My Short Stories, For my post-apocalyptic world... Options

[redsrock]

Playing Fallout 3 has given me inspiration to develop my own post-apocalyptic world. But before I can actually start on my novel/book/etc I need to fully flesh out the world, as in how the world came to be almost dead in the first place. While I do this, I'll be creating a timeline of important events, and I will write short short stories as well to keep my mind flowing.

I'm taking end/post World War Two history and I'm switching some things around, sort of like "what if" scenarios. Like...my first story is the explanation of Harry Truman's assassination at Princeton University. These short stories won't be perfect, but it will at least keep my mind going and help me figure out things.


May 1, 1945: A journal entry, written the night the event happened and told through the eyes of Secret Service agent, Walter “Wally” Gallahar, one of many agents that had been protecting the President that afternoon.


It had been raining earlier this afternoon when it all happened. Not heavily, but enough where the president had decided to wear a rain-jacket. A burnt orange one. “Ole Orange” Thomas used to call it. An enormous jacket often referred to as, jokingly of course, a car cover because it was so huge. I remember the President once telling Thomas and me stories of how he bought it years ago at a store because it was raining and he didn’t have a coat himself to wear. That day he decided to where the jacket during outside speeches whenever it rained, because he thought it brought good luck to him for whatever reason. I can tell you for sure that I never did see him give a speech in the rain without it. I’ll miss that jacket just like I’ll miss the man who wore it. I have to remember to make sure they keep that old thing…

Anyways, we had been standing in the bitter cold for about…I guess a little less than thirty minutes or so. The students themselves listened and cheered as the President told them how well we were doing in Europe, and how it would end soon. The sort of things everyone had already heard on the radios and read in the newspapers, but hearing it from the President himself was different. Then suddenly out of the crowd came a boy that looked no older than eighteen. Harry, I and the others were fast, pulling out our firearms as soon as he stepped foot on the small, makeshift stage. But unfortunately for us, and especially for the President, the boy was that much faster. Before we could do anything he pulled out his own pistol, firing off I think three shots before about seven agents tackled him off of the two-foot tall stage. I looked over to my left and there the President was, lying on the ground, his glasses resting a few away to his left in several pieces. A red stain could be spotted on the right side of his chest where the bullet entered. I was standing right above him, and I knelt beside him, placing my hand on his wound to stop the bleeding. It didn’t really help, but I was in so much shock and I didn’t know what else to do. I learned later that the bullet lodged into his right lung and stayed there.

All of the students panicked and ran ever which way, screaming at the top of their lungs and attracting attention from people who had been outside but not listening to the speech. I remember all of our agents taking action as if they were used to presidents getting shot by angry little boys. I myself acted swiftly, and I suppose I can credit that to the hours and hours of training I went through to even be part of the Service.

Thomas, me and about three others took the President’s body and hurried him off to a limousine that was positioned less than twenty yards away from the stage. Standard protocol called for the limo to be so close the entire time, so if a chaotic event such as the one we had faced were to happen, we’d get him into the limo in seconds and then drive him to the nearest hospital possible.

Once in the limo, Thomas and I sat on one side with the President lying on his back partially over our legs, while the other two agents (Sully and Johnny) sat across from our seat. I looked down at the President and noticed he was staring at me with his back lying on top of my lap, with no particular expression in particular. He had been just as shocked as we had been, undoubtedly more. He had been breathing heavily, gasping desperately for air. Then he tugged on my sleeve and muttered something I couldn’t understand. It had been the first time I heard him speak since being shot. I leaned closer for him to repeat himself, his voice raspy and blood dripping from the corners. “Bess? M…Margaret?”

I knew he was talking about his wife and daughter, who had been standing a few feet to his right when his speech was still going strong. The thing was, I had not a clue where they were, or whether they were harmed or not. I looked at Thomas, who shrugged. Then I looked at Sully and Johnny, who gave the same response.

Now, I’ve never been one to lie, but I knew how serious a condition the President was in. He had been losing so much blood and I knew chances of his surviving weren’t very high. So I made a decision to bend the truth. “They’re fine, Mr. President. They’ve been taking to a safe place.” He seemed to nod his head and close his eyes. Whether or not that was the last time he did so I have no idea, but it very well could have been the case.

I didn’t enjoy lying to the President, but I knew I couldn’t tell the truth. The man was about to die for god’s sake! I didn’t want him to be unaware of his family’s whereabouts, or whether they were safe. I remember Thomas looking at me and nodding, as if he knew what I was doing. I don’t feel too bad about lying now. After all, they’re safely nestled right now in a place that I’m not even aware, so it’s not like it was a complete lie. They were safe the entire time; I just didn’t know it until a few hours ago.

Still…it was all for nothing, because the President died just minutes before we arrived at the Princeton Memorial Hospital. Thomas and I stayed with the President while they tried to revive him, but Johnny and Sully rode back with the limo. I still remember the look on his face when he asked about his family. No emotion whatsoever, yet I knew he cared for them so much. We didn’t leave until several more agents arrived and informed us Margaret and Bess were safe. Then we left Harry Truman for good.

Now Vice President John Hannon’s been sworn in as President, and I’m not sure what to think. He’s the youngest president in our country’s history, but that’s not what worries me. What worries with me is the way he conducts himself. I know there’ve been many presidents who weren’t particularly liked, but still…there’s something about President Hannon that I don’t like. President Hannon…I don’t think I’ll ever get used to saying that. Mr. Truman was a wonderful man and a terrific president. Despite being in the office for such a short time, I truly think he was the right person for America, and it’s going to take a while to get over the emotional strain all of this caused me to endure.

I haven’t yet cried, and I don’t think I will. At least not now that is. That’s the thing about death. A lot of times you’re too shocked to cry, and it usually comes at a later time when you don’t expect it. I know that time will eventually come for me, but I just don’t know when. One thing I do know is that I’ll never forget Harry S. Truman. Never...

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Next will be another explanation of this assassination, but this time it will be in newspaper format, a cover story for the New York times or whatever.