Tim Walz: “After the Roar Stopped”

This is an entirely fictional creative work. It does not represent the actual thoughts, words, or views of any real person. This is satire and literary fiction for entertainment purposes.

March 29, 2026
Tim Walz — Governor of Minnesota and 2024 Democratic Vice Presidential Nominee

After the Roar Stopped

March 29, 2026

Couldn't sleep. Still can't. It's almost 3 AM and Gwen's out and I'm sitting in the kitchen with the dog and a bowl of Cheerios I'm not really eating. Scout keeps nudging my hand like he knows something's off. Dogs are smarter than people give them credit for.

Two hundred thousand. That's what they're saying. I stood up there and I could not see the end of the crowd. Just people. All the way down the mall and spilling into the side streets and I kept thinking about Friday night football games at Mankato West — how a full stadium felt like the whole world was watching. That was maybe four thousand people. This was — I don't even have a frame for it. The sound wasn't a cheer. It was something lower than that. Like a hum. Like the ground was vibrating.

I said the radicalized line and the place just WENT. And here's the thing — I meant every word of it. I did. But there was a part of me, this tiny coach part of me, that was also going: okay, good, that landed, keep the energy up, stay on your feet, don't let the moment drop. And I don't know what that says about me. That I can be genuinely furious and also be reading the room at the same time. Gwen says that's just being a leader. Maybe. Maybe it's just being a politician and I should stop pretending there's a difference.

Renee Good was 34 years old. Alex Pretti was 22. Twenty-two. I've had students older than that. I met Renee's mom backstage and she grabbed both my hands and she just held on and didn't say anything for what felt like a full minute. Her hands were so small. I'm a big guy, her hands just disappeared inside mine. And I thought — I cannot cry right now, if I cry right now it becomes about me and it's not about me. So I didn't. I held it together and I said something about Renee's courage and I could hear my own voice doing that teacher-steady thing and I hated it a little bit. Her daughter is dead because federal agents got aggressive on a Minneapolis street and I'm modulating my tone.

Bruce was incredible. I mean — it's Bruce Springsteen. I introduced him and I could hear my own voice crack a little and I think people thought it was emotion about the song and it partly was but honestly part of it was just: I'm introducing Bruce Springsteen. The kid from Butte, Nebraska is introducing the Boss. My dad would have lost his mind.

But then he played the song and the whole crowd went quiet. Two hundred thousand people and you could hear the wind. "Streets of Minneapolis." And I stood in the wings and watched and thought about how we got here. How I was supposed to be vice president. How instead I'm standing on a stage in St. Paul because my state buried two people who were just walking down the street.

Somebody on the team — I think it was Marcus — said the overnight tracking has me at the highest approvals of any governor in the country right now. And I nodded and said something like "that's not why we do this" which is TRUE but also I noticed the number. I filed it away. I don't love that about myself.

8 million people across the country. They keep saying largest single-day protest in US history. Bigger than the Women's March. And I keep thinking — that's great, that's powerful, but what does it change? What does it actually change tomorrow morning? Because tomorrow morning those federal agents are still in Minneapolis. The executive order is still in effect. And two people are still dead.

Gwen came home around midnight, kicked off her shoes, sat down next to me on the couch and said "You did good today, Tim." And then: "You need to eat something real." And then she fell asleep against my shoulder before I could answer.

The Cheerios are getting soggy. Scout's asleep now too.

I keep hearing that hum. That sound the crowd made. I don't know if it was hope or grief or rage or all three. I don't know if it matters which one it was. I just know I'm supposed to know what comes next and I'm sitting here at 3 AM and I

AFTER THE CAMERAS is a daily publication of speculative psychological fiction. Each entry imagines the private thoughts of a public figure on the day's biggest story. No entry represents real thoughts, statements, or beliefs of any individual. All internal monologue, emotional reactions, and private observations are entirely invented. External events referenced are real; inner experiences are fictional. All content is created for entertainment purposes only.