Thus Always to Tyrants

By P. M. Hauser

The war had ended. Our side had lost. We were refused the rights we’d fought for. The government had cheated us, and I needed revenge. It was rash, but I didn’t care. People already saw us as traitors, but maybe this plot would change their perspective. Somehow. I assembled a group of friends who desired the best for the country—and to avenge it.

After conspiring for months, we decided to assassinate the enemy leader. It was the only way we might alter the course of history. We had to anticipate his movements in the following days so we could decide on the best place to kill him. As providence would have it, he would visit my very own place of employment. I knew the layout of the theater like the back of my hand, so I led the others through the locations where they would be stationed and their jobs once I took out the target. Yes, I would carry out the grim deed.

The days passed by slowly, but finally, the time had come.

That night, I wrote a letter to some of my family before grabbing a quick drink to drown out my fears and do some business for money, in case I didn’t get out. After that, I sprung into action. I walked through the backstage door and sneaked up the stairs unnoticed. I was rushing upstairs as I saw a finely dressed man making his way down. I tried to seem unsuspicious, so I gave him a polite smile and a little nod. Once I got to the mezzanine, I made my way to the target. The intermission had just ended, and the second part of the play was beginning. From my vantage point on the balcony, I could get a good look at the production. The guard stationed outside my target’s box seemed entranced by it, so I could get past him easily. The man I was about to murder sat ahead of me, surrounded by his closest friends and family.

Would they notice me slipping in or hear the shot and attack me? No, they wouldn’t stand a chance. But would I escape? Yes, I would escape. The plans were all checked and affirmed. I should stop worrying. Neither the man nor his associates noticed me walk in from behind.

I raised my pistol and fired.

The bullet penetrated the back of President Lincoln’s head, and he slumped over. Next to him, Mrs. Lincoln let out a shriek, and Lincoln’s guards started toward me. I jumped off the balcony. Maybe that hadn’t been the best idea; as soon as I hit the floor, pain shot up my leg. To the dreaded Union audience, I roared, “Sic semper tyrannis!”

I mounted my horse outside. I knew I couldn’t outrun them. Sooner or later, they would find me.

We hid in an old barn, abandoned and smelling of tobacco. The officials were far behind us when we left the road. Hopefully, they wouldn’t expect us to stop in a worn-down tobacco barn in the middle of a field. I leaned my head against a wall.

I did it all to fight for what I believe. America was the country where I lived. The people who ran our government went against the very document that birthed it. The document in which I still believed. The one that states that the people can own what they want without fear of the government taking it away from us.

The deed was done; I couldn’t dwell on it anymore. I dragged myself to my feet, intending to go outside. I needed some fresh air. My hand touched the door handle when I heard, “John Wilkes Booth, you are under arrest for the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. The President of the United States.”

They found us!

My partner David Herold leapt to his feet. “We should turn ourselves in. We’re probably gonna die anyway.”

“No,” I told him, “I ain’t going out without a fight.” I took hold of my gun.

He ignored me, raised his hands over his head, and slowly walked out. The soldiers shouted at me.

This wasn’t what I wanted. How am I going to get out of here?

The soldiers set the barn to fire. A bullet punched into my neck, and I fell to the ground. The bullet in my neck cut off the air to my lungs as I stared upward as the flaming wood of the barn fell in smoldering chunks around me. I wouldn’t be able to witness whatever happened to my country, but I had accomplished my goal, and I was happy for that.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

P.M. Hauser loves mystery, crime, conspiracy theories, thrillers, historic events, and more. He is also fascinated with the wacky world of cryptozoology, and tends to call himself an enthusiast on Bigfoot. He is also in love with the wondrous mystery of his Savior and studying the history of his Savior’s word. Not to mention he also enjoys meat like any other person would.

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