People had issues with my characterization, what the power was, the chapter structure, and a few other things in my story. So, I've rewritten it, and hopefully it's better now!
Here it is!
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Who the hell let a
reporter into my office? I thought with a scowl as my door swung in,
permitting a young woman. The permeating scent of stubborn determination filled
the air like a bad perfume, and she strode to my desk, extending her hand while
flashing a winning smile.
"Good morning, High President," she greeted cheerily,
blue eyes sparkling. She had an odd clip to her voice—a familiar accent, but
one I couldn't place. "I'm Laura Brown."
I considered her for a moment, then, still frowning, deigned
to stand and shake her hand. "Good morning. Now I would appreciate it if
you leave. I'm busy enough without rude interruptions."
"Actually, that's what I'm here to talk to you
about," she said, stepping away and making herself comfortable in one of
the chairs across from me and folded one black-clad leg over the other, her
foot bouncing happily.
Laura's aura was confident—only the slightest amount of fear
tinted it. She knew that I could have
security come and toss her out if I chose.
How did she get in here, though?
Who didn't run this past me?
Reporters were a obstinate lot. They were the sort of people
that I had a hard time dissuading from bothering me.
"What's it like to be the ruler of the world?" she
asked, and I could feel smugness in her aura at the fact that I had not called
for security yet.
Exhausting. And fairly
boring. "Busy enough," I said, sitting back down and taking my
reading glasses off, "even without a
nosy reporter in my office." It wasn't the right thing to say to get her
to go away—I knew that it would be harder than that. Like the time I had had to
convince the congressmen to lower the age for the American Presidential office.
Laura didn't take the hint; instead, her aura grew more bold after a moment of irritation,
and I finally turned my attention fully to reading her.
I'm not about to let
this opportunity slip out of my hands, she was thinking as she opened her
mouth to speak.
God, I'd wish she'd
leave already. I have things to do. Annoyingly dry things—I was far off from
eliminating the paper system of the 'old' world—but I had to do them
nevertheless.
I held up a hand, stopping her before she began. "I am
not interested in discussing—"
"You're bored," she interjected idly, cutting me
off.
"Excuse me?" I asked, though I was more surprised
than irritated.
"There's nothing else for you to do, nowhere else up
the ladder to go," she told me matter-of-factly as she flicked the end of
her pony tail over her shoulder.
How did she . . . ? I
thought with surprise, scrutinizing her closer.
Like a shark sensing blood, she pursued, the scent of
triumph tainting the air. "Rising to power was like a game to you. Each
step higher was just another piece to take out."
Though they had to be guesses, her guesses sounded confident.
Very confident.
My ascent to power was public record. It had taken a lot of
political maneuvering, greasing of hands, and countless debates. Fortunately, I
had always had money and some power in the political world—my parents had had connections,
even back then—and it hadn't taken long for me to shoot up the ladder.
As confident as me, I
realized, remembering how I had
climbed up the social ladder. Could it be
possible . . . ?
"What makes you say that?" I questioned while
leaning back in my seat.
Giving the same, perfect-teeth smile, she continued as the
scent of triumph and smugness growing stronger. "As soon as you turned
eighteen, you ran for mayor of Seattle. Against the odds, you won. Then you
made state governor. Next thing everyone knows, you're the king of the world a
short ten years later."
A year had passed since then, and I was having some troubles
wrangling down rebel groups from several of the more mulish countries who
refused to accept a once-American as their leader.
Wait, I thought
with surprise as I realized something. She had gotten me to ask her a question.
Blazes. I didn't respond to her prodding—she
hadn't asked a question, after all—instead frowning deeper and starting to pick
apart her aura. This was a foe worthy of my full attention.
You don't know me. The
message came through brightly, and shock grew through me as she gave me a sly
smile. I wonder how you came to power
without the aid of something greater?
Inconceivable, I
thought, baffled by the thought that there was another like me. There had never been another who could match what
I could do.
"Do you consider yourself a good man?" she asked—another
question that caught me off guard.
Dammit. I had to
stop letting her do that.
I was hesitant to answer the question, which would give me away
if she really was like me. Indeed, I could feel her aura shifting, although she
waited for me to respond this time. "No," I finally said, shifting a
paper on my desk. "I don't. When was the last time you elected a good man,
though?"
"We didn't elect you," she informed me, and I gave
a small nod. This was true. Democracy was a step I had skipped when I started
taking over the other countries. "What do
you consider yourself?"
It was a question I had asked myself for a long time. Though
I had never thought myself a good man, I had done great things since I took
over. I had ended world hunger. I was on the way to achieving world peace. I
had allowed new technologies to come forth that had been repressed—a water-powered
car, for one.
In those aspects, I was a hero to many. But the lengths I
had gone to achieve to achieve power, and the reasons, were not heroic by any
means. Using the ability to sense wants and hear thoughts to emotionally—and otherwise—manipulate
people had never been the trademark of a hero. I bent
"A villain,
perhaps," I said. I had, after all, abused an extraordinary gift given to
me to attain a position unlike any other. Then I cursed myself again. She was a
bloody reporter. Whatever I said
today might be in tomorrow's news.
But . . . the allure of someone who was like me at all was
strong.
"And why is that?" she questioned further, leaning
forward.
After a long moment, I said, "Because there was no one
to stop me."
She smiled broader, and I could hear from her aura a
distinct message:
Not anymore.
"I believe that will be all," she said, standing.
I stood with her, extending a hand while smiling at the
challenge—something new and foreign, but welcome. "Well met, Laura Brown."
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