Blood Fruit

Bailey Taylor is the best president the United States has ever had, and I know I have the favor of the American people. Tonight, I am announcing that I am running once again for the presidency.

At seven o'clock in the morning, I entered the peace room, where my two most trusted advisers were waiting. These advisers were Hilary Jensen, my Secretary of Homeland Security, and Stephen Hobbs, my Secretary of Labor. While there are other advisers, these two, along with myself, make a perfect team.

"Thank you for your patience," I told them, as I pulled my hair into a soft bun and put on my reading glasses to examine a brief that was placed in front of me.

Hilary praised me. "Madam President, you've been phenomenal in the eight years you've held office. If you turn to page fifty-six of your daily brief, you'll see the data from the top pollsters showing that your approval rating has increased every year since you were first elected. You started out with a forty-six percent approval rating, and now you're at over ninety percent."

I was proud in that moment, and I still am. "Ms. Jensen, it's amazing, isn't it? The American people doubted me at first, and truly, who can blame them? As a country, we endured years of polarization that led to extreme unrest. Violence and discord everywhere. It hadn’t been that bad since the 1860s. As Secretary of Homeland Security, you were instrumental in helping me bring peace stateside. We needed to turn down the temperature. After all, there's more that unites us than divides us."

"Of course, Madam President," Stephen agreed. "The American people fell in love with your policies. You brought them jobs. You brought them prosperity. And you brought them freedom. Freedom in safety, freedom in opportunity."

"Yes, Mr. Hobbs. You've performed impeccably as my Secretary of Labor. We're now loved by workers and corporations alike. At the end of the day, Americans just want a piece of the American dream. They just want to be happy, safe, and enjoy the fruits of their labor."

"Agreed. So, Madam President, it's an election year, and we want to be proactive. We don't want to leave anything to chance."

I'll be honest. I was extremely lucky to come into the presidency when I did. Presidents past have loathed abiding by the Twenty-Second Amendment to the US Constitution, which limited a president to two four-year terms. No one becomes president without at least a little bit of an ego, and many have desperately wanted to stay longer, and could have if this amendment didn't exist.

Fortunately for me, after this country was on the brink of civil war, and we finally found a way to achieve peace, we realized that our founding documents, while wise in their conception, were now outdated for our current world. After all, we had one of the oldest constitutions in use. But ultimately, we decided on a better way, a happier way, and this way has been much more prosperous for our country.

I stood up, pulled back the curtain, and looked out the window onto the White House North Lawn, which we opened to the public in my second term, since I had nothing to fear. Huge throngs of people began cheering loudly for me as soon as they saw me. It must have been millions of pleased, patriotic Americans, as far as the eye can see. Some even held signs with messages like, "Three-Elect Taylor," "Taylor Saved My Life," and "Taylor Three-Peat." A few even had tears in their eyes.

It then dawned on me. "Yes! I have the perfect slogan for this re-election campaign."

"What is it, Madam President?" Stephen asked.

"Peace, Prosperity, Perfection - all good things come in threes."

Hilary was apparently confused by my brilliance. "Perfection?"

I explained, "Yes, Ms. Jensen. Perfection. Our country is a model for how we have been able to achieve perfect peace after decades of anger and fighting. After years of seeing each other as the enemy, we were able to hammer out our differences as a country. We're a model for countries the world over."

"But Madam President," Hilary asked, "are you worried about dissent? You're not at a perfect one-hundred percent approval-"

"Yet," I reminded her. "Not yet. But if you listen to the news right now, you'll see how excited they are about me running for re-election. Turn on the television."

Hilary turned on the big-screen television on the other side of the room and turned to our sole news channel. Seeing that having multiple television news channels was inefficient and led to anger and rage at dinner tables across the country, the channels agreed to merge into one - One Great Nation News Channel, or OGN. OGN also took over the radio airwaves and newspapers, as well as social media, so there is now one news outlet for each form of media.

The news anchor on OGN was singing my praises. She announced, "Unemployment is at statistical zero for the thirty-seventh month in a row. American businesses are thriving, and we have eliminated major violence, even in America's cities. After the break, we'll show you puppies! Yes, these cuddly, cute puppies."

I was thrilled. "I told you, things are great."

"But Madam President, there is one holdout."

