By Jeremiah Donaldson
Marvin’s sweaty hand made the registration card soggy. He’d never voted. Anticipation twisted his gut. Soon, he’d help decide the country’s fate for the next several years or longer.
He forced himself towards the booth.
Christ. What party did I register with?
Just vote. It didn’t matter who he voted for. Besides, the politicians worked for the same corporations anyway.
He ducked into the booth, almost bowling over the touch screen sitting on a wooden pedestal. Sweat stung his eyes and his vision blurred, so he randomly reached out.
Huge letters flashed: ‘THANK YOU FOR VOTING’.
Done. He’d voted.
Marvin hurried out the front door.
He got in his truck and spun some gravel pulling out of the church lot. The static filled radio coming from one good speaker made him wish that the Eight Track player hadn’t died 25 years before.
“We interrupt normal broadcasts for a special weather alert…”
He frowned and changed the station.
“Cuba has joined NATO…”
He twisted the knob again.
“Wall Street brokers have started a fund to benefit low income…”
“We will start pulling troops out of the Middle East immediately…”
The radio died with a final blast of static and left him with the noisy muffler.
Black storm clouds had gathered by the time he pulled into his driveway. He got out and a gust blew the driver’s door shut so hard the window rattled. Trees lining his yard creaked while leaves swirled down.
Massive raindrops pelted him like stones. Something squishy landed on his shoulder and moved to his neck. Marvin shuddered, flicking at the rubbery thing crawling up the back of his head. It fell to the ground and hopped away.
He stomped on the weird blue frog, then looked up and shivered.
Must have fell from the tree.
A thud prompted him to turn. A red frog lay exploded in the middle of the bashed in truck hood.
Dots too large for rain fell from the sky. Something slammed into his forehead, knocking him backwards. He stumbled several steps before tripping to the ground with fluids running down his face. He blinked, wiping thick slime and cold blood off with his shirt while getting up.
A red frog smashed to the ground beside him as the truck windshield shattered.
A small blue one landed on his shoulder. It hopped away and joined other survivors among the bodies in the purple yard.
He made it to the porch before something surprisingly firm slammed into the center of his back. He stumbled, and caught himself with the handrail, stopping long enough to punt the huge blue frog into the yard. He pushed through the front door and leaned against it protectively, as though the amphibians could have turned the knob. His heart pounded so hard he feared a heart attack.
Pots banged against one another as his wife called out. “So, who did you vote for?”