284 words by Stanley Lieber
The polls had closed and so Jerrymander Mold did the only thing he knew how to do, aside from campaigning, which was to crack open a beer and down the whole thing in one gulp.
It had no effect upon his overweight, mechanical body.
Grover fucking Cleveland!
He decided that America deserved a Democrat.
Fuck 'em, he mumbled.
"Stop pretending to be drunk."
Haus Mold stood in the doorway and took in Jerrymander's hotel room. "Where are your people," he asked.
"I sent them away. There's no point in listening to their excuses."
"You seem to be taking this awfully personally."
Jerrymander put down the beer can and paced the circumference of his curved room.
"Something troubles me about this election," he said at last.
"Sure. You didn't win."
The horse looked worried. It seemed to sag under the weight of Jerrymander's saddle.
"There's no reason for you to leave town over this," Haus pleaded.
"Fuck 'em," was all Jerrymander would say. He repeated it quietly several times before trailing off into belligerent silence.
Dust caught in Haus' face and false teeth as the horse made a go of things. He righted himself and followed after them.
Jerrymander didn't look back.
Once the old man was really gone, Haus retreated to his room and pulled up a cam feed to observe his progress. He immediately scolded himself and got back up to draw the curtains. Jerrmander had made camp clear on the other side of the rapids. Haus tamped shut his contraption and peered out of his window, contemplating the election.
Later, before turning in, Haus thought to rename the town Jerrymander Falls.
To be continued...