those cowering figures gave him confidence.
People could talk about their values and beliefs until they were blue in the face, but the fact was that when push came to shove, people would save themselves over others—the powerful “public servant” crowd around him not excluded. The allure of lavish lifestyles and power had them all intoxicated. Jones only needed to push a little further.
“Mr. President, we're live in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five,” the camera man said then extended his fingers in the air to continue the countdown silently.
Once the cameraman's finger hit one, he pointed to the president, and Jones watched the small red dot on the camera flick on, signaling they were live on air.
***
White molding cut through the small spaces between the yellow kitchen tile that peppered the wall under the cabinets and around the sink. Ms. Fletcher turned the faucet on and watched the usage meter above the sink count the volume of water pouring into her glass. Once the gauge read eight ounces, she shut it off. The system automatically updated, registering the gallons of water she had left based off her weekly rations. She fanned herself and pressed the side of the glass to her head, attempting to cool the beads of sweat forming on her temple.
A solid ring of sweat circled the top of her blouse, and she tried peeling the clinging fabric off her as she walked to the living room. She passed the thermostat on her way out of the kitchen and only briefly glanced at the one-hundred-and-one-degree temperature.
When Ms. Fletcher turned on the television, the signal was scrambled. None of the channels worked. It had been like that since the declaration of martial law earlier in the day when reports of the Colorado River crisis surfaced.
The elementary school she worked at was a madhouse after the announcement. Parents demanded to pull their children, even though the authorities told them that help and answers would arrive before the end of the day.
And from what Ms. Fletcher could tell, that was true. On her way home from school that afternoon, she could see the heightened police presence in the area, which she was thankful for after witnessing the mess she’d had to deal with at work.
People were overreacting. They were letting fear get the better of them. She knew there was a process in which these things happened and had faith in her government to fix the problem. She repeated her assurances to herself every few minutes to ease her ever-increasing nerves.
Ms. Fletcher reclined in her flower-printed armchair and picked up a worn paperback book from the stand next to her. The living room around her, like the rest of the house, was modest. However, since she was a teacher for the public school board, she was allowed more rations than other citizens. She would have liked a better neighborhood in San Diego, but it could have been worse.
As she flipped through the pages of her novel, the television descrambled, and the image of the president, surrounded by politicians, appeared on the screen.
“My fellow Americans, I speak to you this evening with a heavy heart. Earlier today I informed the nation about the continuing water crisis in the Southwest. Reports confirmed that the Colorado Basin, which provides fresh water to most of California, Arizona, New Mexico, Nevada, Utah, and Colorado, had finally run dry. All of my attention today has been directed toward coming up with solutions that benefit not just the Southwest, but the entire country.”
Ms. Fletcher snapped the book shut. She turned her reading lamp off, casting the living room into darkness. The glow of the television illuminated her apprehensive expression at hearing the president's words.
“Upon hearing the news of civil unrest in the Southwest, I deployed forces to major cities, establishing martial law to insure that civility and order were maintained during this difficult time. However, the
People could talk about their values and beliefs until they were blue in the face, but the fact was that when push came to shove, people would save themselves over others—the powerful “public servant” crowd around him not excluded. The allure of lavish lifestyles and power had them all intoxicated. Jones only needed to push a little further.
“Mr. President, we're live in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five,” the camera man said then extended his fingers in the air to continue the countdown silently.
Once the cameraman's finger hit one, he pointed to the president, and Jones watched the small red dot on the camera flick on, signaling they were live on air.
***
White molding cut through the small spaces between the yellow kitchen tile that peppered the wall under the cabinets and around the sink. Ms. Fletcher turned the faucet on and watched the usage meter above the sink count the volume of water pouring into her glass. Once the gauge read eight ounces, she shut it off. The system automatically updated, registering the gallons of water she had left based off her weekly rations. She fanned herself and pressed the side of the glass to her head, attempting to cool the beads of sweat forming on her temple.
A solid ring of sweat circled the top of her blouse, and she tried peeling the clinging fabric off her as she walked to the living room. She passed the thermostat on her way out of the kitchen and only briefly glanced at the one-hundred-and-one-degree temperature.
When Ms. Fletcher turned on the television, the signal was scrambled. None of the channels worked. It had been like that since the declaration of martial law earlier in the day when reports of the Colorado River crisis surfaced.
The elementary school she worked at was a madhouse after the announcement. Parents demanded to pull their children, even though the authorities told them that help and answers would arrive before the end of the day.
And from what Ms. Fletcher could tell, that was true. On her way home from school that afternoon, she could see the heightened police presence in the area, which she was thankful for after witnessing the mess she’d had to deal with at work.
People were overreacting. They were letting fear get the better of them. She knew there was a process in which these things happened and had faith in her government to fix the problem. She repeated her assurances to herself every few minutes to ease her ever-increasing nerves.
Ms. Fletcher reclined in her flower-printed armchair and picked up a worn paperback book from the stand next to her. The living room around her, like the rest of the house, was modest. However, since she was a teacher for the public school board, she was allowed more rations than other citizens. She would have liked a better neighborhood in San Diego, but it could have been worse.
As she flipped through the pages of her novel, the television descrambled, and the image of the president, surrounded by politicians, appeared on the screen.
“My fellow Americans, I speak to you this evening with a heavy heart. Earlier today I informed the nation about the continuing water crisis in the Southwest. Reports confirmed that the Colorado Basin, which provides fresh water to most of California, Arizona, New Mexico, Nevada, Utah, and Colorado, had finally run dry. All of my attention today has been directed toward coming up with solutions that benefit not just the Southwest, but the entire country.”
Ms. Fletcher snapped the book shut. She turned her reading lamp off, casting the living room into darkness. The glow of the television illuminated her apprehensive expression at hearing the president's words.
“Upon hearing the news of civil unrest in the Southwest, I deployed forces to major cities, establishing martial law to insure that civility and order were maintained during this difficult time. However, the