into the early hours | just pierre

P I E R R E

There is barely a paragraph written on the parchment in front of Pierre, it feels like he has repeating the words he spoke five years ago. A lot has happened since then, more dead children, a damned lockdown and supposed terrorist attack. None of which he really had control over. Really what is Pierre’s plan for the next five years? It feels like his entire existence revolves around this role as mayor. The man is fifty years old; it is only one decade out of five, surely, he has much more to live for? Of course, there is the matter of his torn to pieces family…

He takes a long gulp of the strong whiskey in the small glass. Hopefully, the bottle will last the entire weekend, in the past he has had to scold himself to stop finishing the bottle before he topples himself over the edge. What an embarrassing act that would be. An act that could swipe his chances of winning this election.

It is back to the drawing board for this scripted speech.

P I E R R E

Pierre stabs his pen against a clean sheet of paper, his handwriting a little scruffier than normal but the words still readable. To him anyway. Another quick gulp of the whiskey and it oddly gives him the muse boost to projectile vomit a tonne of words onto the script. It is really beginning to flow, now that his set agenda has become so clear into his mind.

Family. Everything is all about family.

The Districts run on families, there are so many big family names. Of course, the main thing that his citizens worry about must be their families. Now is his time to give them support, just as much support that he is trying to give back to his own family. Just as much support that he has lacked in giving to all the Hopes in the past decade as he focused so much on this powerful role. Well he wanted his next five years to be different. To better for his own family. Now is the chance to make it better for everyone else’s too…

P I E R R E

Pierre plants his face onto the desk in front of him, the whiskey is really beginning to catch up with the old man. Tipsiness is taking control and he would rather burn every piece of paper in front of him than write another word of stupidity. ”What makes this year so damn hard!” He says…to himself. The desk in the mayor’s house is too heavy to flip compared to the one that has done summersaults in the justice building and well, he is wary of the sleeping wife upstairs.

He pushes himself to his feet, picking up the half empty glass and taking it on a tour around the office. Halting at the window, he watches as the hundreds of water droplets race down the window in front of him. There is no inspiration to be brought from here. It has all totally gone, rinsed away by the alcohol in his hand.

Pierre is totally fucked.