May 10, 2022
Lyric Abranem's POV
I lifted another bottle of Redhorse beer to my lips to mourn over the biggest loss of my life. The bitter taste with the grouchy aftereffects of the alcohol would be in tune with the current state of my being. Bitter and grouchy. Perfect words to describe ex-governor Lyric Abranem's life right now. So, I sit here recalling the time when I accused the opposite party of killing her own husband, then getting disqualified over it for planting fake evidence. Thus, losing the Presidential Elections.
Kory Barnes (the opposing party) got elected the president of the country. Call me an egotistical psycho but, I'd think it was mostly because of my doing.
On the day of the election, Kory was surpassing me by 2,000 votes. Instead of being quiet and keeping the peace, I decided to speak up. The idea was having to accuse Ms. Barnes of killing the recently-dead Ex-president Barnes, utterly known as Kory's husband on the internet.
It should work, right? Besides, everyone believes everything they see on the internet.
And with a fake account, a convincing enough post, and a dramatic tap on my iPhone Pro Max fully paid (not sponsored), #murderer got viral in twitter and other social media platforms in the matter of seconds. With that, I gained over half her votes. (may not be realistic but oh well)
Do I really think she killed her husband? Not really. Did I have evidence? Kind of. But, was I happy about the numbers? Absolutely.
As the saying goes; Our desperate times is what moves us to desperate measures. That choice was my last resort.
To be fair, I did it because I had to. Or maybe because I think I had to.
After my whole facade, the authorities began investigating the case. And with a striking amount of evidence, they proved me wrong AND found out about the fake account. It's safe to say that I underestimated the police.
That settlement resulted in an immense negative impact as my number of votes went from 54.9% to a mere 24%.
I'll admit I got depressed after my supporters, along with my family had left me. I don't blame them. It was my fault for acting out that plan which was never sensible in the first place. Like, I was may or may not be in the strong influence of alcohol. Plus, who'd think the authorities would peice this out when they're a bunch of boneheads most of the time.
The depression lead to a resignation of being Governor, and I had finally quit politics. I was able to breathe again. After politics choking me dry like a chicken in a slaughterhouse, It felt like I grew wings. But then I remembered everyone in my life leaving me so, I had wings but never really learned how to fly.
So now I sit here; a jobless, marriageless chump.
I sunk more into my sofa, thinking why did I even go to the world of politics. I clearly remember applying into medschool and wanting to be a doctor, so why did I? Was it my family roots and parent's influence?
As I placed the bottle on the glass table with a slight clink, the doorbell rang. I freeze on my seat and hesitated to answer the door. I'm most certain it was not any of a work emergency whatsoever, nor was it my sons or ex-wife, or my mother.
I waited for the stranger to leave my doorstep but they kept ringing the bell repeatedly that my head started to ache. It may be the alcohol, but I prefer blaming the person butchering my doorbell.
I could just take a cozy nap till they get frustrated and leave, but then the bell ringing turned into aggressive knocking-the kind you couldn't sleep through. So I stood up as this would disturb my 5 hour nap I was supposed to take.
I marched angrily to the door, my footsteps heavy with every step I take. My snobbery wanted the stranger to hear how bothered I am at the moment, so every step landed with a thud. I released a deep huff before opening the wooden oak door.
What the thing behind the door made my attitude worse, and my stomach to burst. I wanted to puke, but to keep my dignity I swallowed it back.
"Good evening, Lyric Abranem." There she was with her usual attire, cladded in pink and a puffed up smile plastered on her face.
"Hello Ms. President."
