Instantly, all Hell breaks loose. You begin to yell and carry on with the rest of the crowd, as you begin to surge towards the Democrats at the pole. They look pretty frightened, now--they're beginning to huddle together, and one of them begins to sprint down the street. That did it! The crowd may have been just creeping menacingly before, but now you find yourself running. Everyone has been whipped into a frenzy: absolutely baying for blood. Some sort of violent, primal urge has awoken in you; maybe it's spillover empathy from the mob, or perhaps it's rage at what the unlucky malefactors were trying to do. In any case, you're now charging full tilt at the liberty pole, and you're only about fifteen yards away...
The noise sounds so muffled under all the angry shouting--it sounds like a
muffled "pop," really. You see a small puff of white smoke erupt
from the outstretched arm of one of the Democrats...what the Devil?! Then,
you understand as the man next to you, a butcher, gathering from his leather
apron, seems to lose his balance and fall forward. One of those sons of bitches
has a revolver! You steal a glance backward and it's confirmed: if the butcher
wasn't dead before he fell, he is now, after being trampled under a sea of
brogues. A horrible fear grips you, and you try to stop but find that you
can't. The weight of the whole horde seems to be pushing you forward! Only
five feet away, now...
"NNNhhh!" The man lets out a cry of pain and anger as your shoulder drives into his stomach. The two of you fall forward together and instantly it feels as if you're being sat upon by an elephant. Men are falling over you as they try to reach their prey. Pretty soon, the crowd is swarming around you, but for what seems like an eternity all you can comprehend is a swarm of flying limbs and snarled curses, as you and the other men in the pile try to extricate yourselves from each other.
There! You manage to crawl away, and swaying somewhat, get to your feet. As you do, you notice that your left leg doesn't seem to want to work. You're also having trouble seeing. You raise your hand to massage your temple, and as you bring it down, you see a red stain across it. Dimly, you realize that it is blood. Looking about you for a way to escape, you see yourself surrounded by people throwing things, grappling, swearing. From out of the corner of your eye, you see a brownish object (A brick?) flying right towards your head. In a split-second panic, you urge your legs to move, but they refuse to respond. An instant later you are blinded and on the ground. As you take your last, shuddered breaths, you wish you had listened to your mother's advice: "Don't take part in mob actions--they only lead to trouble."
You have died. Unfortunately, you died before having a chance to vote, and more unfortunately still, you died on your birthday. If you were in a position to muse on your surroundings, you might remark that this all goes to show you how passionately Hoosiers feel about politics in general and the Republican party in particular. They're willing to fight and perhaps even die for their party! However, you're not in a position to think about that, nor are you in a position to think about anything. All you should be concentrating on right now is setting up a good, firm rigor mortis.
The End