Lonely Stories by Xavier St John (the false prince txt) 📖

the room like a tidal wave, sweeping everyone into a hysteria of happiness. Sam breathed a sigh of relief, leant back and enjoyed the chaos.

The inauguration was impressive. Due to the large majority achieved, an incredibly high turnout had appeared to watch Sam swear himself in and wave at the crowds. The cheering was enough to give Sam a throbbing headache until the next morning, but of course he welcomed the public and their affection for him. 3 years ago, Sam wasn’t even a politician – just a washed-out salesman who was fed up with his country. After one cocaine-fueled night out that had inevitably ended up on a street corner, Sam’s epiphany struck. He would change the world. He would fix the country, support those who need it instead of those who want it, care for the many and not the few. The following year, he ran for the Democrats in Missouri and won; the headlines alone propelled Sam to infamy, currying public favour until eventually becoming a presidential candidate. The fairytale was now complete.

First day. The White House was busier than Sam expected, phones ringing and suited men running from room to room with mountains of paperwork. Theo and Omar, the two other frontrunners for the Democrats, stuck to Sam like glue, obsessing over every detail of his day and directing his every action. The “sign here” and “tick these boxes” filled his desk to the point of overflowing, sliding down into the waste paper basket beside the mahogany. His eyes had already glazed over with talk of repelling bills and senate adjustments that by 3 o’clock he was ready to go home. Striding out of the door, Sam nodded to the two puzzled interns who were walking the opposite direction.

“Mr Turner! SAM!”

The President of the United States turned to see Theo running after him.

“Where are you going?”

Sam walked back towards Theo and told him he was going home. The second that tiny word was mentioned, Theo guffawed.

“Home? At 3? Mr Turner, you’re president. I get home at 7 if I’m lucky, you’ll be here all night.” laughed Theo.

Begrudgingly, Sam breathed a sigh and turned around. Theo and Omar couldn’t see the scowl on his face, but Sam’s quiet frustration ricocheted around the lobby as he stalked off in silence. Being a president wasn’t such an easy ride after all.

Months passed without a hitch. Sam’s acquaintance with Theo and Omar grew into a friendship, and the country ran like clockwork. Yet, for Sam, something was missing – as the nights shrunk and the days grew longer, the mindless paperwork and bureaucracy of the presidency began to overwhelm him. The job began to take over Sam’s life, sapping his energy whilst devouring his free time; it wasn’t fun anymore. One soggy April morning, following a hastily eaten honey sandwich on his balcony, Sam worked his way through the forms piled on his desk, cramps rife through his hand after writing his signature the first hundred times. Then, after an excruciatingly painful meeting about corn farming, Sam was walking back to his office when his phone rang. After a terse conversation, he found himself agreeing to stay and work the next 2 nights to debate the tax on corn. Stay, and miss his son’s second birthday. Briskly walking up the stairs as tears welled in the corners of his eyes, Sam wrenched open the door and slammed it behind him. He sat, alone, in the Oval office. Seconds later, Omar burst in with a blizzard of paperwork to find his president sobbing into the mahogany.

“Sir? Are you feeling okay?” asked Omar, tentatively stepping towards Sam.

Wiping away the tears, Sam slowly looked up to meet the gaze of his friend.

“I can’t do this anymore,” whispered Sam. “How do I quit?”

Omar sighed as he rested a caring hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“Sam, you’re a golden boy. You can’t just quit. Think of the damage you’d do to yourself, to the Democrats, to America! I’m sorry buddy, it’s not possible.”

As Omar gave him a final comforting smile before dumping the papers on his desk, a glimmer of light swept through the room as the sun rose above the buildings. Sam turned to face the sun, Letting the orange glow wash over him as the tears dried against his cheeks. When he opened his eyes, Sam noticed a small bird on the balcony. The pigeon meandered across the floor, darting from crumb to crumb as it explored the floor. Unbeknownst to the bird, a leftover crust was stuck to its wing, the honey gluing the two together. Hopping up to the edge of the balcony, the pigeon jumped, but instead of gliding away it flapped in a panic, trying to throw the crust off as it began tipping, the weight dragging it down. The bird travelled about a metre away before crashing down to earth like a stone. A faint smile grew on Sam’s face. Even though he couldn’t quit, there was nothing stopping him from bringing himself down.

The next morning, Sam’s beeping alarm woke him like normal at 5:30am. Thumping it quiet, Sam rolled over and drifted back to sleep with a smile on his face. Some time after 9, Sam waltzed into the White House, expecting a furious Theo to greet him. Passing the front desk, Sam caught Theo’s eye from across the hall as his aide rushed towards him.

“Mr President! I thought you were brilliant this morning!” gushed Theo. Sam paused as his brow furrowed.

“Sir, you made such an impact at the meeting. Your stance on those amendments was as clear as crystal, even if you did do it unconventionally. I guess actions speak louder than words, and not turning up sure did rattle them!”

This career suicide was going to be a little more difficult than Sam anticipated.

