Indestructible Nation

By Joshua O Bruening

Indestructible Nation

Joshua Bruening

Indestructible Nation is a darkly satirical whirlwind through American corporate greed - including current oil/gasoline price gauging, banking fees,

• Language: English
• Publisher: New Life Publishing LLC
• Release date: Dec 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9798218345716

Joshua O Bruening

Dr. John Pugh has been practicing in the psychology field for over 40 years. He hasearned several master's degrees in theology before earning a master's degree in psychology andthen a doctorate in Counseling Psychology in 1993. He has taught psychology in the UnitedStates and Moldova, has served as a pastor, and works presently as a Licensed Psychologist inPennsylvania. Amongst enduring several serious problems and issues throughout his life, a neardeath experience would transform and refine his ideas about counseling and psychotherapy.Propelling him back to his faith and purpose. John's call to the Lord for relief transformed hissense of despair into a working theory for counseling.To those who know him, John is a devoted Christian and works to integrate God's love inall that he does. His experience in Counseling Psychology and Christianity has led him topublishing and documenting his observations as evidence of the "Spirit's Work." His theory forhelping others can change how Christian Counseling is viewed in a secular sense. The aim isidentifying evidenced based counseling techniques and theory within the Holy scriptures. Thepurpose of this book is to share with those how unifying evidenced-based and faith-basedcounseling will allow the Holy Spirit to solidify change in individuals who seek it.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Albert sat in his car, sitting on Interstate 35 West, in what appeared to be normal traffic congestion.

The radio was tuned into local news coverage. The host read, Nationally, the leading toy manufacturer has started an ad campaign (featuring the tagline: Safety’s Job One!) to alter public perception their toys are unsafe for our children. This comes after recalling one-and-a-half million due to health concerns regarding those made in China. A push by American superstores to demand cheaper goods has placed extra pressure on them to continue to mass produce even with the rising costs of steel, plastic, other raw materials, and increased fuel prices, which escalated transportation expenses.

How should we handle this? one top executive had asked the CEO, standing, hands in his pockets.

Like we always do: Blitzing customers using positive ads, reassuring them our toys are not dangerous, the CEO had said, staring through the window.

Have you contemplated merely ensuring product safety? I’m certain we could put together a taskforce to –

I’ve taken your proposal under consideration. I don’t feel it’s within the best interests of the company. We’ll wait it out, the CEO had said.

Good thing I don’t have kids, Albert now said to himself.

Well, maybe I will be here in seven or eight months. That’s if Cindy and I work through our differences.

How’re you gonna afford a baby? No more quitting your jobs – or getting fired – no matter how much they suck.

The cars in front moved forward, driving slowly. Albert tapped the accelerator, easing all the way to a half mile per hour, then braking as the lights of the maroon sedan ahead turned bright red.

Peering into the distance, he tried to see what was possibly halting them this time. Usually three lanes went down to two, or worse yet, a double dropped to one.

He squinted at the wide Mississippi approaching. Glancing into the rearview mirror, he groaned as the man behind barely missed nicking his bumper.

Do you mind? he asked, though he knew he wasn’t going to hear a response, and even if he did, he figured the reason would make less sense than the action.

They were within a four hundred yards of the rather calm water banks. Some days he longed to float on it ala Huckleberry Finn and reduce his worries to finding enough fish to eat every night.

Life would be so easy was the last thing filling his thoughts when a deafening thud echoed in his skull – like a gigantic building falling clumsily to the ground.

His head jerked around to see if he’d been bumped by the idiot. Looking straight forward, he saw a thick cloud of white dust hovering over the dreamlike river.

Rubbing his eyes, he fixated on it again.

Dear God...

People had jumped out their vehicles, jogging toward the dust cloud.

Accelerating gently, he pulled to the side of the road. He killed the engine as his heart pounded in his chest and adrenaline rushed through his veins. He opened the door, hopping out, then locking it.

Tearing off, he ran on the sloping shoulder. Oxygen filled his lungs, forcing him to sprint faster. He flew past those gawking, standing and staring, mouths gaping. That’s when it finally hit him.

The bridge collapsed!

As he came nearer, cars tilted on a slight decline, angling to the river. He saw that the freeway had buckled in three or four different places, sending automobiles splashing into the deep water.

Screams pierced his ears, combined with chaotic shouts. Kids’ faint voices pleaded for help.

A sudden blast of heat stopped him abruptly. He felt his face; it didn’t seem it’d been burned. He continued cautiously, running down the twisted, broken interstate, stumbling over cement debris that shouldn’t be in the middle of the lane.

A young boy (untied soaked tennis shoes, black tattered shorts, a white cotton t-shirt caked in mud – like he’d climbed the river bank – and bruises forming on his bare legs and arms) approached, staggering forward, crying, blood streaming from his dirty hair.

Albert ran to him, looking to see if his parents were following close behind. Not spotting them, he picked up the shaking five-year-old. Clutching him, he turned around to try and find an ambulance.

There had to be twenty to thirty already lined up awaiting anyone needing to be rushed to the hospital.

