Kathleen A. Klatte

"First Person"

Feedback and commentary are most welcome.
Disclaimer: The West Wing is the property of NBC, et al; this is a recreational endeavor, no profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.
Another take on a cliffhanger resolution.
**Spoilers for "What Kind of Day Has It Been."

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The pavement is rough beneath my cheek and I wonder what I’m doing down here. I remember shoving Zoey into the car, and then...I don’t know. Was I shot? Maybe. I’ve taken plenty of physical abuse – in the Army and in the Secret Service training program - but I’ve never been shot before, so I don’t know what that feels like. I’d always expected that it would be painful, and I don’t feel any pain. So why I am I on the ground?

I hear shouts and sirens all around me, and I know that I should get up and help, but I can’t seem to move. Not anything...not even the hand that’s splayed inches in front of my face. And I’m cold. I shouldn’t be cold...it’s a warm May evening. Why am I cold?

‘Gun?’ What the hell does she mean, ‘gun’? In a city that’s wall-to-wall metal detectors with hot-and-cold running cops, someone is shooting at the President? This can’t be happening...except...it is.

Damn! I think something broke when that barricade fell on me...of course, it was probably the ten or fifteen people who were on top of it that really did the job, but either way, it hurts like hell.

Where is everyone? Did they get the President out? I wish I could see what’s going on...I wish I could do something...anything.

I’m supposed to report the news...not be the news. What the hell is going on?

I wish I could see C.J. God, I hope she’s all right...what the hell were we fighting about today? Please, don’t let that be the last thing I get to say to her...please...

God, that hurt! I don’t remember it hurting so much thirty years ago. I’m getting too old for this shit.

Damn...this...really hurts. Why is it getting dark?

No...no, I don’t want to go yet...please, no...

What’s going on? I can’t see anything...my face is being ground into the roadbed from the weight of Sam and someone else on top of me. Why don’t they move? The shots have stopped, and they’re awfully heavy. Are they hit? Is that why they don’t move?

Is the President all right?

And where is Danny? I lost track of him when we came out of the building. Is he OK? I said some pretty harsh things to him lately. Please, please let me have the chance to make it up...

The car is moving now, but they still won’t let me up. I suppose they have their reasons, but I have never wanted to see so badly in my life. Zoey looks life she’s in shock. No wonder...there’s blood on her clothes, but it doesn’t seem to be hers. Charlie, maybe? God, I hope not. Of course, I hope it’s not Gina, either, but...it’s strange. The agents who put me in the car literally piled in on top of me. I didn’t see exactly how Zoey got in, but she’s alone. Gina would never leave her...not unless...

God, if you’re listening right now...I could really use some help. We all could.

OhmyGod...this is all my fault. Everyone...Charlie...Gina...and everyone...this is all my fault. They had guns, and...it’s all my fault...

I wonder if this is what Mom felt like? It doesn’t hurt as much as I’d imagined. I just feel real bad that this happened because of me. Because someone doesn’t like who I date. Land of the free...yeah, right.

If it was just me, that wouldn’t be so bad, but...this... Damn, I don’t want to die. I don’t want my friends to die. I can’t die – somebody’s got to take care of Deena. Please, can I wake up now?

This cannot be happening. There musta been salmonella in that chicken Donna got me for lunch and I’ve got food poisoning. That must be it, because this cannot be happening.

There’s blood all over Leo...and Toby isn’t moving. I can’t even see Sam or C.J....there’s a Secret Service guy on top of them. My God...is that Gina...and Charlie...lying in the road?

This can’t be happening...