223 Words... the Real Story

So Bradley sends a picture out and people voluntarily send back a story pertaining to said picture using 110 words or less... I think. Maybe it's a class of some kind. I'm going to do my best to butcher it:

Her favorite coffee cup was full. It would be her only company for the night so each sip was made with careful precision and patience. It's nearly September of an election year and as the phone rings, she wonders which candidate is on the other end hoping she'll remember to register before October. She answers it regardless.

"Hello. This is Barack Obama asking that you'll join me in an effort to redefine this country and what she stands for. Register by October 13 so you too can be the difference America needs. Thank you."

She didn't remember when she'd first heard why America had to be a woman. Maybe it was because rich white men preferred the idea of women when it came to matters of manipulation and pillaging. She was never this bitter. It's not in her genes. Maybe it's work. Maybe school. Maybe him. She makes her way to the couch but turns quickly in the direction of the back door hoping to catch the light falling on brown hair and smiles when an open hand joins the face in the window. This won't be the last time he has to sleep on the back porch and that's unfortunate. She should be stronger. He shouldn't have to fend off raccoons. But this is a game that neither will quit.