My day is busy. Not your average “Oh, I've got so much to do before I can sit down and have a glass of wine at 8PM” busy. No no. Mine is more “Oh, I've got so much to do with the countries deficit before I can sit down for a meeting with the Ukrainian ambassador after I get my vice president to bitch slap the Senate around.” In being so busy, I don't really have a lot of time to personally relax. Sure, I could take a bunch of vacation days and retreat to Camp David but I doubt that's going to look good in the public eye. If I take one now, I might as well spend the rest of my presidency there because I won't be getting elected again.
But the one thing I've taken some solace in, is in talking to my personal Secret Service agent. He happens to be a friend of mine, from another life, and he's helped me do something that I hope all the other Presidents are able to enjoy. He's afforded me the luxury of freedom, despite being the leader of the most Free country on the planet. He's shown me a route, that can bypass all cameras and patrols, that will get me out of the White House without being detected. So, naturally, I might as well go to the one place that I feel most comfortable.
I've visited all of the homeless shelters in Washington, at least once. Some of them more than others, and they feel comfortable to me. No one really asks questions, no one talks unless it's mutually agreed. There's a quiet sense of anonymity, if you can get past the drunken ones who can't control themselves. Most of the times when I visit it's under the guise of some charity or donation, but I've been going a lot at night. Most are asleep then, with a few wandering the streets who were denied admission. They usually crash nearby, stuck in the cold and rain.
And I can see one now. Even from across the street, I can hear him grumbling. The wind ripping past me didn't drown out his sorrows at all. Maybe he needs someone to talk to, I've always had a good ear for peoples woes. Crossing the street isn't exactly difficult now, with few cars roaming the pavement. I closed the gap as quickly as possible, trying to limit the amount of time my face could be visible. A president wandering the streets at night doesn't need any extra attention.
The first thing that caught his eye was my shoes. I've always considered them an indicator of someone status, and I guess he did too. That or my shoes reflecting the streetlights managed to blind him. “How are you doing?” I said, pulling my coat up around my neck. “They wouldn't fuckin let me in.” He grumbled back, looking up at the window. He picked up a rock and threw it, missing by some considerable margin. He went back to staring at the ground.
“What do you want?” He mumbled, fixated on his feet. “I just wanted to see how you were doing. I could hear you from across the street.” He snapped up, staring at me and yelled “DO YOU EXPECT ME TO APOLOGIZE?” I raised up my hands in defense, my gloves getting caught on the fabric of my coat. “I don't want an apology, I wanted to see if I could help. I've got somewhere you can stay the night, and some food. If you would like that.” He was still staring at me, but his look changed from fury to confusion. “Why?” His voice sounded quizzical. “I like to help my fellow Americans.” I smiled at myself, laughing internally at my little joke.
He stood up and nodded. “I'd like that.” I smiled and shook his hand. A brief flicker of emotion crossed his face, and as we started to head across the street he said “You look familiar.” I kept smiling, waiting until we were in the next alley to respond. “Imagine me standing in front of the flag, with Star-Spangled Banner playing.” His eyes widened and he stopped a moment. “Holy shit.” He muttered under his breath. I nodded and chuckled, and we kept walking. He seemed to be still processing the information, or otherwise he would have known we were walking to a dead end.
“Why the hell are you out here?” He asked. I turned to him and casually said “For this.” My hand thrust forward, the knife burrowing through his jacket and into his torso. My other hand grabbing his throat, pushing him up against the wall as I took the knife out and stabbed him again, and again, and again. His body bucked against me, but he was in a bad position to struggle. That and the blood loss was affecting him. I could feel him going limp in my hands. It wasn't much longer before the light flickered out of his eyes. I let go of his neck, his body slumping into the puddle of blood on the ground. The red streak was melting all of the snow around it, dissolving the last footprints he made, with fresh falling snow covering the rest.
I bent down, wiping the blade off on his coat and started to walk back to the secret route. My bodyguard, Henry, was waiting with a smirk on his face. “I can see you blew your load.” He laughed. He always made fun of me for wanting to kill first, when he liked to drag it out with torture. “Hey, don't knock it until you've tried it.” Our laughs echoed in the night, as I changed out of the bloodied clothing and into new ones at our safehouse. As we entered the White House again, finally out of the cold, we continued on to the Oval Office. I sat in the chair, Henry standing in front of me. “Same time next week?” He asked, knowing the reply. “As long as I'm not in Russia.” He laughed, nodded, and went to his own room, as I finished up paperwork. It was hard to focus with the view behind me. A street that had been plagued by murder in the past couple of years, since I was inaugurated. No one really made the connection, and those who did were immediately written off as conspiracy nuts. I mean, who's going to suspect the President of being a serial killer?