Two men died, and then awoke standing on a gray plain of ash. Above them both should have been an evening sky but instead was a painting of the cosmos; someone with incredible talent had set the stars just right, and with incredible strength had pulled twin ebon moons so near to the horizon. The ash was ever-still in gentle mounds like waves there, yet there was no wind.

After finally tearing their eyes away from the awning of stars, they allowed their vision to lower and settle on each other.

Similarly, they both wore fitted suits that seemed to sag, verily opposite of the silk ties they wore that seemed to choke them. It was then that they noticed a small table just before them that surely didn’t exist just a moment before – and two seats that had either man’s name stitched into the back.

“So you’re one of them, huh?” One of the men said, nodding to the other's tie, and then pulled the chair away through the ash to sit.

“Oh great,” The other uttered, "you’re one of them."

One had a blue tie, the other: red.

“You guys and your hate of immigrants never made sense to me.” The liberal opened with.

“You know, I’m actually for immigration,” the conservative retorted, then waved his hand condescendingly, “just ‘legal’ immigration, not what you guys like.”

“Oh yeah? I’ve been hearing that for years. What sort of immigration reform have conservatives done? Anything to change the system? Make it better? Or is it just talk after all this time?”

The conservative gave a single, loud laugh that somehow echoed over those endless waves of ash,

“And what do the Dems say, just let them all in to stay?”

“Certainly, we should keep some out.”

“Give me a number?”

The liberal scoffed, throwing back,

“And who would work all the farm jobs? An economy needs to grow, and thus more jobs are needed, and thus a greater intake of people willing to work those jobs – jobs that nice, wealthy people don’t want to work.”

The conservative had been fiddling with his red tie, then got a smug smile,

“My great-grandparents were immigrants. Legal immigrants, that is. They were paid basically nothing,” He stabbed his finger down on the table, “and yet they worked hard for a better life here – in America!” 

The liberal raised his eyebrows,

“Oh, should they have been paid better?"

"Of course.”

“Why don’t conservatives pay their employees better?"

"We do! When I started working in 1970, I was making a buck-sixty an hour, and glad for the opportunity to work! Today, minimum wage is $7.25.”

A smile bloomed across the liberal’s face,

“Yeah, adjusted for inflation, you were making fourteen dollars an hour back then.”

Red overtook the cheeks and brow of the conservative,

“You know, you liberals talk a big game about raising wages, but you’re all liars. You don’t actually care at all about that.”

Keeping his stupid, smug smile on his face for winning the last point, the man with the blue tie nodded back,

“I’ll bite.”

This time it was the conservative who smiled broadly as he leaned back, adjusting himself to be more comfortable in his chair.

“If you liberals didn’t let so many people in, wages would be higher. A bigger workforce, especially one willing to work for less, means you drive down everyone's wages.”

“Pfft,” the liberal scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“If you liberals really cared about wages, you’d want fewer people, not more.”

The liberal leaned back, setting his hands on his knees, then raised a pointed finger ready to strike back when he and the conservative both noticed for the first time that there was a third man sitting at the table.

Except this man was not dressed like either of them, in their fancy clothes that didn’t quite sit well on the shoulders of the liberal or the conservative. Instead, he was dressed in neat shorts and a plain t-shirt. The third man’s head was downcast, and both of his forearms were chained down to each armrest.

While sizing him up, the table they were at had changed too: to be a blue-plastic kiddie one.

“Who are you?!" Both suited men accused the third, perhaps worried another conservative or liberal had joined them and would tip the balance of the debate to either’s favor.

The third, plainly dressed man was muttering, and slowly he lifted up his head so that the liberal and conservative could see clear tears that flowed down his cheeks in rivers like panes. Lifting his head up, and up, until his eyes could see the masterwork of stars above them all, the third man said,

“I am a centrist, and I am in hell.”

Austin Petak is an aspiring novelist and freelance journalist who loves seeking stories and the quiet passions of the soul. If you are interested in reaching out to him to cover a story, you may find him at austinpetak@gmail.com.

Opinions expressed by columnists in The Daily Record are not necessarily those of its management or staff, and do not constitute an endorsement or recommendation. Any errors or omissions should be called to our attention so that they may be corrected. Contact us at news@omahadailyrecord.com.