Welcome to Flashes of Sanity! Your daily dose of flash fiction on 500 words or less.
Today’s entry: Meeting the President
”Sir? What do you want us to do with the red cloud?”
President Gool’s receiver blinked red for mute. He breathed through the pain spreading from his wrist. The hand lay lifeless on the floor. The man responsible still held the knife against Gool’s throat. The blood wandered down Gool’s shirt. Another man held a hand against the mute button.
“Don’t even think of it, sir.”
“What do you want?”
Gool oriented himself through the squad who exploded into his shelter and shot everyone within seconds. Marge Umington walked in with another woman.
“You,” he said.
“Yes me, Charles. Of us two you are the one least suitable to be here.”
“How do you dare insulting me?” Gool threw himself up from the chair. The knife against his throat pushed him back in place.
“Sir?” The voice on the receiver said. “What should we do?”
“I have to answer.”
“Yes, you do,” Marge said. “You will also tell them that you are resigning with effect immediately.”
President Gool stared at his former assistant. Then he laughed.
“Are you dumb? Will you take my place? I am elected by the people! You can’t just throw me away.”
Marge checked a woman. “You know exactly how dumb I am Charles. If you don’t resign, you know there are ways for me to make it look like you resigned.”
The knife pressed harder against Gool’s throat. “And if I don’t resign, will you kill me?”
Marge looked up at him. She smiled as if she just looked at a child failing to stand up for the first time.
“Don’t fool yourself Charles. Killing you at this time is impossible. We will cut you up and run you through a meat grinder instead. What do you say Charles?”
President Gool felt his neck go warm. He locked at all those who lay on the floor. He looked at his hand.
“I will resign,” he said. “But don’t you believe this will get rid of me.”
“I never believe anything Charles.” Marge turned to the man blocking the receiver. “Are you ready?”
The lamp flashed to green.
“Wait and see what the cloud will do. Keep us updated on its movements.”
“And Sergeant Tarch, effective immediately, I will no longer be president. To contact your new president use this line.”
“Noted Mr. Gool. Thank you for your service.”
The lamp flashed red again.
“I did what you wanted,” Charles said. “Now let me go.”
Marge gave him one of her annoying smiles.
“Charles, that’s not how this works.” She nodded towards the knife holder, and the knife went through Charles’s throat.
Charles screamed. The soldier cut him in pieces.
“Take the others to the grinder too,” Marge said. “And president Queen. Why don’t you take your seat and await your next call?”
Two knifes stabbed through Charles’s eyes. Then his ears. And Charles was left in a world of silence and darkness, and pain.
Copyright © David B. Johansson 2021