4 (french) Werber, Bernard

The girl handed him a bouquet of flowers one to cause
every time an allergy.
The car restarted. He tried to shake her a little toes trapped
in her new shoes when a rigid tall man in three-piece suit
rushed toward him, revolver in hand. Shots rang in his ears.
- Here is murdering me! thought the President calmly. This
was the first and the last, surely. Blood warm running down
her navel. Lucinda smiled. It was a good way to go down in
history with a capital H. His predecessor, President
CONGOMA, had seen his
mandate prematurely shortened by a prostate cancer. What
fun to posterity.
He was lucky, with its technocratic revolver black. The
presidents were assassinated always entitled to honors
textbooks. It boasted their visions grandiose audacity of
their projects. Children recite his praise in schools. There
was no other immortality.
Lucinda saw her assassin who was based in the crowd.
And his bodyguards who stood idly by! What lesson! You
should not rely on these professionals the nuts.
Who hated him and to the point of organizing his death?
Well, he did not care now. Nothing was more important,
including its cursed ingrown toenail. The death was the best
remedy against all the little ills of life.