CONTAINS MILD LANGUAGE
Sunlight has filled the room, it's mid day. I told my assistant not to wake me, but here's the shocker, he listened. My body is deteriorating, and he knows it. His name is Gerald, he is in his early twenties, and is like a son to me. The son I never got to meet. I need to get out, and be seen, it's not like the president to sleep in this late. People will start to wonder, but because it's just two days we blew thirteen to bit's they'll cut me some slack. I know this illness quite well, I read about it in a medical book from the old world, but they had a cure. We don't. I should have seen this coming, even when district 13 lost, they've one. Thats why they've given me radiation poisoning. A few weeks ago they sent me a key, it just lie there on my windowsill attached to a small silver parachute. When I arose early one morning. I spent much time trying to figure out what it's for, I even strung it on a chain around my neck, but wanting anyone to find it. Then, yesterday, a small Golden case with the same silver parachute holding it at the corners. I quickly grab it but I was dizzy, and fall to the floor. A shooting pain strikes up my hip, but I quickly use the key to open the box, and inside in the handwriting of someone I'll never be able to forget, is a little torn piece of paper with two words placed perfectly in the center. Your Dead. And suddenly everything makes sense. The key is was and I'm sure still is radioactive.
I rip the paper in two. I can't believe her ex-wives can be so cruel. I can't believe I married that witch, she always was controlling, she always was interested in district 13. Stupidly we married, and that gave her enough clearance to visit district 13. So she did, and never came back. She was 6 months pregnant with my son, that I never even got the chance to see. I look into the lid of the small box, and thats when I had put it together, and told them to bomb district 13 to the ground. They did. I killed my own son. Thats all I can think. My son is dead.
District 13. Bombs. Thats what they did. Not Graphite. The war was getting worse, but now it over. I'm dieing. And, there is hell to pay. This can not happen again. I rise and look out the window as I here a knocking at the door. It's Gerald, I can tell by him knock, not delicate, or harsh. More like... deliberate. I tell him to come in.
"President Bedeuten, I was getting worried." Said Gerald with his green eye's practically growing against his bright orange hair.
"You know I'm fine." I say, but I feel a cough coming, and it's one that hurts. I don't tell him about the drops of blood I find in my hand.
TO BE CONTINUED