A take on how real speeches are written.
|Word Count = 452 words
In the black of the night she wiped away tears of bitter frustration. Papers scattered on the floor a notepad and a laptop fighting for space on her lap. She knew this day would come and yet, she hated to be forced to run to the front. But her support was needed.
She wondered if her accent would take away from her speech, but she knew better. She stared at the scripted screen, her perfect manicured nails tracing along the space bar. This was not her area of expertise and in the back of her mind she wondered if she should have stayed in school. Would it really make much of a difference? Her eyes drifted away from the screen ands he sat back on the plush backed couch, the hair from her ponytail falling into her collar made for a half second distraction. But she was not to fail. Not this time. Flipping her hair she put her fingers back on the keyboard.
Carefully she pecked away at the keys, smiling to herself. Yes, this was going to be a perfect speech. Only a few minutes long and then she could be done. She could stand back and admire the people, the decorated balloons and mime a cheerful disposition while her husband ran the show.
He ran the show like circus clowns run the big top. No one cared if what he said was cruel. No one cared if what he said was right or wrong. No one even cared that what he planned to do, would lead an entire country to poverty, hate, division or war. He was like a rabid moose thrashing about in icy chest deep water. Needing saving, but skewering anyone who came too close. The Convention would love him or hate him, but love was often a money thing. Real love is never in politics. It is a hard bastard, grown crusty and scarred. Laughing to herself she thought that she might put that in the speech and thought better of it.
She didn't have to change much of the speech. She read it over and it looked good. She thought about sending it to the speech writers to edit and approve, but what they sent her was so stiff already that she passed. She practiced it slowly at first then stood in the mirror and read it again. She would be ready. It sounded perfect, just the role of the supporting wife.
Tomorrow would be the day. The day that she shone and made her husband proud. The day that she showed America what a hard working first lady can do. What she can overcome. Her support would be important, and vital to her husband's campaign.
Glancing at the laptop again she smiled to herself.
"Yes," she mused to herself. "Tomorrow this speech will be media gold."