Rapp Reynolds

Rapp Reynolds pushed open the door with some effort and emerged from his workplace to find that it was raining. He ducked back inside. “Welcome to KCDC Home of the Rapp Reynolds Show" was stenciled on the door backwards, facing out.

His Town Car was already late. That was not a surprise to him, nor did it matter. The staff at the hospital was always friendly and courteous. Besides, this round of chemotherapy would take three days. It didn't really matter if he got there at 2:00 or 2:30.

The weather reminded him of his first day here. He forgot his umbrella, and the skies opened up just as he parked his car. His suit took all morning to dry out as he read the news headlines twice an hour. Eventually, he was given a shot at filling in for a vacation host now and again. Within three years, he had his own show.

Now, these years later, after syndication and the amassing of a personal fortune, he was able to think about how he had changed. He had created an on air character, full of bombast and confidence. Gradually, the real Rapp became that character. It wasn't decided or calculated. He just slid into him like a soft shoe.

These days, it wasn't much fun anymore. Not just because of his ill health. Not because of the diabetes that had taken three of his toes, or the cancer that had taken part of his stomach and intestine. It had become all instinct, no invention.

In the early days, he loved to be challenged by a caller. He relished the chance to make up a creative nickname for a politician or social movement. That didn't happen anymore. Now he opened some newspapers, surfed the web a bit, and turned on the autopilot in his brain.

It didn't matter which party was in or out of power. Rapp had ridden the wave of a few political cycles. It was rote. The president hates America. Senator X is trying to make us weak. He hardly ever took a phone call anymore.

Now, he was dying from the inside out.

The car finally arrived. The driver walked around to open the door, but Rapp beat him to it. He threw himself into the backseat, raised his left foot, and loosened his belt.

The Bill

The crowd was small but enthusiastic. They barely filled a quarter of the space allotted in the corner of the park.

Despite the disappointing turnout, the congressman would address them using the bullhorn. It was a calculated part of the quaint motif. For the same reason, a stage or other platform was eschewed in favor of a step-stool, which now seemed more than adequate in any case.

He had been in Washington until late the previous night. His flight left at 2:00 AM. He had been awake for nearly thirty straight hours. He was exhausted.

He looked about at the crowd as an assistant whispered in his ear. There were about forty or so. They were mostly middle-aged men and women. A few were elderly. Many carried homemade signs opposing government spending and gun laws.

“Let's do this.” And with that his assistant introduced him to light applause.

There had been a heavy rain overnight, and the ground was soft and wet. As the congressman stepped up on first rung the stool gave a bit, the front legs sinking into the ground. He steadied himself, lifted the bullhorn to his face with his left hand, and pulled the “speak” trigger.

“First of all, I want to thank everyone for coming. Your being here at this early hour shows your dedication to democracy and to your country”. There were a few cheers, and many expressionless stares. “And your election of me in the last three elections shows your good taste”

He pulled the bullhorn away from his face and waited for a laugh that did not come. He continued. “Seriously though, the people of this district are the greatest. The other congressmen are actually quite jealous of me.” This time, he correctly anticipated there would be no laugh.

Someone yelled “What about the bill?!” Others voiced their agreement. “Yeah! What about it?!” He turned and saw a bearded man carrying a sign in which the president was drawn to look like a Roman centurion laying the whip to a slave.

“Buddy, I'm glad you brought that up. First of all, let me assure all of you, that this bill will not pass without a fight!” His voice rose as he threw his right fist in the air. As his weight shifted, the stool moved under him and and sank further into the ground. The congressman lost his balance and fell face forward into the mud.

His assistant rushed forward and grabbed his right arm near the shoulder, helping to pull him up. “Sir, are you okay?”

The congressman rose to his knees. The right side of his face and the entire front of his body was covered in the wet, brown mud. He quickly wiped his face, to little effect. “Get me the fuck out of here”.

Census

“What the hell are you doing?” Dan's voice was accusatory as he watched Sally quickly put down her pen.
“I'm filling it out. Why?” she said weakly.
“The Senseless? Have you lost your ever-lovin' mind? I told you about that” he said. "That's how they track you.” He was less angry than she expected, more disappointed.
“Oh. I guess I forgot. Sorry.”

Sally had been a bit of a project. It wasn't that she fought his ideas, or didn't recognize the truth of them. She just didn't have the suspicious nose. She needed to have it shown to her, sometimes repeatedly. She was beautiful and meant well, so he could always find a way to forgive her.

Some of her weird city friends thought she was too young for him. Those idiots. Slaves, he thought. How could they possibly understand?

Sally moved towards the trash can, and reached out to drop the form.

“Stop!”, Dan yelled.

She came to a halt and gasped as she put her right hand over her chest.

“But I thought you said-”

“Fireplace!” Dan barked. “You ever heard of DNA? Fingerprints?”

“Oh. I hadn't thought of that.” she said.

Dan sighed heavily and collected himself. “I'm sorry I yelled at ya. It's just frustrating sometimes is all.” Sally nodded..

Sally approached the fireplace on the other side of the living room. She pulled back the screen and tossed in the form. She picked the Atlanta Falcons Bic cigarette lighter from the plastic ashtray on the mantle. She knelt down and lit it up, reaching into the fireplace.
She stood back and watched the flame turn blue then orange. The form disappeared to ash.

Dan crossed the room, lifted a single slat on the blinds and peered out across the untended yard.