Democracy Croaked
Democracy Croaked
Political journalists have it hard. Especially when the president is a witch.
Today’s briefing wasn’t accurate, per usual, but the toad croaks to my left and grackle caws to my right gently warned against fact-checking.
“Any other questions?” The witch screeched above the din.
A journalist’s job is to dig deeper, and if I don’t have journalistic integrity, I have nothing. I bit my lip and started digging.
“Erm.. ma’am. How will you enforce these mandatory wart checks—“
It seemed like a fair question, but it must’ve hit too close to home. I saw a flash and ribbit, ribbit, ribbit.
Competition critera:
Story must be a fantasy.
Story has to include the act of digging.
Story must include the word “home.”