The room was sparse like a newly built house, bare, barren, cold, only one clumsy old table and two cheap plastic chairs stood at the far end. “Sit down Mr Weller.” A pleasant, even jovial middle-aged man summoned me; I smiled and sat down.
He pushed a paper in front of me. “The ballot box is over there; you can have privacy behind the curtain,” which had escaped my attention.
There were two choices: President Volodos, looking as he did 20 years ago, he had hardly been seen for the last 10, was he even alive? And someone who looked vaguely familiar: Me! “What is this?” “An election paper.” “But, but…” “But what Mr Weller, I mean you are the only person here,” and he chuckled to himself.
“Can I think about it?” “Sure but don’t forget you have until 10pm, then the ballot boxes are sealed and sent away for counting and failure will mean automatic arrest and removal.” He knew he held all the cards.
I strolled home not taking the driverless bus, stopping at the automatic checkout store. I paid, which always seemed odd, but even one unclicked item could send the shutters down and the sirens wailing. A bottle of wine and two large packets of family sized cheese and onion crisps seemed a pathetic response to the situation. Approaching my street, the automatically programmed driverless cars whirled around dropping off now imaginary children to a now non-existent school. Even though the bell chillingly rang out every morning.
There is little fun in entering an empty apartment block, the silence is deafening and the noise the key makes opening the door is deafeningly loud. I sat down, flicked on the TV, the weather forecast was good, the news even showed my hometown. A busy bustling school, the one I had just passed, the high-street teeming with cars and a busy supermarket, the empty one I had just been in. But why my town and now.
“This is Mr Weller’s hometown, the despicable person now challenging our glorious leader President Volodos at today’s election.”
The crisp hovered in the air and the glass of wine went down in one gulp.
I nervously slept hiding under the duvet so the world couldn’t see me. Fuck fuck fuck, pacing around the room rubbing my eyes, this isn’t happening. There were only two hours to go before I had to go back to the polling station. What if I win? Don’t be stupid, it’s just a game. I’m not sure, I wouldn’t even vote for myself. I allowed myself a wry smile at the absurdity of the situation. After eating something more substantial than crisps, I slowly walked back along the deserted streets. Then at the corner near the building, the bright lights of the Nag’s Head pub were on. I felt like a dog sniffing a trail, maybe it’s open and it was. “What can I get you?” a cheery barmaid asked. “I’ll have a pint of your best bitter please.” “That will be…” “It’s on me, sit down Mr Weller.” It was him again.
“You fought a dirty campaign.” “What campaign?” “This, do the honours Mary.” And the projector flickered against a white screen.
“That is you Mr Weller, isn’t it?” The charm in his voice had become bitter and I was as flat as the beer I was drinking. “Can I have whiskey? “Coming right up.” This would be a long night. “You buying wine in a crowded supermarket.” “I don’t remember people.” “You at home drunk in front of the TV only a few hours ago,” in a speech-like tone of voice. “There are three empty bottles in the video, I only had one.”
He moved closer to my face. “You are a pathetic degenerate, thank god you are the last one.” The whiskey arrived and disappeared down my throat, yes, I am a degenerate, I thought. “And this from earlier today, you do remember?” It was the room I had met him. It was me but it wasn’t him, money was being passed to me and lots of it. “Is he from Lathania or Urmany and what did you promise the scumbag?” “It didn’t happen.” “Look at it with your own eyes, Mr Weller. And finally this.” A hotel room flickered on the screen. “You are not fussy, are you?” Naked bodies filled the screen (blurred out). “That’s not me!” “Is that your face?” “Yes.” “Well, enough said, it’s time.”
I stood up, we walked the short distance to the polling booth, not sure who I was anymore. A crowd had gathered shouting abuse and throwing objects. In the safety of the room, he passed the ballot paper to me and behind the curtain, I did the deed. Like Pontius Pilate, he had washed his hands of me and like Jesus, I was a condemned man. Walking back down the steps the crowds had gone like they were never there. “You can go and join your treacherous friends now. There will of course be a trial,” pulling a comically serious face. The police officers grabbed me, pushed my head down and escorted me to the van. “Wait wait, can’t we wait until the election result?” “You are a funny man!” His laughter booming across the empty town.
