my sight. Later I would learn that by being forced to use the boy's bathroom, she had been molested and even raped. That she had been chased out of restaurants and stores, because of who she was.

Because of the way I was brought up, most of my friends belonged to a minority. Some were of a different sexual orientation, a different religion or had some sort of handicap. After Clarissa's suicide I realized that all my friends were targets, and I made a cowards move. I began to distance myself from them, telling myself that if I wasn't friends with them, if I denied the love I felt for them, it wouldn't hurt so much to lose them.

Yet, as I distanced myself from my friends, I grew closer to the world in general. For the first time in my life, I consciously watched the news with my parents. And each time I did, I was shocked anew at what I saw.

Other laws had been changed as well, all of them camouflaged as protection acts. Protecting white people from having to deal with other colored people. Protecting heterosexual from those with other sexual lifestyles. Protecting Christians from those with other believes. Protecting the healthy from the sick. Just like that first change at my school regarding the clothing, all those laws sounded like they were an effort to make the world better, to strengthen society and support equality. When in fact those laws split society into two classes, just as it had at my school. The ones who fit, and those who didn't.

Close to the end of grade eleven, re-elections started and for the first time I paid attention, not just to those trying to rise to power, but the people supporting them, or hating them. The man acting as president for the last four years, the one who had started with those laws, was up for re-election and ready to fight for his position any way he could. His name would become my equivalent to the devil, the bane of my existence and my life long enemy. Lando Rud.

It was the first summer break I didn't spend most of my time at the lake, hanging out with friends. Instead, I followed the elections closely, watched the newscasts, followed the candidates on Facebook, and Twitter. It soon became clear to me that much of what the better kids in school said and used as insults, came from this man and his way of looking at the world. Many times violence erupted at this man's rallies.

Some were directed against him, but more often those who followed and almost worshiped him attacked those belonging to groups of minority no matter if they were for or against President Rud.

As if that wasn't bad enough, even terrorists attacking our country and society used his hatred to convey their own. Targeting especially the groups he singled out for hatred, betting on his unwillingness to investigate those attacks more deeply. The worst was, they were right. When a Muslima terrorist belonging to ISIS attacked an LGBT Nightclub, killing over 50 people, sending even more into hospital care, Lando Rud didn't use it to protect the LGBT community. He used it to point out how the Islam and all who believed in the wrong god, compromised and threatened the country. He pointed out how individuals promoting wrong ethics, morals and beliefs drew attacks towards the country, increasing the danger to those who followed the right ethics and believes.

Watching one of his rallies, I watched as a black man got beat close to death, and no security stepped in. I saw how a Muslim woman, wearing a Hajib was raped, and security had problems reaching her, because they tried so hard by standing at the stage. I listened as a young man in a wheelchair was dragged out of it and beat, for no other reason than that he existed.

Not long into the election, only those who followed and supported Lando Rud went to the rallies, while outside those who saw the truth and danger of the man, demonstrated against him. Risking beatings by his followers and security, to make their voice and concern heard. The sad thing was, those supporting were the larger amount in society. Like moths to the flames, they were drawn to him because he promised them a life without being bothered by those who were other. That he had held many of his promises from his first election, like creating more employment opportunities, strengthening the economics and reducing the crime rate, helped to sway even those who had some scruple.

Throughout the first weeks of my senior year in school I watched concern grow in my parent's eyes, in those I had called friends and many students I knew but had never been close to. I never knew until that year how many had a problem dealing with the differences in personalities, beliefs, and ethics. Those considered other were in the minority, yet people like me, those who didn't care about the differences were even less. The worst thing was, that the demonstrations, the riots, and the violence I watched on TV, didn't stay there, it happened in school as well.

I wanted to stay away, wanted to spare myself the pain of losing another friend, yet when the year came close to an end, as well as the elections, I could no longer just watch.

Henry had been a friend to me for years. That he was deaf and had trouble reading lips had never been a deterrent, I simply had learned sign language. In fact, most of his friends and even a few teachers had. He was a good looking young man, had grown tall and muscular over the last few years. He was kind and understanding, a good listener and always had a smile curling his lips. Two weeks into June I watched him get dragged out of his car by a group of young man I didn't know and wasn't sure belonged to the school. At first, they only made fun of him, talking so fast or without looking at him, that Henry had no chance of understanding their words.

When he held his hands out in a gesture of peace and submission with a shy smile on his lips, trying to make clear he didn't want a fight, the first blows hit him hard enough to bring him to the ground. Blow after blow rained down on him, three holding him down while two others let their fists do the talking. I looked at all the students who quickly walked by, turning away their gaze with fear burning in their eyes. The same fear I felt since the day I watched my friend jump. Nobody, not even one, stopped and tried to help Henry, they even feared to watch. For a heartbeat, I considered doing the same. It is amazing and scary what can change during one single heartbeat. In that fraction of a second, I realized what a coward and bad friend I had been, and that I didn't want to be either. I suddenly knew that I had to step in, stop this madness and stand up for what was right, no matter the danger to myself.

As I watched blood run down Henry's cheek, as he tried to roll up into a fetal position and they didn't let him, everything changed. The fear inside me turned to anger, as I dropped my books and stormed at the group of men attacking one of my oldest friends. I slapped and hit, called out to the others for help that never came. Yet they didn't attack me, one of the guys just took a hold of me and pulled me away, forcing me to watch as the rest beat Henry to an inch of his life.

The guy who was pinning me against his chest whispered in my ear, Today we let you watch, we hadn't come for you yet, but now we will. Watch the shadows little girl, we will be lurking. Then he squeezed my breasts and ground himself against my ass, making clear what would be waiting for me if they came down on me. I was sure with the rape, there would be a beating as well.

He let go of me and after giving Henry a hard kick for good measure, took off, while I ran for Henry and fell to my knees beside him. I could hear the sirens and heard others mummer that they had called an ambulance. Henry needed it, and I feared to lose him as I had lost Clarissa. The way he looked, moaned in pain and how crimson the ground looked beneath him, I feared for his life. As the emergency rescue workers rushed in, pushing me away from Henry, my gaze fell on all the students staring and watching. Grief and fear reflected in their eyes but mostly fear.

It was the same fear I felt, the one that had made me turn my back on friends like Henry. Seeing it reflected back at me, drove home how stupid I had been. As if by ignoring them, I would feel less if something happened to them. As if the problem would go away if I didn't acknowledge it. I stared back at the others and before I had made a conscious decision pointed at Henry as my voice rose over the masses for the first time.

What is wrong with us? They accuse us of being animals, being less human, being different, and we are. But not for the reasons they think. We are because we are cowards. I closed my eyes to this for almost four years now, rejected my friends out of fear for almost a year, but no longer. He, I stabbed my finger towards Henry, did nothing wrong, didn't provoke them, all he was guilty of was existing. Do you really think you are save as long as you don't fight this? Then you are deluding yourself. We need to fight this before it becomes a way of thinking that can never be reversed. I was yelling