The town of Dallas had never looked so good.
The townsfolk had combined their efforts in the week preceding that November afternoon. They'd preened the hedges neatly and tidily; clipped the lawns; swept the streets and glossed the windows so much that Delilah could see her own reflection so clear that it was as though she were looking at a mirror. Her pigtails bounced around her shoulders as her father hoisted onto his shoulders.
Sawyer, standing at his father's hip, tugged uncomfortably at his shirt collar which wrapped around his neck like a noose. He'd complained all morning that it was too hot to be dressed so fancily, but Delilah had no calms about wearing the pretty pink dress her aunt Delores had given her for her birthday just a week ago.
''Daddy, I'm hungry,'' she whispered in her father's ear. He shifted her about on his shoulders and sighed. ''You can have lunch after he passes, 'right?''
The butcher shuffled through the crowd that was milling onto the sidewalk, carying a tray with hot meats piled onto it. Sawyer's hand swung out and pinched a sausage, quickly shoving it between his thin, pink lips. Delilah cried out. ''Daddy, he-''
''Hush up, Dee!'' Sawyer scolded his little sister, tugging at her ankle to shut her up. She let out a small whimper.
''Sawyer, let your sis' alone and Dee, hush up. It's startin','' their father hissed as the local school's choir began to sing, in an array of tunes, the national anthem.
A car veered around the corner and Delilah gasped. Sitting in the backseat, in all his glory, was J. F. Kennedy. His dark blond hair was swept to the side, shading his crystal blue eyes. Laughter lines like deep ridges appeared at the corners of his eyes as he spotted the crowd awaiting him. Delilah leaned earnestly over her father's head and wave her hand excitedly at the president. He seemed to be waving at everyone in every direction and Delilah liked to think he had spotted her. She crossed her arms and rested them on her father's head, letting out a sigh of content.
Samuel let out a sigh of content as his little girl settled on his shoulders. He ruffled Sawyer's hair and glanced at his watch.
It was half past twelve.
A loud bang sounded throughout the streets, the sound smacking the streets and the ears of those on the sidewalk. Delilah cried out and fastened her chubby little arms around his neck. Sawyer grabbed a small fistful of his father's khakis. ''Daddy, what was that?!'' the pair cried in unison. Samuel hushed them. ''It's just the car, just the car, hush,'' he soothed, but even as he spoke, his eyes were darting around nervously, searching tirelessly for the source.
It sounded again, once more, and this time it found its mark. The President's head fell, like he was falling asleep, slowly and then all at once. The seat behind him was showered in red and white and Mrs. Kennedy shrieked, less likely at what painted her pretty pink outfit than at what remained of her husband's head. Delilah had begun to cry, though it was drowned out by the screams surrounding her. Sawyer craned his neck. ''What's goin' on? What's going' on?''
''Hush, Sawyer. We're goin' home. C'mon!'' Samuel grabbed his son's collar and jerked it forward. ''Daddy,'' Delilah whimpered. ''Daddy, what's goin'on? What was that?'' She ducked her head into the crook of her father's neck, her tears staining his shirt.
Samuel pushed his way through the crowd, which wasn't as difficult as previously thought. Most folks were fleeing from the scene as he was, spreading in all directions like ants. He gripped Sawyer's hand and tugged him along. He didn't stop running until they were safe inside their home, the doors bolted.
Jeremiah, the neighbour, called by that evening, his hands in his pockets. Delilah watched as her daddy slumped against the door frame, His skin paled and she had to fetch a pale of water to get him to talk.
The President was dead.
