The Alternative by Richard Dante - HTML preview

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ONE

 

The Sun held its position high above Maryland. It’s somber light tarnished the white buildings of the city a dirty beige. There was a dusty, gritty feel about the place. Occasional gusts of warm wind sent dust devils kicking up across dead lawns. Where grass once grew, large areas were laid bare and the baked earth was patterned with a network of fine cracks and crevices.

A river divided the city. At one time it ran cool and deep down around Mount Vernon and on into Chesapeake Bay. Now its water was shallow and still, an unwholesome shade of green. Rushes and salt grass choked the banks. Weeds dammed the brackish central channel, where not long ago boats and ships scuttled in and out of the harbor.There was little sign of life. Only a few dragonflies darted about, the plated sections of their slim bodies glinted like steel in the amber light. Some seemed to hang motionless as their compound eyes searched the murky waters.

Though it was late Spring, the cherry trees along the mall hadn’t bothered to blossom this year, and between the two monuments, the reflection pool was empty.

 Farther up Pennsylvania Avenue stood the Capitol Building. The bright symbol of Democracy looked dingy in the ochre light. Inside the Senate chamber, a pall of gloom hung over the proceedings.

 “Missouri?”

 “Missouri votes, Yes!”

 “New York?”

 “No!”

 A meandering beam of sunlight caught the polished surface of a brass plate. the name John Shipley was engraved upon it.

 The old man sat erect at his desk, his handsome head topped with an amazing shock of white hair. One of the television cameras moved in for a tight close-up. The unrelenting eye of the camera examined the face. It was marked by creases and lines that told of the happiness and the heartaches of a great man. On his magnificent face one could almost read the last fifty years of the nation’s history.

 His eyes were closed.

 Suddenly, they opened! Bright blue and alive! The camera remained focused on them--searching.

 The clerk droned on. “Wyoming. How do you vote?”

 “Mr. Vice President, the State of Wyoming votes NO on the initiative!”

 The merciless camera held tight to the beloved old face. Another defeat. It could be one too many. The camera registered no change in expression except, maybe, deep in his eyes it could see a great man who’s last dream was dying.

 There was a visible release of breath as the Senator slowly reached into his vest pocked and withdrew a small silver box. He extracted a tiny white pill and washed it down with a glass of water. During the roar of assent and dissent following the negative and deciding vote, the old man looked up toward the ceiling.

 High above the proud old head, beyond the curve of the Capitol dome, the foul atmosphere that imprisoned the city began to stir. Through most of the day, the Capitol was choked by smoke from Appalachia where forest fires burned out of control. Then, by some miracle, in late afternoon, a fresh sea breeze from Chesapeake Bay blew the smoke back toward the west, and the city breathed a sigh of relief. In the warm glow of twilight, Washington began to resemble the historic Capitol of happier days Scattered solar-charged street lights came on, and the scene took on a festive glitter.