On The Campaign Trail [FICTOID]

The president trembled in his armor, hiding behind the stone column outside the courthouse.

The Secretary of State lay bleeding in an ever widening pool of blood while United States marshals and Secret Service agents exchanged gunfire with a squad of hidden snipers blsting away at them.

Ever since the Supreme Court overturned the Milk Not Magnums act, the citizenry began rearming at a prodigious rate.  It was an electoral arms race, with every bullet a ballot.

Small wonder everyone now favored oversized magazines.

The president long since lost count of the number of rounds fired.  Bullets chipped away at the stone column he hid behind.  How long will it take them to blast through that? he wondered.

A marshal fell dead at his feet, dark red blood pouring out of his missing face like tomato soup.

No, not tomato soup, the president thought.  Much darker than that.

Borscht.

More shots rang out, and a Secret Service agent hobbled up beside him.

“We’re bringing the armored helicopter in,” she said.  “When it lands, make a run for it.  Try to zigzag so they won’t hit you.”

He tried to thank her but didn’t have the time -- a bullet snuffed her out.

The first primary of the year is always a little rough, the president mused.  What’s the real campaign going to be like?

A dove fluttered by and landed before him.  The president smiled.  Maybe this is a good omen.  I ought to use that, it’ll make a good impression on voters.

He held his hand out to beckon to the dove.

Too late he saw the shaped charge strapped to its chest…

© Buzz Dixon