The Hero Project

• three •

Two weeks later . . .

The picture was a time machine. One glance, suddenly, Alexander was back before the alien attack, with his life stretched before him. The picture was captured when he was sworn into office almost a year ago. The decisions that lay between his present self and his past self were unmapped, anything was possible. If he just . . . Wasn't so weak, would Thalia still be alive? Would she have given birth to their first son? Would their little Eliza still be running through the White House in wonder?

His vision began to blur through his tears. He placed the picture down and gazed out into the night sky. The president pulled his window open, inhaling the calming breeze of Washington.

The night sky is how the president came to wish he could fly. It was the most beautiful art. His eyes tried to catch every petite diamond scattered in the sky. He wiped his eyes slowly, a soft smile stretching across his face.

Alexander exited the Oval Office, walking through the abandoned halls of the White House. After the attack, it was left in ruins. It was being reconstructed, but until then, Alexander stayed in his Manor. He had ordered no one to follow him, he wished to be alone while he mourned over the death of his family.

He absentmindedly strolled to a certain hole underground. How the UFO managed to fit into the secret room under the White House was mine-boggling to him. But that's where his wife and daughter died.

He hesitantly stared down into the abyss where the disc-like spaceship lied. It was unnaturally quiet. His mind trailed back to Agent Coleman. He wanted to protect America, he did. He cared for nothing more than the citizens of the United States. But jumping off of a cliff seemed like a more pleasant idea at that moment. His family was waiting for him down there. He would have no regrets.

He turned his back to the hole. Alexander's eyes were dry and a smile was stretched across his face. He took a step back.

"Sir, what are you doing!?" Someone suddenly yelled. Startled, Alexander tripped back. The voice grew nearer and he felt a tight grip on his wrist before he could fall. Alexander yelped.

"Hold on, I'll get you up!" Anthony desperately yanked his wrist. But he was not strong enough to support the weight of the president. Alex watched his best friend since childhood, as well as his personal bodyguard, cry for the first time in their lives. Anthony was a peculiar child, never once cried when he was younger. That's what drew Alex to him, he was intrigued by the secretive boy.

"I told you not to follow me!" He boomed.

"I can't not follow you, you idiot, you're the fucking president!" Anthony argued in return. His hands grew sweaty, the president's wrist slowly slipping through his fingers.

"Let go, or you'll fall too!"

"No, Lex, I won't let go!"

Alex's head perked up at the familiar nickname. He hadn't been called Lex since his mother dumped him in front of his grandmother's doorstep. He never allowed anyone to call him Lex. But when Anthony did, he didn't mind.

"Tony, listen to me now!" He screamed. "I order you, under my authority, to let me go!"

"If I let you go, you won't have any authority!"

"So that's why you're not letting me go!? Anthony, you'll die!"

"No, it's because I don't want you to die!" He cried. "I made a promise to protect my best friend! And I'm here to do just that!"

"Call for help, quick!"

"I can't, my hands are slipping!" Tony motioned to his hands, both occupied in keeping the president from falling through a hole. He pushed himself forward in an attempt to get a better grip on Alexander.

Instead, Tony tumbled off the cliff, the president following after him.

The world rushed by in a blur and they knew the pain was coming. It went by fast, yet slow, almost suspended. Butterflies swirled through their stomachs. Then impact. They felt their bones move in a way they shouldn't. Without looking, Tony knew there was blood seeping from his skin that, seconds ago, was smooth. With his final breath, Alex reached out for his friend, Tony doing the same. They fail, their hands dropping a pile of green goop.

"I'm sorry," Tony whispered.