End of an Age
by Rycke Foreman
His palms were damp.
It would happen at any moment. He resisted the urge to tell the driver to pull over, let him off. How had Roosevelt put it? There is nothing to fear but fear itself. Yes—good advice.
He glanced at his wife. She was smiling and waving to the crowd. Again, he thought to say something to the driver, but stopped himself. This would be hard for her—particularly under these circumstances—but it was all for the best.
His health was failing, and the people needed a strong leader, especially in these days and times. In front of the cameras, he stood tall and proud, and smiled pleasantly, but it was merely a façade. And his health was the least of his problems...
Any time now.
He wiped his palms and smiled, encouraged by the cheering crowd. He raised his hand and returned the crowd’s greetings, though less enthusiastically; his was the motion of royalty, slow and deliberate.
They still loved him.
Nor were they suspicious. At least, not yet. Not most of them. But in this age, the American public was so much more demanding, so much less trusting. And information was being leaked. Already, he’d heard theories about Norma that beat a direct path back to him. Already.
It is for the best.
Yes. This way, he would be remembered as a hero. A patriot. A true All-American.
Perhaps a martyr...
That caused him to smile secretly.
Nothing to fear but fear itself.
For a split second, above the eager applause that filled the Dallas streets, Kennedy thought he heard the sharp report.
Then history swallowed him.
