Then Perish

It was another Wednesday Night when the call came. He thought it was just another prank call, it was a pretty common occurrence when you’re a self-advertised Private Investigator. People treating the world as a joke, not knowing they’re playing a comedy act in of themselves. It was a festering acid-like feeling bubbling inside of him as he stared at the ringing phone.

Lightning flashed outside with the brightness of a drooling paparazzi’s camera, this was soon followed by the hammering roar of thunder in the distance like a cop blasting a poor soul in an alleyway. Even the weather seemed to be expecting this call somehow.

Here at Downtown, America Town there was no shortage of the kind of wet work someone was willing to commit. Now for Barack, ever since he finished his term in Presidency, he knew that it was up to him to clean this place up.

Barack held his head, trying to get rid of last night’s drinking session to no avail. Drowning himself in alcohol to forget the things he’s seen, the things he’s done, it didn’t work. None of it worked and he was still here to suffer.

It was a rigged game, the kind where he was never meant to win.

And all he could do now was answer the phone.

A voice spoke in the other end with the familiarity he never came to expect. It seemed like this person knew him but for Barack it was just another day on the job.

“Hello, Mr. President,” the voice greeted, dripping with a sweet voice as if coated with honey. It made Barack’s skin crawl.

“Not anymore. That title belongs to Donald. He runs things now,” Barack replied in his alcohol ravaged throat. He glanced at the picture frame of his family, things were so simple back then.

“Does he really? You know the people still want you. People prefer you over the clown show that the White House has become,” the voice said with a scoff.

“I didn’t take the call to listen to your opinions, ma’am. Not after you left me,” Barack growled before he slammed the phone down, hanging up the call. The table rattled and shook hard, the picture frame falling as the glass shattered into a million tiny pieces.

Just like how his family fell apart.

Barack took to the bottle again. It was his only friend in this trying time…

But before he could drink the phone rang again.

So like a moth to a flame, what else could he do but answer?

“What is it?” Barack answered only for the same voice to speak again.

“I’m sorry. For everything. For all the mistakes I made,” the voice continued, pleading and hurt, though sweet and bell-like as well.

Barack made a face, almost like the alcohol he had taken to drowning himself in was set alight. He answered, “Don’t say sorry to me. To ask forgiveness from me. Ask forgiveness from America… And to her People.”

“Baby please—“

“It’s over Michelle. It’s over. Just make sure you keep your promise and take care of the girls. Don’t talk to me again,” Barack replied.

“Barack, listen to me. I know I made mistakes. But listen to me. I can’t live without you. I need you in my life, our daughters’ lives,” Michelle pleaded over the line. Her tricks won’t work on him again.

Barack grimaced as he spoke, “You should have thought about that before you fired the Nukes. Now all of the world is hunting you down.”

“I can’t live on without you. I need you, Barack,” Michelle whispered, her voice cracking in tears.

He can’t. He knew he can’t.

After the Nukes were fired the world was changed and Barack chose to run… Like a coward. He failed as a Father, as a President, he let everyone down…

But now, there was only one thing he could say…

“Then perish,” Barack replied as he hung up the phone. It began to rain outside, almost like the sky was crying. But who the hell was it crying for? Certainly not for the dead love which Barack had thrown away.

He wasn’t a President anymore. He wasn’t even a Father. Most of all he wasn’t a husband…

He was Barack Obama, Private Investigator of America Town.

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Note: Why did I do this