• Dave Namery

Kamala's Blade

As Joe reached the top of the stairs, he breathed a sigh of relief

“’s good to be back”

Only this time it was different. This time he was in charge. No more getting made of, being taken advantage of. He then forgot what he was thinking about, forgot even where he was for a moment.

From the other room, he heard a faint weep. What could that be?

Joe walked through the hallway approaching the sound, as he neared he became certain that someone was crying. He felt the eyes of former heads of state as he proceeded through the corridor. “What would they think of me, I wonder?”

As he rounded a corner, the mystery was revealed.

“Kamala?” Joe asked. “Kamala why are you crying?”

She hardly even acknowledged his presence, seated on a bench with her head in her hands, sobbing nearly uncontrollably at this point.

Joe sat beside her, put his arm on her shoulder and, after taking a long and deep wiff of her hair, he addressed her.

“Kamala….” he said, calm and reassuring, “we won! Now what is the matter, why are you crying?”

“I’m just sad Joe,” Kamala responded.

“Aw cmon man, what’s there to be sad about?”

"I’m sad it has to end like this."

Before Joe could even fully register what was going on, she was quickly removing the blade from his chest. A direct hit, straight to the heart, she had been practicing since her appointment as VP.

“But...I...ah..” and then it all went black. Not only Joe’s vision, but also the presidency.

She stood, allowing Joe’s body to fall limp onto the bench they had been seated on.

The knife still dripped fresh blood. Staring at it, she could almost sense a heat coming off of it. Some unbridled power that she had just unleashed, that she had just inherited.

But if they knew what she had done, what had truly got her there, they would know that it was far from inheritance. This was earned.

Her pants suit, once a stunning blue, was now stained with blood. But she didn’t feel dirty, quite the contrary. And she knew she would keep it, hidden in a special place, somewhere no one would find it except for her when she was feeling down, and if she ever wanted to relive this intense feeling of capability. With the flick of her wrist, she was now president.

Interrupting this feeling of euphoria was a ring from her cell phone. She knew who it was.

She picked up. “It’s done.”

“Good. Now come over. Daddy wants some head.”

“Okay Barack, be there soon.”

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