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28 January 2002 @ 07:26 pm
Why is this so awfully fun?  
Maybe I should stop trying to create a fan base for "Assassins". I mean... eeking into an existing fan base is stressful enough... do I have to create it too?

Eh... and yet... Here's the first page of my silly story.


Note: I'm not saying Leon Czolgosz and John Hinkley, Jr. were homosexual in real life, much less with each other. And hey... I don't even get to it in this part anyway.

My Prize

Leon Czolgosz looked down at the gun in his hand and turned it over and over between his fingers, holding it with gentle reverence. “All you have to do is move your little finger,” he whispered and smiled without humor.
Behind him there came the sound of clumsy movement as someone sat on the bench beside him. “Just a single little finger can change the world,” a soft voice intoned near his ear. When Czolgosz turned around, slightly alarmed, he found himself staring into the sweet, sheepish face of John Hinkley. The small man pushed his large glasses back up onto his face and gave Leon a little smile. “Sorry. Did I startle you?”
“No. Not startle.” Leon lied and gave John a steely look. “Something you want?”
John smiled and petted his own firearm, which he held in his smallish hands. “Just to apologize, I guess. For… Well, just in case I made you mad…”
“Mad?” Leon scowled down at his pistol. “Not mad. Should I be?”
“Well… I thought you were. When I… knocked over the bottle.” Hinkley gripped his gun a fraction tighter. “I swear I didn’t know, I didn’t know about everything, and I didn’t mean to knock it over, it was an accident-”
“Not mad.” Leon cleared his throat and slowly raised his gun to point at nothingness. “Not mad at you.” He aimed carefully into the darkness.
“Then… who are you mad at?” John coughed nervously. “If you are mad at someone, which you don’t have to be-”
“Mad at the world.” Czolgosz tipped his head slightly to the side and snuck a look at Hinkley. “Mad at the rich who have all they want at their fingertips while poor suffer.” He shrugged abruptly and lowered his gun. “Is why I kill McKinley.”
“Oh.”
“Why do you kill?” Leon asked, looking the mousey man over. His eyes rested longest on Hinkley’s hands, small and pale, and on his wrists, which disappeared into an oversize Army surplus jacket. “You mad?”
“No,” John shook his head. “No, I killed him… tried to kill him… for Jodie.”
“Jodie,” Leon wrapped his tongue around the unfamiliar name. “Jodie is your… lover?”
“I wish.” John sighed and stared at his weapon for a moment, admiring the details of the barrel and of the handle and trigger. “I thought I’d kill him and then… she’d notice me. And see what I’d do for her…”
Leon nodded. “I think that too. I love Emma; she don’t love me. But she want McKinley dead as much as I do. I think I kill him and she love me. Maybe.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I do it for Emma. I do it for the workers. I done my duty.” He laid his head back on the edge of the hard, wooden bench. In this new position, John was able to get a better look at the other man’s young, sad features and the fine locks of blonde-brown hair that were almost always hidden by the shadow of his cap.
“Did she-?”
“No.” Czolgosz cut John off before the question even left his tongue. “She don’t love me. She never love me.”
“Then she’s an idiot,” John Hinkley said with more conviction than he usually possessed. Czolgosz opened his eyes and flashed a look of surprise at John; encouraged, John put what he hoped was a friendly hand on Leon’s shoulder.
 
 
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