The President of Space

The Beginning

Barack's POV

Barack never knew this would happen.

Barack had been living in Chicago for a year now. But not really "living" -- he didn't own a house, only the clothes on his back and his suitcase filled with Bibles. It was only hope. He clung to it like a spider clung to its web.

Since moving here he hadn't made any friends like he expected to. His grandparents and mother wanted him to go to college and dorm with someone, but he failed to earn enough money to go to college.

He always wished to be something more than this. When he was young he dreamt of being someone important. Young Barack had recurring dreams of floating in space, being the first astronaut to touch a star. Now, he doesn't know how he would ever become someone like that. Barack Obama, a NASA astronaut? No. Barack Obama, a renowned doctor? No. Barack Obama, the President of the United States? That would never happen. He would have to be smart, have to be rich, have to have a college education, have to be important.

So here he is, sitting against a concrete wall of an alley. Barack was hungry, but he didn't have enough money to get a bite to eat. He was aware he was growing dangerously thin, to the point where people would glance at him in pity. That made him mad -- he didn't want to be pitied, he wanted to be respected like any other person. If he didn't look homeless, maybe someone would hire him. Every time he went for a job interview they would decline.

Depressed, Barack walked down Main Street. He looked enviously at the restaurants and fine clothing stores. The street was bustling with people.

Suddenly, he bumped into someone. "Sorry," he quickly said -- until he looked into the man's ocean eyes. The man smiled up at him; Barack couldn't help but stare.

What was he getting himself into?