It was cloudy outside, and it looked to start raining very soon. Not a good day for riding horses, much to Lincoln Chafee’s chagrin. He felt that, if given the opportunity, he could take Buttercup out for a spin, and go east, and further and further east, until he reached the sea, where he would leave the horse and continue swimming across the Atlantic.
Instead, because it was about to rain, he went into the barn and checked up on his other two horses. Ford and Mercury stood, sleeping, as if the faint rumblings of thunder were like a ceiling fan to them, calming them to a peaceful sleep. Lincoln wished he could be as courageous as them in the midst of the storm, but he knew it would not come true.
He left these two horses a fine dish of caviar and went to meet Buttercup. This horse of his was special. He was, in actuality, his father, who had been reincarnated into an equestrian upon his original death as a human being. All members of the Chafee family underwent this metamorphosis of the soul, and Lincoln himself would have this happen to him soon enough, as he was gaining on his years himself.
For Buttercup, he left macaroni and cheese, his father’s favorite food as a human, and patted him on the mane. “Buttercup,” he said. “One day we will ride together. It will be beautiful, and nobody else will be able to stop us.”
From the window, Lincoln saw a vast field of grass and shrubs, maintained by the Chafee estate’s groundskeepers daily. It was more pristine than any material possessions that Lincoln had accrued over his lifetime, and it made him proud to be a member of his family more than anything else. Sometimes he would lay down in the grass field and watch the stars, but he hadn’t done that lately. He imagined he would do so soon, on a day that didn’t have any rain.
Lincoln returned to his study, where he sat down on his desk containing half-completed paperwork to file with the FEC. He thought it interesting that it took so much effort to declare one’s candidacy for the President of the United States, and yet so many hundreds of people did it every four years. He felt so indifferent to finishing it that he figured he would simply become another Bob Ehrlich, Jim Gilmore, left adrift among the nadir of the bottom tier of candidates.
Luckily, he was a Democrat now, so he would get the publicity of running against Princess Clinton, at least.
His phone rang, and he picked up in two instants, due to his impressively fast reflexes. “This is the Chafee residence,” he said.
“Linc, it’s Bill,” the voice at the other end of the phone answered.
“Bill, how are you?”
“Don’t worry about me,” he said, his calm drawl dripping with a seriousness he rarely contained within himself. “We want to talk about you, Linc.”
Lincoln knew what this phone call was about, and a frown grew on his face. “I know what this phone call is about. You’re making me frown, Bill, and I will not stand for it any longer.”
“You don’t got to do this. My wife’s not going to hold back. I just don’t want to see a pal like you fall into the same trap that so many… people like you seem to always get themselves into. You’ll get desperate, and you’ll tarnish your family name if you get into the dirty side of the election and don’t end up winning.”
Lincoln gripped the phone tightly. “My family name is not yours to decide, Bill. And I don’t give one meter of care to your ideas of desperation. I won’t allow Princess Clinton to take the throne. Thanks a [metric] ton for your friendship all these years, but I am not leaving the race, not until I win.”
With that, he hung up the phone. He was shaking, but he felt better than ever, and continued to file his FEC paperwork. Once he was done, he would take Buttercup out to the post office and send it to Washington, D.C. Someday he would ride there himself, and he wouldn’t ride back home for another eight years.