A dark room. Streamers dangle from the ceiling. Some half-deflated balloons squat on the floor. Empty chairs. Signs shoved in a large gray garbage can to the side.
“Hey,” the lone voice calls. “Hey, it’s me, Carly …”
Her words echo, and nobody responds.
“Hello?” she says. “Anyone?”
Again, nothing.
“Hillary Clinton isn’t the woman to lead America,” she says.
There’s a follow-up, right? There must be a follow up.
No.
Carly Fiorina gazes out to the invisible crowd. She is wearing a smart red blazer and blouse, expensive brown shoes. She opens her mouth again. “I know two girls that I just adore … I’m so happy I can see them more … cause we travel on the bu—”
Nothing.
She is the next vice president of the United States. She knows this to be true, because she was plucked by Ted Cruz and asked to fill the position. He sounded so sincere. So determined. They would overcome Donald Trump; they would take this to the convention; they would fundamentally change America, one vote at a time; they would …
“When I was at Hewlett-Packard …”
Nothing.
“We can no longer let men in women’s bathrooms …”
Nothing.
“I …”
The words no longer leave her lips. She walks off the stage—the briefest vice presidential candidate in American political history.
The loser.
