Falling Free by MelWil

Category – General

Rating – PG (just to be safe)

Summary – Bartlet's POV on serious matters

Archive – Just let me know where

Disclaimer – They are not mine. They are merely dancers in my choreography.

Feedback – Yes please! To lina_wilson@hotmail.com

Authors note – Just a little POV story to break through writers block.

"Hell, it's so lonely at the bottom when you pretend that you're on top." Kathleen Wilhoite

I am definitely falling. I'm midway through a rapid free fall and there's absolutely nothing stopping me from eventually hitting the bottom. Hard. The Secret Service can't rush in with their guns and rescue me, can't push me into a getaway car and drive me to a safe spot. In fact, there is nothing about my position that can save me. Not the big desk in the funny shaped office. Not the flags with the personal crest. Not even my own people can get me out of this one. Rather it is likely that either they will be there to greet me when I land or that they will meet me soon after. Then we can nurse our broken limbs and dreams together.

The common person on the street still thinks of me as the top man. They cheer when I arrive, wave their American flags and posters and signs. They are still pleased to get a glimpse of me. And in front of them, I still act as if I am still the big cheese, their leader. I smile and I wave. I greet people as if I am the most powerful man in the world. I still walk the rope line although my protection seems to increase in number every time I leave the White House.

Abbey wants me to stop. The girls want me to stop. They want me to walk away. They are my family, my kin, and the people I would die for. But this time, this one time, are they still right? If the people in America want me, if they need me, should I be able to abandon them? And if I were to abandon them, what choice would they be given? Hoynes? Or have I abandoned them already?

Who will go down because I was stupid? Because I was stubborn? Because I thought I knew what was best for the people of America? If I can't get a thing as insignificant as my own medical history correct, what hope do I have of making the right choice for the people of the United States? And whatever choice I make now, how will it affect the people I have surrounded myself. The beautiful, intelligent, loyal people who put e where I am? Who can we save? Who must fall?

I can't read the people anymore. I don't know what I am doing here or how long I must fall, fall in my own personal purgatory.

If only for some strength. Or at least a soft mattress on which I could land.

 

 

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