Men dressed in blue uniforms hurried by him, along with other pedestrians who’d been out on their afternoon walk. A female officer stopped him, assisting him to the nearest emergency medical technician.

Not wanting to let go, Albert lowered the gasping child onto the ground.

The man, wearing the emergency-room coat, checked the little one’s head to examine how badly he’d been hurt. He pressed gauze against the cut, which would require stitches.

What’s your name? Albert asked the boy, kneeling, and wiping bloody moisture off his cheeks.

Scared, the little one didn’t care to speak at first. Finally, he said, Oscar.

It’s an honor to meet you, Oscar. Get better, okay?

Where’s my Mommy? he asked, tears flowing again.

They’ll find her. They’re, they’re down there now looking. I’m certain...

What’s your name?

Mine?

He nodded.

Albert.

Find Mommy.

They will, he said, bending over and tying the child’s shoe.

We need to drive him to the hospital, the medical man said.

I suppose I can’t ride along?

Only if you’re family...

Where’re you taking him?

Saint Mary’s...

Albert nodded.

The technician and his partner fastened Oscar onto a stretcher and loaded him into the ambulance. They hopped in, shut the doors, flipped the sirens on, and sped off.

He turned around. The police had already blocked the highway with squad cars and yellow tape.

You should go move your vehicle anyway.

As he trudged away, his cell rang in his pants pocket. Grabbing it, he glanced to see, Cindy. Answering it, he turned his back to the faded, chaotic horizon.

Helicopters buzzed overhead, circling. Rescue divers dressed in wetsuits swam vigorously to locate another live body, or to pull out a minivan or SUV as it slowly submerged into the river. Fires burned – smoke billowing – as young children were freed from a school bus set to succumb to the flames by individuals they’d never met before.

CHAPTER 2

Months before, Albert, thin, with black hair and brown eyes, sat on a cold metal chair, staring tiredly at a tall, slender man who wore round glasses, and held a blue erase-board marker, pointing to what he’d just written for the class: The American economy purrs at its utmost performance when everyone looks out for their own best interests.

The students scribbled it down on their notebooks.

Albert stared at the sentence.

What about the family of Cliff Baxter – and the twenty-two thousand people who lost their livelihood?

Everything he’d learned up until then flipped through his mind, and now the prof’s proclamation – inserted into his head – pushed back.

There’s an ol’ businessman’s joke, the professor continued, grinning, which I’ve taken the liberty to update especially for your last day of class before finals. In the real world, there’s no such thing as a ‘free handshake.’

Albert imagined himself in the middle of an elementary-school parking lot, the sun slanting off a dark figure towering over him. He was trying to slip back up on his feet. Two ripped arms shoved into his chest, knocking him onto the ground. Trying to hold tears from flowing, he flinched as the unknown man kicked him with full force, piercing pain through Albert’s fragile ribcage.

But I’m supposed to start a new job tomorrow... he said, wincing.

Pay no attention! the dark man yelled into Albert’s bloody face.

Two months later, Albert slept comfortably in his bed. He was a month past his twenty-third birthday and had just graduated from Business Community College.

His eyes shot open. Staring at the ceiling, he could’ve sworn he’d heard the phone penetrating his sleep. He glanced over. It rang again, followed by another.

Who’s calling at this hour?

Reaching for the receiver, he held it a second to regain consciousness. Picking it up, he placed it on his warm ear.

Hello? he asked, trying to form the word properly.

Mister Nickledymer? asked an unfamiliar female voice.

Yes?

I have unfortunate news. Your father –

My father? he asked, sitting up in bed. What about Jack?

He’s in Hope Hospital.

Excuse me?

He’s sick.

With what?

Who is this?

Elizabeth... his eldercare nurse. He stopped in after he wasn’t feeling well the last two weeks. They administered multiple tests and we got the results back today. Cancer’s devouring his pancreas. It’s already spread to his liver, she said, maintaining her need for professionalism.

Cancer? Is it treatable with chemo –

I apologize, Albert; but as of right now there isn’t a great deal they can do. He doesn’t have much time.

Doesn’t what? he asked, tears swelling into his voice.

He wanted me to get ahold of you. I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you. He should be home tomorrow.

But, I’m supposed to start a new job... He paused.

Again, I’m truly sorry.

CHAPTER 3

Marney Burns – a skinny, red-haired girl with green eyes, a face full of freckles – lay in her hospital bed sleeping. Samantha – a thirty-year-old single mom who’d had her accidental baby at the age of seventeen (contradictory to the boyfriend’s promises, apparently it does only take one time) sat beside her daughter in a growing-more-uncomfortable chair. Standing, she leaned forward on tiptoes, kissing gently on her daughter’s warm forehead.

My poor dear, Samantha said, wishing there were more to put her at ease. The best the doctors could do was sedate her.

What ailed Marney wasn’t exactly chickenpox – a nurse had admitted to Samantha her child’s condition consisted of having them multiplied by twenty. Any amount of scratching of the exposed skin would cause additional burning and itching – the good news being it wasn’t contagious. To acquire the rare disorder, one must come into contact with the source, which as of now, for the most part was unknown.

