Falling

He was as far up as he could get, he was unreachable, impenetrable,
on top of the world. It was possibly the most precarious position on
the planet. He would never fall or stumble like those before him; he
would descend gracefully when the time was right. He was not going to
jump in a blare of publicity. He would float, slowly, slowly, slowly
down, so carefully, quietly that nobody would realise until they found
his body at the bottom, lying on top of the others that had gone before
him. Only his would be whole, not ripped apart like those piled beneath
him.

As he stood planning this, he watched the man before him fall and saw
the man after him clawing his way up the rugged precipice. This man,
struggling, clawing. sweating, crying - that had been him, but now he
was at the top looking down, down. The climb to his demise was behind
him now. He was standing firmly on the clifftop. He knew his time there
was limited; the next man would be there soon. He would not be pushed.
He would choose when to jump.

He thought of all he was leaving behind him. The highlights and the
dark moments. He thought of how alone he had been. He had nobody who
had helped him through it all. He remembered vividly however, all those
who had held him back, those who had hindered him. Looking back, he
realised how many there had been. How many there still were, now more
than ever.

It had been no life to lead: he wondered how many people realised that.
"Very few," he thought. The only people who really knew were those
lying in the dismembered pile, beneath him, where he was heading. He
laughed. If only they all knew. What a farce it had all been. It had
been a case of being in the right place at the right time, having the
right family, education, wealth, and knowing the right people. But look
where it had got him. Here he was, standing on top of the world; the
whole world at his feet, yet gravity, was lurking, waiting, waiting to
pull him down.

How naive he had been. Gravity had been lurking in all he had done, all
he was going to do. He could never avoid this-the inevitable. He looked
down, his stomach churned. Could he have failed to take into account
the basic physical law known to all since Newton? He could never float;
he would plummet, in a blaze of publicity. The man behind him would
shove him over, just as he had shoved the man before him. He would lie
dismembered at the bottom. He'd had his time; his time was over. Nobody
could save him now. He was at the top, the only way down was to go over
the edge.

He didn't want to fall. He didn't want to be just another man lying on
a pile. He wanted to leave a mark. How would people remember him? Would
history be kind? He was only one of forty three. Everyone one would
remember the man he had watched falling. Who would remember him? Four
years, four miserable years high on the addictive drug of fame and
power. He had spent a lifetime working for this and now he was about to
join the other forty two who lay beneath him.

For a moment he felt honoured. After all, he was standing on top of the
world. He was the President of the Upited States. But who would
remember him? Everyone would remember his predecessor, the man he had
pushed, the man who had shocked the White House with sex and scandal.
Everyone would remember the first President, but who would remember
him? He was just another name for American children to learn as they
recite the Presidents in history class. He was not immortalised in
stone on the face of a cliff.

He didn't want to fall. He wanted to be immortal forever. He wanted to
stay the most powerful man in the world. He liked to look down but the
view scared him. He wanted to be recognised throughout the world. At
that moment the clawing man reached him And pushed him over.

He plummeted down: rejoined the bodies at the bottom. The press grabbed
him like rabid dogs and shredded him. He lay at the bottom looking up.
He had fallen like those before him. He wished he had had the courage
to jump. It would only be a matter of time until the man standing at
the top joined them. What a way to live, constantly clawing to the,
top, for four years, or, if you are lucky, eight, in the limelight,
before you plummet forgotten again.

This Presidency, was it worth it?

Oh yes! For those short years of fame, waking up as the most powerful
man in the world? Oh, yes! It was definitely worth it!