'One final question, Mr President,' an eager young female reporter asked, pointlessly thrusting her microphone forwards a couple of yards as if this made a difference from the tenth row back in the press room of Boston Harbor Hotel.
'Following yet another high school shooting- in Foxborough on Tuesday- a number of European leaders are questioning the United States' gun laws. What do you have to say to your European critics?'
The reporter was fresh-faced, less than two years out of Emerson College, Massachutes, where she graduated with a Masters in journalism. She was beautiful in a way that demanded, and received, no attention. Frayed ends threatened to overpower the rich golden brown colour of her hair and the natural elegance of her tan was concealed behind an expression of unwavering sincerity. Work first, love later. That had been her motto since her very first year of college. Her first heartbreak- a cheating scumbag of a football player by the name of Dale (Argh, football players!)- just happened to coincide with her uncovering of the many wonders of journalism.
'What's your name, sweetheart?'
'Erm, Katie,' She stumbled 'Mr President, Sir,' Pull yourself together, Katie!
'It wasn't a trick question, love.' The President said with a cheeky but charming smile, and the room laughed in a low rumble of applause.
'Do you believe in God, Katie?' He asked.
'Yes, of course,' Katie replied, finding her feet a little more.
'God watches over us, Katie.' The President began. 'God watches over us and he protects us as best he can. However, our great God can only do so much.' Knowing the awaiting press were now captivated, the President seized the moment with a dramatic pause.
'We are God's children, and our Father will be distraught to see the tragic events of the Foxborough shooting.' He continued, 'My heart bleeds for the victims and their families at this difficult time.' Another pause, this time allowing them to digest his strategic sensitivity.
'Now, I know I'm supposed to stand here and answer your questions, but this time I have a question for you.' A tense silence gripped the press room.
'How many more young lives would have been stolen by that deranged terrorist had Mr Buchanan not used his firearm to halt the killing?' The rhetorical nature of the question was obvious, but the President still let it hang.
'Mr Buchanan's heroics catapulted him from high school English teacher to life saver. All thanks to the Second Amendment.' The room agreed.
'God intends to protect us in any way that he can and if we must rely on our right to bear arms to carry out God's will and protect each other, then so be it. That's the way God intended it.'
The President signed off to a rupture of applause.
Katie had always believed that she'd made it to where she was today due to her own hard work and dedication. However, as she anticipated the life-changing events that were to inevitably unfold in the coming evening, Katie Scott knew she owed someone a huge thank you. That someone was the President of the United States of America.
An impassioned Democrat, Katie had arrived at the press conference with a cunning plan of sabotage for the Republican pillak tasked with running the country. Whilst the small-time newspaper she worked for had no intentions of generating worldwide headlines, Katie was sure a question about gun legalisation in the wake of a horrific high school shooting would offer some fuel for below-the-belt bad press on social media and in dark political corners of the internet. And yet, to Katie's surprise, a monumentally rousing speech from the President all but guaranteed Katie's face would be on every major news channel across America. Her big break was imminent.
As she climbed into her blue 2010 Ford Focus, Katie found herself thinking, for the first time since high school, whether it might be worth spending an extra half hour on her appearance each morning.
My face will be all over the TV now, she mused with a smile that could light up a room... or a 2010 Ford Focus, for that matter.
Screw it, I'm getting a makeover! Katie thought as she pulled away from the Boston Harbor Hotel.
YOU ARE READING
Not the Way God Intended
Short StoryI penned this short story as a middle finger to any moron who believes 'guns don't kill people; people do' (that includes you, Mr President). Guns are lethal weapons and there are far too many liabilities in this world to be dishing out lethal weapo...
