oh, mr president | H.S.

FOUR: Spirit

"The truth is that all men having power ought to be mistrusted." - James Madison

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F O U R : Spirit
O P H E L I A

        The atomizing screech of the alarm clock on my night table was the least of my worries. The moisture of my eyeballs has surely disappeared into thin air after I restrained my eyelids from sealing close in fear that his bloodcurdling threats would haunt me in my dreams. The projection of his inclined voice could metaphorically split my eardrum into two painful sections, and destroy the opportunity to auscultate ever in time. I've concluded, briefly after his threatening speech in my office, that he is an insensitive ninny who needs to rot. I pleaded with Charlotte about avoiding my second day as his speech writer, but she warned me of how my reputation would be hampered dramatically. My father would catch wind of my mistake, and that would be the end of me.

        The muscle of my restless arm stretched to thwart the alarm clock's sound. A damaging silence ripped into my bedroom's environment, involuntarily enabling my frame to move efficiently to shower. The sheets of my charcoal inspired mattress were tossed, the crinkles and craters in the material could be evidence of my sleepless night in Washington (a play on words, surely you understand).

        "I don't hear water, and it's already six, Fee," Charlotte's motherly tendencies for me did not go unappreciated. She possessed a kind spirit that is rarely amongst our generation, and a wise mind beyond our years, but there are many occasions where I do not find her advice helpful. Today, I would rather run a mile down the concrete of DuPont Circle, and after the tiresome form of exercise, a spurge of Netflix would be most suitable for a cool-down. I do not intend to go in to greet that eerie man called the President of the United States. Without a single shed of notice, the wood of the only entrance of my confined space met with the wall behind in a startling manner. Charlotte's kneaded eyebrows closed in, her bare forearms crossed. "Fee, get up. I know he might of been horrible, but you can not lay in your bed forever, sulking."

"Charlotte, please allow me to lay here. He threatened me, and he practically studied my butt until I noticed him staring." The man is mad, and deserved to be enrolled into a mental facility immediately. "And, he called it enormous."

I've been self conscious about my womanly figure long before I could remember high school. To this day, I do not comprehend how I've gotten far away from the individuals that tormented me for my frame. The comments are engraved in the bone marrow of my skull, calcining fractures beyond any repair, including words from my altruistic best friend. His insults have reopened wounds, the stitching loosening from its original place to wither in the wind. I can not believe myself when I found him the least bit attractive.

"Who cares about his stupid opinion?" I do, well even if I did not, the words still hurt tremendously. Charlotte noticed the lack of response, and plodded to hunker on to the mattress and distorted sheets. "Oh, come on. You are Ophelia Naomi Kensington, the smartest person I know. You are beautiful, and strong. Do not allow these comments of his to dictate who you are and who you will be, okay? His opinion is minuscule."

She was correct. He is a simple man of little intelligence; a man that became the president based on the funds in his parent's bank account not for what matters most to this great, iconic plot of land. He should not be able to belittle me for his benefit. I am the one to write his declarations to the people, it would be foolish to shoot blasphemy in my face. "You are right. I am going to shower, and put on the outfit of a lifetime. I will knock him off his toes."