Washington Horror Blog

SEMI-FICTIONAL CHRONICLE of the EVIL THAT INFECTS WASHINGTON, D.C. To read Prologue and Character Guide, please see www.washingtonhorrorblog.com, updated 6/6//2017. Follow Washington Water Woman on Twitter @HorrorDC ....

Sunday, November 05, 2006

That is just cold.

Laura Moreno inspected the frost damage in the condo garden. The hosta plants were giving it up, but there were still some carnations blooming. The hibiscus still looked pretty robust, incongruously right next to the maple tree's reddening boughs. The clematis that had burst forth in Indian summer was still clinging to the fence, but the petunias were definitely taking their last gasps of life. The weather forecast was already predicting 70 by the end of the week, so who knew what was going to happen next. She headed over to the Garden District to look for pansies and periwinkle vinca.

Reggie and Fergie knew what was going to happen next, but since they only spoke in their secret twin language, nobody else knew what they were saying. They were talking about the upcoming election, and what the birds had been saying about it. Their mother, the White House butler, was listening to their chatter in puzzlement. Two years had gone by since their birth, and she was still not sure she had ever had a conversation with them. Clio was lying on the worn sofa, her right arm resting on her over-heated head. Reggie came over and said, "Don't worry, Mama," but Clio could not understand her daughter's words. She gave Reggie a kiss as Fergie handed his mother his blankie. Fergie said, "Yes, worry!", but Clio did not understand those words either. Reggie started arguing with Fergie. They were arguing about the birds. Clio told them she would make them some hot chocolate in a minute, then she fell asleep.

Upstairs, President Bush was looking out the window at the dying chrysanthemums. Why was that damn gardener so slow in taking care of things? He looked back down at the Military Times newspaper and tried to remember what Dickie had said about it. This was all getting very confusing. Why hadn't Condi called him yet? Maybe she was waiting for him to call her. Is that what he was supposed to do?

Across the river, Donald Rumsfeld was sleeping off the Jack Daniels he had downed the night before after learning that the Military Times editorial board had announced they would officially call for his resignation as Secretary of Defense. He had felt plenty warm and fuzzy when he passed out, and didn't know about the frost warning. He woke up shivering, no heat on, not enough blankets, and felt like an old man.

Meanwhile, former Senator Evermore Breadman had never felt more vigorous. He was raking in the dough, consulting right and left on the upcoming elections. This was so much better than being the candidate! Not that he had a lot of guarantees to dole out, but enough election machinery was under control to make at least a few of his clients happy. After all, he was only one man. They couldn't expect him to do everything. A colitis cramp suddenly gripped him, and he called for his wife to bring him an ice bag. He grimaced as he lay the cold gel bag across his lower abdomen. Anything to avoid getting cut.

Down in the Potomac, Ardua shivered with pleasure at the dropping temperatures. She loved feeling the misery of it all.


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