El Diablo

Emmanuel crouched next to the window and squeezed the rifle until his fists turned white.

“Soon,” he mumbled to himself. A puff of dust swirled on the windowsill as he breathed, in and out, trying to calm his racing heart. It shouldn’t have come to this, but he had no choice. He had fled his country for a land that was said to flow with milk and honey. Instead, inflation made it impossible to feed his family all while the man in charge of it all laughed and threw around thousands of dollars to host events for the elite. The people struggled but those in power didn't care.

Emmanuel had waited for the votes to change the country but when that failed, he knew the people needed a hero. And who else could be the savior of a failing utopia but himself?

A reflection of light from the windshield of a shiny black vehicle caught his eye. An array of identical cars crept down the street. It was almost time. A team of men in suits flooded from the vehicles to create a living wall before they opened another car door and released an old man. Emmanuel felt his breath catch in his throat and had to remind himself to breathe. He narrowed an eye and pulled the rifle up to watch his target through the scope.

The old man shuffled down the sidewalk. He stumbled over a crack and a guard reached out a quick hand to steady him before he could fall. The muzzle of the rifle tracked every shambling step of the gentleman. Emmanuel placed a finger on the trigger as the team of bodyguards stopped their charge in front of the door of an ice cream shop. A little girl skipped out of the building and he quickly removed his finger. He didn’t want to risk hitting the kid.

Emmanuel could see the guards tense, relax, and then tense again as their ward reached out a trembling hand to the child. Emmanuel scowled as he watched the wrinkled hand lift a strand of the girl’s hair and take a long sniff. There was a muffled reprimand, the girl was released, and the group disappeared into the store.

Emmanuel let out a sigh and lowered the rifle. He could be patient. A few moments later and the door opened again. First came the wall of suits and there, in the middle, was a glint of white hair. Emmanuel raised the rifle and centered it on his target’s head. Another breath out, a squeeze of the trigger, and there was the splash of red that showed a successful shot. Emmanuel froze for an instant as, in slow motion, the chocolate chip ice cream cone fell from the man’s limp fingers and plopped onto the hot pavement.

“Shots fired!” The men’s screams carried clearly on the wind as they squeezed closer to their fallen charge to create a shield. A few faces swung up and around, searching for the sharpshooter. Searching for him. Emmanuel swallowed hard and gently set the rifle on the dusty floor of the abandoned hotel room. He had planned his exit and would be out of the search perimeter before the guards could say, “Mr. President”.

Less than an hour later and safely at home, Emmanuel threw himself onto the couch and flicked on the television. The vultures had already set up their cameras, eager to be the first news station to share the drama of the death of the Commander-in-Chief. Emmanuel leaned forward as a camera zoomed in on a white sheet covering a corpse, melted ice cream oozing out from under the body. The image suddenly shifted and the Vice President’s face took over the screen. Her face was carefully molded into a somber expression but Emmanuel could see a gleam in her eyes. He wondered if anyone else could see how her lips twitched to fight off her characteristic cackle.

“We are here today because today is a day that we are here, together,” the VP said with a solemn nod. “We’ve got to take this stuff seriously, as seriously as you are because you have been forced to take this seriously. And—”

A sudden gasp cut off the VP’s articulate address to the nation.

“He’s moving! He’s…he’s alive!” There was a wild roar from the crowd as the President of the United States sat up and yanked the sheet off his lap.

“El Diablo!” Emmanuel covered his mouth with a shaky hand. He’d seen the man’s brains splatter…he was supposed to be dead!

“Nobody can keep this dog-faced pony soldier down, no joke!” The President smirked, stood, and brushed off his backside. “Here’s a warning to the stupid son-of-a-bitch who tried to put me six feet under, the best way to get things done…if you hold it near and dear to you, that you, uh, um…you know, the thing! Better watch your back, Jack, cause we’re going to, um, asufutimaehaehfutbw.”

Emmanuel shook his head as a crowd of people behind the camera cheered the President’s eloquent speech. Disgusted, he flipped through the channels. Every station had the President mumbling about his assassination. He stopped on a preacher who was shouting about the President’s death.

“This is the beginning of the end, can I get an Amen? For it is written that one of the beast’s heads had been mortally wounded, and his deadly wound was healed! We have witnessed that very thing today! And what happens next? All the world will marvel and follow the beast…”

Emmanuel felt sick. “What have I done? What have I started?” he groaned. He quickly turned off the television and shivered in the darkness.




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949 words
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The Writer's Cramp  (13+) Write the best poem or story in 24 hours or less and win 10K GPS! #333655 by Sophurky

Prompt: write a poem or story which is set during the immediate aftermath (as in within an hour or so) of the assassination of a prominent public figure.

Revelation 13:3
"And I saw one of his heads as if it had been mortally wounded, and his deadly wound was healed. And all the world marveled and followed the beast."
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