A friend and colleague wrote this short short story last night about a famous man from Tennessee. My friend is a Republican (yes, I have a Republican friend... don't ask) and we attempt to torture each other with propaganda from both Reds and Blues to prove each other wrong. Of course, he can never truly win this battle as I believe the Democrats are as corrupt as the Republicans, they just act like they're not.
The Republicans --- they just flip us the bird and flatten another country to seize their black gold and secretly spy on us like Nixon on steroids and Crystal Meth. I digress.
My friend/colleague wrote a wonderful story about a man from Tennessee and eloquently imagines the ghosts that haunt this man. Its probably a very accurate portrayal. So, I thought I'd share. Enjoy.
the white silk drapes of an unlit bathroom window.
The summer moon glows, illuminating the bathroom to reveal a man in
his late 50s, unrecognizable from the stately speeches, camera flashes
and brilliant smile. He lowers his head and the weight of the world
weighs down upon his shoulders. He thinks again of the day when his
future was before him... before the Florida waves washed away his
chances for political immortality.
The magazines, newspaper articles and editorials tout his name now in
even bigger bolder letters. He can still hear the cheers from the
recent sold out lecture halls and stadiums, shouting, chanting his
name... yet the man who has known so much popularity and public
affection stares somberly in the mirror... secretly... deeply longing
for something else, something more, a relentless, unceasing incessant
desire for another name to be chanted... Mr. President
The man sighs heavily as he closes the bathroom door and walks back to
his bed...
"There is always the environment" he mutters to himself as he closes
his eyes and attempts once again to fall asleep.
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