February 14, 2013

30 Minus 2 Days of Writing - Prompt #12

I missed this prompt but I had an idea for it so I decided to write about it anyway.

The prompt is: The day I met Abraham Lincoln.

The day I met Abraham Lincoln was the day I died.

I received an official invitation to dine with the Lincolns, along with several other guests, to discuss his next speech on the issue of slavery and how we could best reach the public with his message.

I dressed in my best suit and vest.  I placed my gold pocket watch in the pocket of my long, black dress coat as I put it on.  Upon arriving at The White House I was escorted to the elegant dining room.  Mrs. Lincoln had outdone herself as the table was a vision.  Long, elegant candles breathed tiny flames while lanterns were hung from the walls behind the table.  The table was dressed in a fine bone lace cover revealing a polished walnut table underneath.  The chairs were covered in gold fabric that seemed to almost glow in the candlelight.

I greeted the others, all of whom I already knew well, and soon the President walked in to greet us as well.  I had to look up to the President as I shook his hand and thanked him for his generosity.  He brushed it off and we all sat down at the table.

Immediately the servers came out with scrumptious plates of food and wine.  We discussed the intricacies of Mr. Lincoln's proposal and the fragility of the country as a whole in the trying times.  I was more adamant than the rest that we should proceed with the plans and let the rebels feel the swift power of The President's values being enforced.  

Upon leaving, I walked down the drive a way enjoying the crisp night air and considering all we had discussed at dinner.  I knew we had some tough choices to make and they needed to be made soon.  

Suddenly, I felt a pair of strong hands grab me from behind, one around my waist and one over my mouth so I could not shout.  I was dragged a little ways into the shadows, which was pretty easy to do considering my short stature and the element of surprise.  I was then blindfolded by another while the first man kept his grip on me.  I swung backwards with my elbow and managed to knock the wind out of whoever was holding me, however the fellow who blindfolded me had finished and had quickly grabbed my hands and forced my arm high on my back.  

The next thing I know I hear, clear as a bell, a gunshot.  I panicked but realized no one was holding my arms back anymore.  I took off the blindfold and nervously looked around me.  Whoever had grabbed me had fled.  I couldn't see them anywhere.  Who would have taken me?  At least I was unharmed.  Someone must have saved me from my predicament by shooting off their gun.  I would have to find them and thank them, as well as ask them if they saw who had attacked me.  

It was then that I saw it.

My body.  Laying there on the grass.  My body curled almost in a fetal position on my right side.  My arms still behind me though relaxed.  The knees of my pants were stained with wet grass.  The blindfold was still around my eyes.  

I could not understand what I was looking at.  How am I looking at myself?  This doesn't make any sense.  Then I realized that the gunshot was not from someone saving me from my attackers.  The attackers had used a gun to shoot me.  There was the unmistakable mark of a bullet wound in the back of my head.  I reached around and felt my head and there it was.  I could feel the bullet there as well as I could see it on my head as I laid on the ground.  

I had not been saved.  I had been murdered.  I was, what?  A ghost?  Well, whatever I was, I was not that man lying on the ground anymore.  Two people had killed me and I had no idea who it was.  But if I was going to be here, haunting my life as a ghost, I was going to find out who had done it.

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