Samantha searched through her memory to try and remember anything out of the ordinary her daughter may have done. Within the last few months she’d gone to the same lake she’d been going to every summer for the past seven. She’d not tried eating unusual foreign delicacies – at least none she’d confessed to. If she’d been seeing a strange boy hiding passable diseases, Samantha was unaware, and it was animatedly forbidden for such mistakes made by Mother to be repeated (especially at the age of thirteen).

What could it be then? Where did it start? And why aren’t these goddamn doctors fixing her?

She wanted to scream, as that’s all she thought to do to help. Holding back, she walked out the door and into the blinding fluorescent light in the hall. She squinted at the change in brightness, allowing her pupils to adjust from the dimness of Marney’s room. Her white shirt blended against the walls as she ambled toward someplace other than where she was.

The anxiousness in her pace stirred up dull pain buried deep inside the never-ending pit of her inner self. The subtle gnawing seemed strikingly familiar as two nurses passed, looking sympathetically – as if they were staring into her eyes to express utmost sadness with what appeared like telepathic powers – yet continuing their conversation.

As she approached the main station, her breath shortening with every step, she slowed, seeing nobody sitting behind the desk. She stopped and scanned both directions, unsure which route led to burning-hot coffee.

Eenie, Meenie, Miney, Moe...?

Deciding on right, she headed down past patients in bed. She wondered what ailments they were enduring – and if theirs were worse than her daughter’s.

She’d either guessed correctly or each way would’ve brought her to what she craved, but she came to a break area with a vending machine selling fresh brew. A television sat high on a black metal frame, tuned into to an all-news channel.

Fumbling for coins in her purse, she managed to place them in the slot (after dropping only one) and waited as crystals and hot water combined to pour a thin, steady stream into the foam cup.

The warmth filled the bottom of her stomach as she drank, feeling she could breathe once more. She stared out the window.

When will the snow be coming? Probably sooner than I’m ready for.

Slipping again into the hall, Samantha headed back. When she turned the corner at the nurse’s station, she saw two outside Marney’s room, holding a clipboard. Her walk became a jog.

As she approached, she asked, What’s wrong?

The middle-aged, slender one didn’t respond. The shorter, stocky one –Phyllis on her tag – said, She’s woken and is in a great deal of pain.

Samantha pushed open the door. Marney’s red-shot eyes glared at her. They’d clamped her wrists to the bed to prevent her from scratching her skin off. They’d done the same with her ankles, more so to impede being kicked in the ribs.

We’re doing everything we can, Phyllis said, following Samantha inside.

Are you hurting, baby? her mom asked Marney, scooting the chair next to her, sitting on its edge, and leaning forward.

It burns, Mother. It fucking burns!

Taken back by the language she’d never heard Marney use, Samantha, moisture running down her cheeks, looked at the nurse.

Marney squirmed violently, trying to yank her hands and feet through the padded clamps. Screaming, sweat poured down her temples as hair stuck to her face.

Make it... she said with tears. Stop the thousands of little fuckers embedded in me, eating away at my skin!

What can you do? Samantha asked Phyllis.

All we can do is sedate her again.

Then fucking sedate her!

Reaching to the wall, Phyllis pressed a button.

Mother, help. Please make this... Please, oh God, pleeease... It’s my whole fucking legs and arms... They itch – someone end this DAMN POUNDING IN MY HEAD!

The door pushed open, and the other nurse rushed in. Hurrying around the side of the bed, she pulled out a needle and punctured Marney’s bicep.

Within seconds, Marney had passed unconscious.

CHAPTER 4

Early the following morning, Albert stood, yawning, next to his father’s towering, oak front door. The four-thousand-square-foot, five-bedroom, six-bath, three-story brick house with a backyard covered pool was located in Beaumont Parkway – one of the few fenced-off neighborhoods in Opulence City, Minnesota. He’d been allowed in – all who entered must carry community photo identification – by a security guard sipping hot coffee.

Albert had pushed the bell once, and was pressing it again. As he lifted his watch, a chill in the air sent a shiver down his spine.

Quarter till seven? What made you think he’d be home? Might as well try after work.

Later, at Johnson’s Group – an investment firm – Albert sat at a desk with a pencil and a couple pieces of paper. He wouldn’t need a computer, which they’d told him when he’d arrived, as he’d only be there two weeks assisting the executive’s administrators.

The extended room of cubicles had a higher-than-normal ceiling as they were on the top of the thirty-four-floor building.

He’d already completed his tasks for the day. Standing, he walked the ten feet to a pane-glass window and examined the dim city. The night was darkening, but the streetlights hadn’t sprung to life yet.

Still, he saw fall’s red-and-yellow leaves holding on desperately to their summer-long bond with the trees. Winter’s white contrast would soon blind as it would settle slowly down upon the deadwood blackness of the bare bleakness of autumn’s once vibrant forest.

How beautiful.

Stepping back, he looked at the wall clock appearing to read the same when he’d first stood. He ambled to the desk with hands stuffed in his pockets. He sat. Scanning the seemingly endless aisle, he didn’t notice anyone who might be working.

Whatever you do,