Megan Stroup
Stories (14)
Filter by community
The War Doesn’t End When the Sirens Stop
The first time the air raid siren woke me, I didn’t recognize the sound. It wasn’t the sharp, electronic wail I’d heard in movies or news clips. It was deeper, rougher, like a voice screaming through a rusted megaphone. My body knew before my mind did. I was on the floor, hands over my head, before I even remembered I was supposed to be afraid.
By Megan Stroup11 days ago in Serve
When the News Moves On, the Silence Stays
The first thing you notice is the quiet. Not the peaceful kind, the kind that hums with absence. The kind that settles over a street where, just months ago, the air was thick with shouts and sirens and the relentless whir of helicopters circling overhead. Now, there’s only the occasional car rolling over cracked pavement, the distant bark of a dog, the rustle of plastic bags caught in the skeletal branches of a dead tree.
By Megan Stroup11 days ago in Humans
No One Explained My Rights
The first thing I remember is how fast everything moved. Not physically—no one rushed me—but procedurally. Words were spoken in a sequence that felt practiced, like steps on a staircase I hadn’t been warned I’d need to climb. I kept waiting for someone to pause. To check in. To say, Here’s what this means.
By Megan Stroup12 days ago in Humans
What Happens When Force Becomes Routine
It rarely starts with a blow. It starts with a tone. A command delivered too fast. A moment where compliance is assumed before it’s possible. The room tightens. The choices narrow. And then, suddenly, force is framed as necessary. After that, the details blur.
By Megan Stroup13 days ago in Criminal
The Names That Never Leave the Building
The building doesn’t change when someone dies inside it. The doors still buzz open. The lights still hum. Paperwork moves from one desk to another with the same quiet urgency it always has. From the outside, it looks like another day of operations—another shift, another schedule, another count.
By Megan Stroup13 days ago in Criminal
They Weren’t Listening for Answers
The questions came quickly. Too quickly. Each one was delivered with a practiced rhythm, the kind that doesn’t leave much space between sentences. I answered as best I could, watching the pen move across the page, the cursor blink on the screen. There was no interruption, no sign of impatience. Just motion.
By Megan Stroup13 days ago in Humans
Nothing Happened, and That’s the Problem
Nothing happened that day. At least, nothing that would make a report sound urgent. There was no shouting. No alarms. No visible mistake. The building stayed open. The phones were answered. The process moved forward exactly as designed.
By Megan Stroup14 days ago in Humans
I Didn’t Know I Was Allowed to Say No
No one raised their voice. No one threatened anything. That’s what makes it hard to explain. It happened in a room that felt official enough to be intimidating and ordinary enough to seem safe. The kind of place where clocks tick too loudly and the chairs are meant to keep you alert, not comfortable. Someone stood while I sat. Someone spoke while I listened. The imbalance was subtle, but it was there.
By Megan Stroup14 days ago in Confessions
They Called It Procedure
The room went quiet in a way that didn’t feel respectful. It felt practiced. Someone cleared their throat. Someone else folded a piece of paper they hadn’t been reading. A sentence was delivered carefully, like it had been rehearsed in front of a mirror.
By Megan Stroup14 days ago in Humans
We’re Not As Divided As We’re Told
Spend enough time online, and you’d think the country is permanently at war with itself. Every feed scrolls with outrage, every headline screams conflict, every trending topic seems designed to pit one group against another. Opinions are treated like battlefields, and nuance feels like a weakness.
By Megan Stroup16 days ago in Humans
The Silence That Followed the Sirens
They always do. At first, there was noise—red and blue lights bouncing off windows, radios crackling with clipped urgency, voices overlapping in practiced chaos. A flurry of movement, uniforms, and words that barely had time to land. Then, almost abruptly, it was gone. The street returned to itself. Doors closed. Curtains shifted. Someone somewhere went back to making dinner. Life, it seemed, picked up where it had left off, as if nothing had happened at all.
By Megan Stroup16 days ago in Humans
