a short story by Gail L. Winfree
Six men in black suits stood around me, reminding me of my rights. Tied to a chair, helpless, I listened. Then one of the men—apparently the leader—took a gun from his shoulder holster and put it to my head. The others watched, lingering, occasionally glancing at the clock on the wall, drinking their coffee out of paper cups.
“Clinton or Trump? Your choice.” He smiled at no one in particular. “Clinton or Trump. You decide. Either vote or…or…you know, it doesn’t have to be this way.” At that moment, I realized the horrors of politics are no different than the horrors of war and the casualties of both are just names checked off an invitation list.
Clinton or Trump. I weighed my options.
“It didn’t have to be that way,” the man in the black suit said. The others all agreed as they packed up and left the room.