flash fiction: election [nanoljers]
I'm really getting on board with this writing prompt, and since election is so relevant with what's going on at the moment (go Obama!) and the constant presence of slightly melancholy thoughts in my head, I wrote this.
The prompt is for nanoljers here. This is my first word of the week challenge. Word count is a little over 500.
election
If he wins, it will be his last term, but I know that a term can be a long time. Not a life sentence, of course, but it's longer than four years. That much I'm sure of.
I should be happy for him. Governor. That's what people called him for four years when I was in kinder garden. (Two years over two terms.) Senator. They called him that, too, until I was already through middle school. And if he wins this time, they'll all call him Mr. President again. The entire nation, all 300 million of them.
I haven't ever called him that, but I'm just one, right?
He's speaking at the podium right now, white smile on his face to match his white shirt and gray tie. I shouldn't let my mind wander, my tutors always told me it was bad practice if I ever wanted to be like him one day. I wonder how they would react if they knew I wanted to become a doctor. Not well, I imagine. It's a dream, and they can't control those. At least, not mine.
I feel a light touch at my shoulder and turn to look at my shadow. He's up against the wall, my forever shadow, the one that's attached even when I wake up late at night and sneak down to the kitchens for ice cream. He nods his head towards the side exit; he wants me to leave, he'll follow. My shadow always follows.
"Are we done?" I mouth to him in just the space of a glance over my shoulder. I've become an expert at pretending.
He nods and I turn to look at the president and realize that he's already halfway through with his closing statements.
Oh, I think. I quite liked standing off to the side, just my shadow and me and my thoughts.
I feel my feet ache as soon as I shift my weight from one foot to the other, trying to regain circulation in my legs. How long have I been standing here? The speaker's words always get jumbled and the time draws on endlessly, but still I stand. I'm always standing, whether in ovation or restlessness. My cage is a two-story mansion with breath-taking gardens and historical importance; it's been that way for four years, and, as I look out at the crowd once more before I turn to leave (smiling first, of course) I know that it will be this way for another four years.
I should be happy, and I am, but I feel hollow, as well. I've grown too accustomed to automatic smiles and diplomatic responses. I've grown too accustomed to now recognizing the girl in the mirror, her plain brown hair with perfectly trimmed bangs. The last time I went shopping for myself, I had been covertly scouting the shelves for feminine products for the first time. But that was ten years ago and the memory is hazy, just like the lights that are shining down on my face.
I know this election is just a formality. The nation loves the incumbent more than the outsider.
I'm used to living under a spotlight, my shadow always by my side, my thoughts locked up tight in a box that'll never open.
Because my father is the leader of the free world, and will be for another term.
(Four years.)
Let me know your thoughts! I was a little unsure of how to end it, but I thought tying it back up to the beginning was an idea :)
The prompt is for nanoljers here. This is my first word of the week challenge. Word count is a little over 500.
election
If he wins, it will be his last term, but I know that a term can be a long time. Not a life sentence, of course, but it's longer than four years. That much I'm sure of.
I should be happy for him. Governor. That's what people called him for four years when I was in kinder garden. (Two years over two terms.) Senator. They called him that, too, until I was already through middle school. And if he wins this time, they'll all call him Mr. President again. The entire nation, all 300 million of them.
I haven't ever called him that, but I'm just one, right?
He's speaking at the podium right now, white smile on his face to match his white shirt and gray tie. I shouldn't let my mind wander, my tutors always told me it was bad practice if I ever wanted to be like him one day. I wonder how they would react if they knew I wanted to become a doctor. Not well, I imagine. It's a dream, and they can't control those. At least, not mine.
I feel a light touch at my shoulder and turn to look at my shadow. He's up against the wall, my forever shadow, the one that's attached even when I wake up late at night and sneak down to the kitchens for ice cream. He nods his head towards the side exit; he wants me to leave, he'll follow. My shadow always follows.
"Are we done?" I mouth to him in just the space of a glance over my shoulder. I've become an expert at pretending.
He nods and I turn to look at the president and realize that he's already halfway through with his closing statements.
Oh, I think. I quite liked standing off to the side, just my shadow and me and my thoughts.
I feel my feet ache as soon as I shift my weight from one foot to the other, trying to regain circulation in my legs. How long have I been standing here? The speaker's words always get jumbled and the time draws on endlessly, but still I stand. I'm always standing, whether in ovation or restlessness. My cage is a two-story mansion with breath-taking gardens and historical importance; it's been that way for four years, and, as I look out at the crowd once more before I turn to leave (smiling first, of course) I know that it will be this way for another four years.
I should be happy, and I am, but I feel hollow, as well. I've grown too accustomed to automatic smiles and diplomatic responses. I've grown too accustomed to now recognizing the girl in the mirror, her plain brown hair with perfectly trimmed bangs. The last time I went shopping for myself, I had been covertly scouting the shelves for feminine products for the first time. But that was ten years ago and the memory is hazy, just like the lights that are shining down on my face.
I know this election is just a formality. The nation loves the incumbent more than the outsider.
I'm used to living under a spotlight, my shadow always by my side, my thoughts locked up tight in a box that'll never open.
Because my father is the leader of the free world, and will be for another term.
(Four years.)
Let me know your thoughts! I was a little unsure of how to end it, but I thought tying it back up to the beginning was an idea :)