Transmission #120.2051

Transmission: # 120.2051
Date: March 1, 2051
Time: 10:29 PM CST
Receiver: [UNSENT DRAFT]
Subject: Kiley (you’ll never read this, I hope)

I don’t know why I’m writing this. Maybe I’m trying to make sense of how we got here. Or maybe I just want to scream into something that won’t scream back.

Either way, this is for you.

Even if you’ll never see it.

You always said the government needed morals. That laws without “values” were just chaos in a suit.

And you meant well, didn’t you?

You thought you were protecting something.

Or maybe you were just echoing Dad.

But here we are.

And I can’t tell where the pulpit ends and the policy begins.

Our laws sound like sermons now.

Our electeds speak in scripture before they vote.

And people clap for it. Like it’s righteous.

Like we weren’t warned what would happen if you married belief to authority and handed it both the sword and the pen.

They don’t call it theocracy, of course.

They call it “returning to order.”

“Restoring dignity.”

“Protecting tradition.”

But I know the shape of a cage, Kiley.

Even when it’s wrapped in flags and hymns and cherry-picked verses.

You’d probably say I left the faith before it left me.

That I “gave up on grace.”

But grace doesn’t burn books.

Grace doesn’t erase families from legal records.

Grace doesn’t fund surveillance under the banner of righteousness.

What we have now isn’t faith.

It’s control—with a halo on.

And I keep wondering—

If you’d still vote the same way now.

If you’d still smile when they talk about “traditional marriage” like it’s the only one that counts.

If you’d still call me your sister now that the state says I shouldn’t raise a child, or teach, or hold hands in public.

Maybe you would.

Maybe you’d say it’s not personal. That it’s “God’s will.”

But here’s the thing, Kiley.

I don’t care what God they’re claiming anymore.

I care what harm they’re doing with His name on their tongue.

And I’m watching this country fall in line, heads bowed, hands folded—

Not in prayer.

In submission.

Maybe that’s what scares me most.

Not the leaders.

The followers.

This is not the morality you taught me.

This is not love.

It’s fear.

Branded. Legislated. Weaponized.

I’m still your sister.

But I don’t know if you’re still mine.

—O