Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Solution Washington part 10

"What if we're meant to be destroyed in an ELE or whatever?" asked Potus. "May the best every-man win."
"What about the every-woman?" asked U.N. Ambassador.
"She won't win," said Potus.
"Sir, you can't just let the planet be destroyed and all the people on it," said Sam.
"Fuck 'em," said Potus. "You don't have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. You can just go back to your laboratory and perform your little fun experiments. I have to worry about whether there is tuna or albacore in my sandwich. Imagine how I feel about all this? The every-hanger-on has to pull my sleeve and beg for something."
There was a long profound silence. Samantha sat down heavily and bumped her cast. She cried out in pain.
"You seem bright and you're an American hero," Potus said to Samantha. "What's a really nice way to say, 'Go fuck yourself'?" he asked. "We've never really found a good way to say that."
"How about, 'Have a nice day'?" Sam asked.
"Sheer genius!" said Potus. "Shaniqua, get the fuck in here!" he shouted. "Sorry about that," he apologised. "My maid, er, administrative assistant is less than reliable. She's probably doing her nails."
There was another stretch of silence.
"Fuck 'em!" cried Potus. "Have a nice day."
"Fuck them," agreed Chief of Staff.
"May those who are less fortunate suffer," said U.N. Ambassador. Then she covered her face in shame and wept.
"Fuck 'em and suck 'em. Kapow!" shouted Defense Secretary.
"Yeehaw!" said the large man from the NSA.
"Yippeekaiyay, mother..." said Mark who stopped abruptly under the vicious glare of Samantha.
"Well if that's it, I guess there's no reason for us to be here anymore then," Sam said.
Samantha and Mark stood up and left the conference room. Johnson escorted them out.
"Six forty four, flan souffle leaving oven," he said into his wrist.
"Goodbye, Agent Johnson," Sam said.
Johnson nodded and waved as they exited the East Gate.
They walked a bit in the crowds when Mark looked up and shouted, "Look!"
Sam looked up and saw the third light behind the two moons had solidified into a blueish orb with swirling white caps and a green-brown centre.
"My god," she said. "It's full of stars."
"There aren't any stars," said Mark. He looked over and saw too late that Samantha had fainted dead away onto the sidewalk.
He bent down and yelled for someone to call an ambulance. The crowd separated, torn between their desire to get close but not too close. Mark kneeled next to Sam and patted her cheeks. "Wake up," he called. "Wake up! Ms. Griffen! Ms. Griffen!"
"Don't hit me brother," she said as her eyes fluttered open.
"Brother?" he asked, confused.
"Half-brother. Half-step-brother. Whatever. Never mind."
"What?" Mark asked bewildered.
"We're still wearing microphones?" she asked while she sat up and patted her shoulder.
"Yes," said the large man from the NSA who approached just then.
"I can help you," he said and helped lift Samantha.
"Help us?" asked Sam.
"Yes, come with me," he motioned and they followed him. The large man from the NSA had a long stride but he did pause for them to catch up every few metres. He motioned them around a corner and along a walkway east of the Mall. Soon the large man from the NSA found a suitable spot that fairly empty and sat on a park bench. Sam and Mark sat hesitantly.
"Here," the large man from the NSA said, producing a plastic bag from his pocket. He held it out to Mark. Mark took it and looked at it quizzically. "And you," he said, handing Sam another similar plastic bag.
"Sandwiches?" asked Sam incredulously.
"Yep," he said and pulled one out for himself. He opened the sandwich bag and took a big bite. "You must be hungry. You haven't eaten since room service this morning at the hotel."
"Tuna sandwiches?!" cried Sam.
"No, these are albacore. They're good. Eat up," the large man from the NSA said.
They ate sandwiches in silence for a while. "These are really good," said Sam. Mark nodded.
When they had eaten the sandwiches down to the crust, Mark asked, "So what are you going to help us with? What can you do?"
"Good question, son," said the large man from the NSA. "I'm just trying to cover up some of the details of what we're working on. I'd like to ask you to politely forget about what you've been working on and all the things you revealed in that room. Normally we'd just clean things up simple like, but I'm afraid things don't matter now."
"I'm scared," said Samantha. "You don't think things can be fixed? That's why you won't kill us?"
"We don't kill people," said the large man from the NSA in such a way that it was understood that they actually did. "We just clean up messes. The CIA kills them."
"But you work together with the CIA," said Sam.
"Watch it, lady," said the large man from the NSA. "If my colleagues from the CIA were aware of this operation I'd be in some really big trouble. Instead, we're just sharing sandwiches and conversation. Okay?"
"Okay," nodded Samantha.
"Alrighty then," said the large man from the NSA as he stood and stretched. He palmed the plastic bag and threw it on the ground. "No use cleaning up messes any more," he said as he walked off.
"Pick that up," Sam told Mark. "What a slob that man is."
Mark hopped up and retrieved the litter. He extended his hand to Sam who handed him her plastic sandwich bag to throw away. Mark turned to look for a trash can. Mark screamed as the large man from the NSA appeared all of a sudden next to them.
"Calm down," said the large man from the NSA. "Microphones please," he said and held out his hand. Mark and Samantha ripped of the microphones and handed them to him. He nodded and walked away once again.
"It's the end of the world as we know it," Samantha said. "I feel fine."

1 comment:

  1. Sandwiches and conversation would be a fine way to end the world.

    ReplyDelete

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