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The End of All (Short Story)

Updated: Nov 11, 2019

Credit: Complete the Story by Piccadilly

I've been missing for three days. I can tell because there's a tiny, high window in here and I've kept myself awake since they threw me in here and locked the door, but that's all I know. I asume the entire Secret Service isn't sleeping either, considering my safety is their most important gig, but who knows, this could be an inside job. I was on my way to a meeting with the Secretary of State when they floored it past the undiclosed location only we knew about.

We kept going for hours before switiching cars in the middle of nowhere. We must have been getting close to something they didn't want me to see when they covered my head. I couldn't see anything and time seemed to drag on forever before they pulled me out of the car and led me inside. It was cold, much colder than it had been in the car.

I don't know what the place we're in is called. Is it a house? An apartment? Who knows. I couldn't see a damn thing. All I know for sure is that there is a window in this room and a door I'm afraid to touch. I tried once and someone hit it from the outside. I took the hint and have left it alone ever since. There's been no food and only a couple of bottles of water since I got here. I don't know if they've done anything to the water, though, because the seal is broken by the time I get to it every time. I wouldn't even drink it if not for the fact that I know a person can die from dehydration in a matter of days.

Sometimes, I wonder how no one has noticied that the President is missing. And then, the thought occurs to me that maybe something else is going on that I don't know about and there are bigger concerns than my whereabouts. The idea alone scares me into looking out the window, something I should have known would lead to nothing useful.

There's nothing to stand on except the bucket they've had me using for bathroom purposes and I really don't want to fall into that considering there's no way to shower. So, I go stand below the window and jump. I have to do it over and over again, but there's nothing I can see. Just grass and what might be a fence farther off than my line of vision will allow an accurate view of. But, theres's something behind the fence. It looks like people!

They know I'm missing afterall! They know where I am! And, this means that wherever I am, I'm not supposed to be here. So, I make a few more jumps, trying to get their attention from the tiny window that's probably too far away for them to see. After more than a dozen jumps, and realizing I won't get their attention that way, I decide to take my chances and start yelling. I figure, whatever happens will happen. If I die down here, at least the public will know where I was and that they were right.

I scream at the top of my lungs, as loud as I possibly can. To my immense suprise, the crowd reacts. They begin to storm the gate just before the Secret Service enters the room. They seem more than mad. No, not more than. They seem something else. Like they're feeling something different altogether. It regiters too late. They're afraid. They enter the room, holding the door closed from the inside. They cover the window and my mouth.

No one says a word. They jut sit and shake in fear as someone, or something by the sound of it, hits the door with the full force of their body. There is scratching and clawing and moans.

It is then that I realize something is very wrong. I wasn't being kidnapped, I was being saved. I was being protected. My lack of sleep and inability to ask questions caused me to act irrationally. It was going to cost me my life as well as the lives of those sworn to protect me.

The door cracks and splinters. I don't know what I'm looking at and there isn't time for my brain to make sense of it before the shots ring out, uselessly, against the crowd spilling in the door at us. There are screams, tears, grown men begging for mercy from those who don't seem to understand their words.

I begin to say something but the words are ripped from my throat as I'm bitten into and those sounds I'm about to make turn into nothing more than a wheezing sound as my throat is ripped open. This is the end for me.

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