CRAZY LYRICAL DIALOGUE 🎶

"Well I'd rather have my eyes sewn shut," 
Doug McDoogal mocked his father's thick Southern accent; his tone that of an angered, older man, not that of a fourteen-year-old boy sitting in a rocking chair in Dallas. The question he had been asked was quite simple, really: "What the bloody hell will we do if he's elected?" - the words of Derek McDoogal. The thirty-seven year old man was enraged, beer resting in his palm, lips stretched back into a disturbing grin. There was something about the way his father looked out at the red, white and blue sea of people before him. Something peculiar. Like something out of the ordinary was going to happen.
It was 1:12pm - Derek had checked his wristwatch - when the 'Lincoln' finally appeared on the horizon. What Doug and Derek first observed it as a red dot grew bigger, crowds roaring, flags waving. With a grunt Derek stood up on the porch, followed by Doug. 
"She's coming in fast," Derek growled at once, marching inside, throwing down his beer.
"She's nearly here, Dad!" Doug called proudly. He could make out the face of the woman now; smiling wide, standing proudly in the back seat of the Lincoln. If Derek was there, Doug knew he'd be outraged. Finally Derek stepped out onto the porch, but Doug hadn't seen his father take it out. The crowds roared louder and the quiet drone of the engine could be heard, but Derek felt everything fall quiet. It was the quiet click that alerted Doug to his father's position.
"DAD, NO!" 
Bang.

{FIFTEEN YEARS LATER}
"I'll be damned if I can say so myself," Jaylin Barr murmured, eyes hooded in the winter sunrise. His  figure was leaned up against the dumpster of Shawshank Prison; a small correctional facility just out of Maine, Portland. The date was 22 November 1978; fifteen years after President McQueen had been assassinated and Derek McDoogal had been sentenced to life without parole. Now, the 52-year-old was sprawled out across the Shawshank docking bay; down to the filter of a contraband cigarette - an anniversary gift from Barr himself. McDoogal let out a chesty cough. "God damn, Barr, when did you get these? The 50's? They're stale!" 
Barr only took another drag of his cigarette and exhaled slowly. "Don't forget our agreement, McDoogal. Last time I checked, you were a prisoner," he said bluntly, dropping the cigarette to the ground and grinding it to ash with the heel of his boot. 
McDoogal's face dropped to a deathly glare. "And do you think you deserve your freedom? No, I don't think you do." 
Jaylin stepped forward to the nicotine-addicted man. 
"I'm not the one who killed the motherf***ing president-elect of the United States." he growled, leaning down, only to wince at the stench of McDoogal's foul-smelling breath. 
"I'd do it all again too!" McDoogal wheezed; and finished his sentence with another chesty cough. He took out a handkerchief, squeezing his eyes shut for just a few moments. He stopped coughing abruptly. Silence. Then, footsteps approaching him.
"Well if it isn't the man who nearly killed me," 
McQueen towered over the man, and he suddenly became aware that his scruffy orange uniform was pale in comparison to the once-president-elect's navy pantsuit. McDoogal was speechless. She'd grown so older; a strange feeling as he finally saw the face who had haunted him for years.
McQueen grinned, a somewhat evil glint in her wrinkled eye. "I never thought I would come face to face with you again, Derek." she began. McDoogal watched her nervously. 
"Yet here we are." 
McDoogal did not utter a word, simply out of sheer terror. 
"Aren't you gonna say somethin', sugar?" McQueen said, soft yet dangerously. Her Southern accent voice had an edge to it; an edge that made McDoogal's heart thump. 
"SAY SOMETHIN'!" 
Suddenly the entire prison seemed to fall quiet. In the distance, standing atop the guard's tower, Barr glanced up to see two guards looking over in the direction of the docking bay. No guns were in sight - they'd been prepped on the situation beforehand. Inside the prison, only a quiet murmur of prisoners was to be heard. 
McDoogal decided now was the best time to speak. 
"I-I..." 
"Or are you too drunk out of your mind to speak?" McQueen looked at him expectantly. 
McDoogal nervously nodded his head, too busy trying to ignore a wave of nausea that was washing over him. There was nothing to do as he watched McQueen pull a stack of fresh bills ($100? $1?) and hand it over to Barr, who took it with a smirk. 
McDoogal groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, rolling over onto his back. It was the click of a gun that made his heart sink and eyes snap open. 
"No-no!" McDoogal croaked. He tried to sit up, but two of McQueen's guards stepped forward to hold him down. Barr stood with a gun to his forehead, the metal of the barrel cold against his forehead.
"McDoogal, do you regret what you did to me fifteen years ago?" McQueen asked calmly, standing to the side of the gun.
"Y-yes... I regret everything..." 
"Is there anything you'd like to say to me before you go?" 
"I'm... I'm sorry, Ch....Chloe." 
"Thank you, Derek. But I simply cannot tolerate this behaviour. Oh, if only Uncle Jamie was alive. He would have had beaten you before the bullet even hit me." 
She'd finally said it. Yes, readers, McQueen and McDoogal were, in fact, first cousins. 
"What are you going to do to me?" 
McQueen continued, paying no attention to McDoogal. 
"But, you're in luck, your son just got back from the army."
"No, no, no no no!" 
The dock door opened slowly with a loud creak. McDoogal fought helplessly as the short man who sported a shaved head, whom he had not seen in over 30 years, march over. 
"Barr?" 
Barr handed over the gun to Doug, but it stayed pointed at the drunken man the entire time. McDoogal squeezed his eyes shut.
"Oh Dad. I haven't seen you in years, and this is how you repay me?"
"Doug... please don't.. I'll do anything." 
"Bulls**t, Dad. I knew you better than anyone. I knew you would do this someday. You had a hate for poor Chloe here for years. God forbid anything happened to her. I knew you didn't like her but I never thought you'd go and try to kill her!" Doug stopped to wipe a tear from his eye.
"I thought Chloe was a goner when you shot her. And it was you who tried to take her life from her. How could you do that, Derek?" Pete cried. 
"Son, nooooo," McDoogal wailed like that of a baby: an intoxicated, adult-sized baby, that is.
"And now," he began, tears streaming down his face, "We must, as a family, and as a country, get our revenge."
"No, you certainly can't." 
BANG.