The Hunger Games, The Handmaid’s Tale, Oryx and Crake and The Year of the Flood. Dystopian fiction. Previously considered sci-fi fantasy, maybe even cautionary tales. Right now, though, they read like the Weekend News Roundup.

Merriam-Webster defines DYSTOPIAN as: of, relating to, or being an imagined world or society in which people lead wretched, dehumanized, fearful lives.  The image above is not from an imagined world. It’s an actual photo taken earlier in 2020 when the fires near San Francisco turned the skies red.

Last week, the skies in my area glowed amber while black threads of burned grass, two inches long, fell on my property from two different fires that were ten miles away. Add the acrid smell to empty shopping centers with windows covered by plywood. City streets empty except for the homeless people who lie wrapped in blankets on the sidewalk. In key areas, police in riot gear stand in lines against citizens who are protesting for freedom and justice. Oddly, one group shouts for freedom while another marches for justice. Criminals as well as opportunists take advantage of the distraction, smashing windows to clear shelves of high-priced pharmaceuticals, electronics, and shoes that will fetch a high return on the black market. Some people, jobless due to a raging pandemic, grab food off the shelves or out of delivery trucks to feed their family and neighbors. Revelers wave guns and fly flags as they drive trucks through the streets, bumping vehicles and the occasional human as they speed along the darkened avenues, chanting phrases of perceived power. The police are occupied with protecting buildings and statues so they are not available to stop the impromptu parades or illegal fireworks, but there are officers determined to chase and shoot unarmed citizens who run away, as both sides have been conditioned to do. This is no film; it’s not an imagined world. It’s 2020, and election day is tomorrow.

My imagination combines the images and happenings from around the nation as they appear in my social media feed because I’ve read Fahrenheit 451 more than once. I’ve also read Night by Elie Wiesel and I’ve wept in the Museum of Tolerance in Los Angeles. I’ve got a big imagination but the dystopia is all too real right now. I don’t expect tanks will come rolling into my cul-de-sac here in suburban Orange County. I have neighbors that I suspect would turn me in if there was some kind of roundup though, or really, if the opportunity arose. Despite being a homeowner, taxpayer, and mother with signs on my lawn promoting our high school, Girl Scouts, and kindness, I can absolutely envision some of the people in my tract feeling empowered to challenge my family’s worthiness to remain. If the “Yes on 8” signs on my street didn’t convince me back in ’08, the proudly-displayed Trump flags and red-white-and-blue pop-up merch shops definitely give me pause. As far as I know, there hasn’t been any trouble at the voting center at the park on the next block. I’m hesitant to go over to see.

Our Senate prioritized confirming a Supreme Court Justice over confirming support for the American people who are suffering the effects of a global pandemic. They’ve put the perceived rule of law and fear of losing power over the citizens’ wellbeing. Prioritizing the protection of the few (the rich) over the needs of the many. Week after week, new announcements reveal the dire situation of my industry as wave after wave of friends and colleagues are laid off from their jobs in what had been a one-thriving industry. Though state governments are making it harder for people to vote in many places, other states (like mine) are expanding the opportunity and welcoming record numbers of voters. Some people say we’ve “got to get back to normal” while others question whether what was “normal” was best.

We’re mad as hell. The snowflakes are coalescing in a killer polar blast, the kind of powerful wind that freezes fountains instantly. The marshmallows are en flambe, crusted in black with sticky goo that burns deeply when it touches the skin. If you haven’t already cast your ballot along with the millions who took advantage of early voting, GO. Get a ride, wear a mask, use your voice. Refuse to be intimidated. When you ask, “what does it matter,” remember that your local races will not be decided by the electoral college. Local governments, including your city, county, and state still have jurisdiction and responsibility for their constituents. Tell them what you expect, and hold them to it.

We read those stories of dystopia and see films of that genre because they rightly fill us with a sense of dread. They usually end with hope, though. The heroes defy the regime, they fight back, break out, and rescue others. They don’t do it alone. The heroes find strength in the community of the like-minded. It’s not survival against mindless, flesh-eating zombies, it’s strength in unified purpose with a goal to save humanity. We can no longer ask what would you do if faced with apocalyptic scenarios. The time is now, to stop the move toward a “wretched, fearful” existence. Fight back, rescue others. Think of Katniss and the Fireman Guy Montag and Offred, of the ragtag community formed by the survivors in the MaddAddam series. Who will be your community? Who will you save?

What will you do?