This story, like all stories, begins with a man. No greater or lesser than any other man.
His childhood was unremarkable. No unimaginable trauma tainted his view of the world or warped his sense of reality. No greater destiny hung over him guiding his actions. He was like any other child; curious about the world and full of wonder and hope. He grew up in a plain house, to plain, loving parents. He went to the same government-run schools as any other child. The only thing that defined him was a tendency to introspection. He desired to know how things worked, including his inner thoughts.
In those days, the government was easy to ignore. It was a simple thing to believe that government was the benevolent protector of the community its agents claimed it was. Like many boys, he had nothing but reverence and friendliness to the men and women appointed over him. It was what he'd known, and he'd heard stories - from his parents and recounted in his school books - of lands far, far worse than the one he lived in. Life was easy, and it was simple enough. Why would he have any reason to think it would be otherwise?
As he grew into a man, though, the boy began to seek understanding of how government worked. He wanted to be a part of it, but at every turn, he was frustrated by inconsistency.
Rules conflicted with other rules. The representatives of his kind, beneficent government were the arbitrators of disputes leveled against them. The money that people seemed to willingly provide to these representatives often went to frivolous expenditures, or were lost altogether. Time and again, he found stories of the utter contempt that was shown by government agents to the people they supposedly served. Nothing about the enterprise of government seemed to fit together in any coherent way, but it was all he'd known. What alternative was there?
As a personal mission, he volunteered to serve in defense of the document that laid the government's foundations; a document he thought enshrined the liberty of individuals. He endured brutal training and reprogramming to become a defender of liberty. He gave away part of his humanity to be an effective hunter, training his body and mind to observe and close with the perceived enemies of the government he was beginning to doubt.
The longer he remained a defender, the more disillusioned he became. The longer he dedicated himself to killing, the more the moral weight of who he was doing the killing for weighed on him.
Finally the day came to pass that he had the opportunity to leave. His commitment was finished, and, in his mind, he couldn't in good conscience remain where he was. With the bitterness of betrayal in his mouth, he signed the papers that released him from service and went back home.
When he returned, he found that home no longer looked the same. Where once the enforcers of the law were individuals he wanted to emulate, they were now little more than polite thugs, armed and seeking an excuse to use violence on otherwise peaceful people. The government that had once been a good friend, there to protect, was the oppressor, a coalition of cutthroats would cared little and desired much. The other people who had once shared in his admiration of the government were now the blind, shuffling along to the drone of propaganda, unaware of the shackles around their ankles and wrists.
Whoever he was before that day didn't matter. From then on, he became Anarcho-Andrei. He became Andrei Without Rulers.
So there's my entry to the Personal Story Slam Challenge hosted by 
Andrei Chira is an anarcho-capitalist, former 82nd Airborne paratrooper, vaper, and all-around cool guy. He's a father to one wonderful little girl named Kate, lives down in Alabama, and spends his time writing stories, posting to Steemit (not as much as he probably should), and cultivating the mental fortitude to make it through three years of law school.