"Ms. Jensen, don't tell me we're still fighting Losanti, Ohio."

"Unfortunately, yes we are. As you know, Ohio is the Florida of the North…except at the end of the day, even Florida saw the benefit of peace. Ohio…not so much. Now, at this point, most Ohioans are seeing how improved their lives are. But Losanti is the one metropolitan area where we can't get high approval ratings."

"Madam President, you should consider paying them a visit. You're a very genuine person, and if you meet them where they are, perhaps you can persuade them," Stephen suggested.

"That's a dangerous proposition," Hilary warned.

"It is, but if anyone can help them, I can. Mr. Hobbs is right. As a matter of fact, this evening, I can announce my candidacy there. Maybe they don't see the benefits yet, but if we show them some love, they'll finally get it."

***

I looked out the window as Air Force One touched down in the southwestern Ohio city of Losanti, Ohio. It’s always been different. Losantians like watery chili on pasta. They think ranch dressing is a legitimate condiment. Their city is one of dozens of little neighborhoods and all of them are mid. Losantians don't like joy, and that's unfortunate. I was determined because I care. Perhaps I could change their minds.

After the plane touched down at the airport, a convoy of armored limousines were waiting for me. I was due to speak at Ohio Valley Technical University, the premier university in Losanti. Along with my trusted advisers, we stepped into the presidential limousine.

The Secret Service agent in the driver's seat had the radio on. He was playing a talk station that kept cutting in and out. It had a weak signal, but that wasn’t the only reason it sounded peculiar.

"What is that on the radio?" I asked.

"Madam President, I'm not sure," the agent told me. "I turned on the radio while waiting for Air Force One on the tarmac, and this station kept coming in."

"It sounds different than OGN."

"I think it is, Madam President."

"Agent Cristos, turn that off," ordered Stephen. "We don’t need to hear that garbage."

"No, Mr. Hobbs," I overrode him. "We need to know what we’re getting into."

"Are you sure, Madam President?" Hilary asked.

"Yes, Ms. Jensen, I'm sure."

I listened closely to the faint radio station.

"Liberty Radio 720 WLL," the recorded callsign bellowed.

After the callsign was announced, a young man announced, "Good evening, I’m Corey Oppermann. Losantians, remain vigilant. Taylor's in town, and sources say she will announce her candidacy for an unprecedented third term. This is what we worried about when the Constitution was suspended five years ago. She's going to try to convince us that up is down, and down is up. She will say that we are now at peace, there is no unemployment, everybody works, we can afford things again. But we see the truth around us. We dared to be in debt because so many jobs are underpaid and have been for decades. Since the 1980s, inflation has increased while wages remained stagnant. Congress and the president eliminating the minimum wage, as well as the ability to file for bankruptcy, made the situation in this country much more dire."

"But that allowed our job creators to keep Americans employed," I said to my advisers.

"It sure did. Some people are ungrateful. They want something for nothing," Stephen noted.

The host went on. "So many of us couldn’t keep up. Those who owe their creditors and can’t pay them back, and those who are unemployed, they are being rounded up and 'disappeared,' never to see their families again. Many of you have neighbors, friends, and family members you have not seen since the Legion came. Sources say that they're being shipped out to the corporate farms. They're being worked to the bone, working off their debts, debts they never quite repay. Working to the grave."

I reminded my team, "We're teaching the American people the meaning of hard work. So many Americans are lazy and entitled. I don't see the problem."

Hilary whispered, "Don’t do this to yourself, Madam President…"

More was said on the radio. "And those of us who can still hear me speak…you might think you’re virtuous because you didn’t end up like them. That is what the government tells us…America for the Americans willing to work for it. But deep inside, you know that you weren’t any harder working. You weren’t more responsible. You were just lucky. One missed paycheck. One higher-than-normal utility bill. One rolled ankle. One car breakdown. It could have been you. There but for the grace of God go I."

I let Hillary know, "We’ll find that station and deal with Oppermann later. But right now, let’s listen."

This Oppermann guy just kept on going. "Yes, those of us who are left…we are employed, we are housed, and our groceries are cheaper than ever. But the great abundance Taylor brags about in her speeches and rallies comes at a cost. It comes at the cost of freedom. It comes at the cost of the people we love most. Fellow Losantians…fellow Americans…our government is feeding us blood fruit."