Arlington

Twenty-Third Chapter

Location: The White House

Address: 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue Northwest, Washington D.C., 20500

Date: 8/20/2016

Time: 11:45 p.m.

There was no point in fighting back; he gave himself up willingly. That didn't deter the violent nature of the mob. The thugs wanted to get their anger out; adrenaline was still pumping through them. He was beaten by dozens of different sets of hands and feet. He shielded those blows the best way he could. They used no weapons for their physical assault. It was an eclectic mosh pit with one goal.

These people needed a sacrifice. Who was a better candidate than Barack Obama? Those blows came from the people that voted for him, and against him; the people he let down. They beat him 'til he was bruised, scratched and cut.

As the crowd began to settle, the atmosphere of the room had become more mature, more focused. A statement was going to be made of Barack Obama. Just the way those people spoke about him, they couldn't just kill him in a room where no one could see. They bound him with rope and hoisted him through the building.

His daughters were safe. That was the most important thing. At least he could save his own children; that's what his wife would have hoped for. But for him, there was no such guarantee. He didn't resist the crowd, because he felt that he had failed them. He wanted the best for America. He aimed for change, but it wasn't enough. Not for these citizens. All hope was lost; for his country, and for his physical well-being. His own people, the people he wanted to serve, were inflamed with a murderous rage. Americans just like him.

They had him hogtied. It took three large men to carry him. The onlookers were a mixed breed of the country. A true melting pot of America. Young men and women joined with the elderly. They were predominantly Caucasian, but people of every race were present. Even men of his own skin color were present. They were there to watch him burn, all the same.

The crowd gathered outside, stopping beneath a cherry tree. The crowd began to throw stones at him and were calling him depraved things. Everyone there was religious, even though they all saw God in different ways. Barack was having his last conversation with his Father in heaven, he wanted to join him there in peace. It wasn't the government that dethroned President Barack Obama, it was the people.

The crowd gifted the former president of the United States with a neckless of rope. His own moments of triumph flashed before him; the night he was elected, the inauguration, Osama's death, legalized gay marriage. His former supporters, his staff, his deceased wife, his kids; all those faces began to haunt him.

Members of the crowd, lusting for his blood, tightened the rope around his neck. As he was being raised, the group cheered. A few people were trying to get a couple of free shots at the president before they couldn't reach him. He took it all in. Those were all cheap shots; they didn't want to kill him yet. He could afford those blows.

Mr. Obama's feet were off the ground, and all his weight was on his neck. He had to fight for every breath. The air went down slow and hot as the rope constricted his airways. He saw flowers on that cherry tree; he may have been imagining the pink petals.

A jerrycan of gas was held up and shown to the crowd; for them it was glorious. They drenched him from head to toe. He shut his eyes when the gasoline hit his face. The gas made his throat burn.

He didn't want to scream before, he didn't want them to have the satisfaction. He wanted to stay strong. But right when he was hanging under the cherry tree, he broke. He wanted to scream out of pain and fear. It would have been such a relief; he opened his mouth but nothing came out. His tears were screaming for him.