That night, following a missed parents evening, the cogs in Sam's brain began to whir. He needed to do something bigger. More spectacular. He needed to get noticed, for people to start to wonder if he really was the man for the job. Sitting in his distinctly boring bedroom, which was only furnished with cream walls, a modest bed and a desk, Sam grabbed a notebook and began scribbling. The world would wake up to a madman in power tomorrow.

"First order of business - Presidential decree. Sam?"

The committee fell silent as Sam rose from his chair and rested his palms against the table.

"I'd like to try and push for a new law. The law in question: We ban all paint colours except cream."

Mouths gaped and eyes stared as the heads of state tried to make sense of the words their president just uttered. A pen thumped against the floor, breaking the silence.

"Cream just looks better. It's probably better for the environment or something too, spin the law however you want to. But I am adamant, this law will pass."

Congress received the peculiar decision warily. A month of deadlock passed, each bill narrowly missing the mark by one or two votes. Sam’s aides were constantly picking up the phone to bewildered democrats begging for an explanation. Theo and Omar were under strict orders to say nothing except that they should vote for it. Sam ordered a decorator to repaint the oval office cream, and a permanent grin sat on his face as he knew his time of ticking boxes would soon be up - after all, abuse of power is grounds for impeachment.

The day finally came. In mid-May, the Paint Bill was passed, and the public backlash was immense. The media questioned the sanity of the president and protests were kicking off within a week of the announcement. The White House, now renamed the Cream House, was buzzing with reporters desperate to talk to Sam, and the President welcomed them with open arms, conducting interview after interview until the news networks stopped as they had exhausted the questions. Everything was finally clicking into place.

On the first of June Sam was woken by a phone call. Sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of his eye, he glanced at the clock – 6:30. Whoops. Picking up the phone, Sam began to apologize for being late but was soon cut off by Omar.

“Sir! You’re a sensation!” shouted Omar excitedly. Sam frowned down the phone. The protests didn’t exactly say ‘sensation’.

“What are you talking about?” said Sam, his wife stirring from her sleep beside him.

“The Paint Bill? A work of genius sir. How did you know?”

Sam’s wife rolled over and murmured something sleepily.

“Omar, slow down. Know what?”

“The carcinogens. The colourings in the paint were carcinogenic sir, all except cream. You’ve potentially saved millions of lives, and cancer figures are already dropping. The scientific report was released this morning!”

Sam hung up. He crashed back down to bed, boring a hole in the ceiling with his stare. His wife looked at him questioningly. Sam ran his fingers through his hair, before turning to face his wife.

“What’s the most stupid thing you can think of?”

 

***

2 years passed. After the Doritos Ban and the abolition of Thanksgiving, both of which made a noticeable difference to the obesity crisis, Sam was widely regarded as the best president to ever grace America in terms of healthcare. The sudden declaration of war on Canada was initially met with some resistance from the public and the military. This was quickly reversed after the nationwide terrorist organisation, of which one member was the Prime Minister, was uncovered and the nuclear weapons poised to destroy U.S. cities were deactivated. The destruction of the Statue of Liberty managed to almost double tourism in New York – after all, ruins are quite rare in such a young country. The abolition of currency also had a positive impact; after the initial week of anarchy, the people seemed to settle into a rhythm and worked wonders in terms of motivation due to the lack of financial stress the population now had. Now, inside the Cream House, Sam was surrounded by the ministers of state once more.

“What’s all this for, Sam?” asked Omar, slightly muffled. He waddled to his chair, the oversized shoes impeding his walk somewhat. Sam had enforced the strict new uniform of welding masks, lederhosen and clown shoes last month, and the staff had welcomed the change due to the sense of equality amongst them and the relaxed atmosphere.

“I want to make a constitutional change.” said Sam.

This announcement was followed by rapturous applaud from the staff until the very walls of the dodecahedral office (Sam had it reshaped; the new shape actually had much better acoustics) were vibrating.

“I would like to add a paragraph somewhere that says the following words, with no alteration: ‘The President automatically resigns from office if he willingly eats a Hawaiian pizza within the dodecahedral office. No exceptions.’ Is that clear?”

The ministers nodded and whispered amongst themselves, until Theo broke the murmur.

“Well Sir, that is now an official part of the constitution, since the Congress granted you absolute power. Congratulations.”

Sam nodded, beaming at the welding masks that represented his country.

“Bring in the Pizza!” Sam shouted.

A gasp erupted from the ministers. An intern lurched towards him, a pizza held high on a silver platter. Sam took a piece, smiling at the pineapples covering it, and took a massive bite.

Time stood still.

“Does this mean... you’ve resigned?” stammered Omar.

“I guess it does. Oops.” replied Sam.

The room applauded. Sam frowned. He hadn’t been expecting such a happy response – after all, despite trying to be the worst leader ever, his popularity was almost unanimous across the country. 

“It’s time!” whooped Theo. “Sir, if you’d like to just wait here for a minute, we’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Sam sat and watched as the ministers walked out of the room, staggering in single file as they tripped over each other’s shoes. The door closed and Sam was alone. He looked down, and realised his hands were shaking. He had no idea what they were preparing. A party? An electric chair? He paced the office, hands fiddling in anticipation until he heard the