Vegetable Liberation Front

The dank musty smell of exposed earth wafts to their nostrils replacing the pungent stench of exhaust fumes. Their nostrils are unaccustomed to this new scent, as they inhabit the blacktopped expanses of the city.


New smells.


Foreign smells.


The biting odor of goldenrod mixing with red oak leaves. Freshly fallen and crushed under foot.


These scents assault their senses, yet they are not singularly aware of them. They blend with the emotion of the moment to create an incredible elixir of adrenaline and sensuality. Gone are the smog laden reminders of the homeland, this is a new and glorious endeavor!



Their numbers are not great, though the task before them certainly is.


Just three.


A trio of committed warriors.


Some would question the validity of the cause for which they fight. Some just haven’t seen the cruelty that they’ve witnessed. 


When you have looked evil incarnate dead in the eye, and have seen the destruction left in it’s wake, it changes you. It puts a passion in your soul that others may not comprehend.


Theirs is not a self serving battle. Nay-the battle they fight is for the innocent. No grandeur, nor notoriety will come their way, nor do they seek such recognition. Their reward is the satisfaction of righting the wrong, freeing the captive, giving voice to speechless, and defense to the helpless. These mercenaries fight for freedom. The freedom they fight for is not their own. To hear the voice of the liberated, is the only compensation they desire.


There is nothing that stirs their passion like the exploitation of the innocent, and that is what has called these freedom fighters to duty tonight.
Before the sun breaks the horizon in the morning, evil will have taken a serious blow and justice will have been served!


Step after step, they plod on in the darkness. The night sounds, at first startling and unsettling, have now become familiar.


The far away hoot of the Great Horned Owl.


The call of the whippoorwill.


The scurrying of the small creatures of the night, rustles in the fallen leaves.


The nocturnal chatter is intermittently interrupted by their own voices, as they reaffirm the reason behind tonight’s mission.
“We have got to stand up for the oppressed.”
“I know. If we don’t do something about the exploiting of the innocent, who will?”  “These creeps need to be taught a lesson anyways. What kind of evil being would imprison helpless beings for their own sick self gratification?”


At long last, the objective slowly comes into view. At first it is obscured by the darkness, but gradually, with each approaching step, it begins to take shape.


The field of shame.


Mankind should be ashamed that places such as these even exist, instead, most people just choose to turn a blind eye to it.
Have we gotten so calloused, that we can no longer hear the cry for justice and fairness in the world?


The ski masks are pulled into place, the video camera is turned on. This video will be placed online, so that, while they remain anonymous, all the world can see that there are is somebody out there trying to make a difference.


The tools of their trade are brought out of the backpacks, and like a whirlwind liberation begins. With all of the intensity of Rosie O’Donnell at an all you can eat buffet, they fly into action.


Freedom for the helpless confined.


Machetes effortlessly slice through stalks of corn. Kernels  flying everywhere, Ears of corn dropping to the ground.. Like crazed men they pull entire stalks out of the prison of the furrow.


“RUN FREE” they scream! “No More Bondage!”


Forty-five minutes later a hush falls over the field. The labored breathing of the liberators is the only sound that interrupts silence. Several acres of prime crop land lie in ruins. Piles of mutilated corn stalks are spread around the field.


Congratulations are shared all the way around. With a self fulfilled sense of righteous indignation, the band makes it’s way back toward town. Tomorrow the world will see their exploits. Via the internet, thousands will witness their act of heroism. Youtube video comments will fill up, commending the liberators, and decrying the evil capitalists that imprisoned the poor plants in the first place. No one among the entire crew of the Vegetable Liberation Front, will see the idiocy of setting a cornstalk free from it’s roots. No one will video the field a week later as the stalks are all withering, and rotting in their piles. They’ll not be aware that their misguided efforts have done more damage than good, but neither are their counterparts at ALF and ELF.

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