The door opened onto a room that felt nothing like the others.
No sketches of spacecraft. No mountain maps. No Hollywood production schedules.
One wall held a map of a fictional republic divided into congressional districts.
North Ashfield 7
Mercer Valley 12
Redstone Coast 4
Lake Dunbar 9
Colored pins marked shifts from the previous week’s polling.
A second wall carried photographs of imaginary candidates beside speeches layered with circles, arrows, taped inserts, and pages replaced so often the paper had become thick.
A long table occupied the center of the room.
Seven chairs.
All occupied.
No introductions.
The candidate was already seated.
The woman nearest the map tapped Mercer Valley with her pencil.
“Don’t use traditional values there.”
The pollster looked up from a binder.
“It costs four points.”
The linguist reached across the table.
“It isn’t the phrase.”
She crossed out two words.
I will defend…
became
Together we’ll defend…
Another strategist shook his head.
“Not in Ashfield.”
“They don’t trust together.”
“What do they trust?”
“‘Our families.’”
The sentence changed again.
Together we’ll defend…
became
Our families deserve…
The candidate watched his own speech become someone else’s handwriting.
“It’s the same policy.”
“They aren’t hearing policy.”
The media producer slid another draft across the table.
“The television cut.”
The candidate scanned it.
“You moved the reclamation line.”
“It closes now.”
“I opened with it.”
“You wanted everyone to hear it.”
A pause.
“We only need the right people to hear it.”
No one laughed.
The candidate rested both hands on the table.
“I asked for reclamation rhetoric because I believe the country needs rebuilding.”
The pollster nodded.
“We know.”
“I meant rebuilding institutions.”
“We know.”
“I meant trust.”
“We know.”
The linguist walked to the whiteboard.
Under Anchor Words:
Freedom
Faith
Parents
Under Bridge Words:
Neighbor
Responsibility
Under Signal Words:
Renewal
Choice
She lifted Faith from Anchor Words and placed it beneath Signal Words.
Nobody asked why.
The candidate watched the empty space where it had been.
“You moved it.”
“We moved where it works.”
“It means the same thing.”
“It always did.”
The candidate looked around the table.
“So what exactly am I becoming?”
The oldest strategist returned to his notes.
The candidate lowered his eyes to the latest draft.
“If I stop believing these words…”
The pollster slid the paper back toward him.
“You don’t have to.”
“They do.”
WE&P by: EZorrillaMc&Co.
Travel in Life 