Mickey Johnston #5

The Speaker’s Fall

The House chamber buzzed with anticipation on January 3rd as members took their seats for the Speaker of the House vote. Mickey Johnston sat at his desk, staring at the small wooden gavel in front of him, the weight of the past week’s negotiations pressing down like an anvil. He had worked tirelessly, meeting with both allies and adversaries in a desperate bid to keep his position. Yet, despite his efforts, the path to victory was razor-thin.

He could only afford to lose three votes.

The tension in the room thickened as the clerk called the roll for the vote. Mickey’s eyes flicked toward the far side of the chamber, where Representatives Gumbo Gordon from Ohio and Jimmy Corn-Pone from Alabama whispered animatedly to one another. Mickey didn’t need to hear their words to know what they were saying. They had made their stance clear all week: Mickey was a traitor to the cause.

“Too soft,” Gumbo had sneered during a closed-door meeting. “Worked with the enemy too much.”

“You bent the knee to the Democrats,” Corn-Pone had added, his voice dripping with disdain.

The roll call proceeded, each name like a drumbeat in Mickey’s mind. Some names were called with solemnity, others with glee. He kept his face neutral, but his hands trembled under the desk.

The clerk’s voice rang out: "Mickey Johnston: 214 votes. Abstentions: 3."

The chamber erupted.

Gumbo Gordon shot to his feet, fists raised in mock celebration. “See? We told you! Mickey’s a RINO!” he shouted, grinning as if he’d just won the lottery. Jimmy Corn-Pone joined in, pumping his fists and yelling, “Drain the swamp! No more fake leaders!”

On the other side of the aisle, murmurs of disbelief rippled through the Democratic caucus. Representatives Ruth Delgado and Marcus Whitley exchanged incredulous glances.

Two Republican representatives from swing states, Wes Harley from Florida and Dan Stanton from Michigan, turned their fury inward. Harley slammed his hand on his desk, pointing at Gumbo Gordon. “You’re the real RINO, Gordon! You just handed the party over to the Democrats!”

Gordon’s face flushed. “I’m protecting this party from sellouts like you!”

“You’re tearing it apart!” Harley yelled, his voice cracking.

Corn-Pone jabbed a finger in Harley’s direction. “You don’t get it! We need fighters, not weaklings who hold hands with the enemy!”

“Fighters?” Harley scoffed. “You’re not fighters—you’re clowns in a circus! You’ve made us a joke!”

The chamber devolved into chaos as more representatives jumped into the fray. Shouts of “RINO!” and “Traitor!” echoed from all corners of the room. The Speaker’s podium stood empty, a symbol of the power vacuum that had consumed the party.

Mickey watched the spectacle for a moment before he stood and raised the gavel. He pounded it against the desk once, twice—crack! The sound reverberated like a gunshot, cutting through the noise. The room fell into a tense, restless silence.

“Order!” Mickey’s voice rang out. His eyes swept across the room. “Enough.”

He took a deep breath, his voice steady despite the tremor in his chest. “The vote is clear. I’ve lost.” The room shifted as some members leaned forward, unsure of where this was heading.

Mickey placed the gavel down and continued, “I know some of you think I’ve betrayed this party. You say I worked too closely with the Democrats. And you know what? You’re right.” A murmur spread through the chamber.

Mickey’s voice hardened. “But I didn’t work with Democrats because I wanted to. I did it because I had to. Because while the rest of you were busy infighting—MAGA against moderates, RINOs against purists—the government still needed to run. People still needed solutions. And that meant finding common ground, whether you liked it or not.”

Gumbo Gordon muttered something under his breath, loud enough to catch Mickey’s attention.

“What was that, Gordon?” Mickey snapped, pointing at him. “You got something to say? Say it now!”

Gordon stood, defiant. “Yeah, I got something to say. You’re weak, Johnston. You sold out your principles.”

Mickey leaned over the podium, his eyes blazing. “I didn’t sell out my principles—I upheld them. My principle is that this country doesn’t get to collapse because a bunch of grown men want to play king of the hill.”

The chamber was silent, the tension thick enough to cut.

“I voted against myself today,” Mickey continued, his voice quieter but no less powerful. Gasps erupted from the room. Mickey held up a hand to quiet them. “Yes. I voted against myself because I agree with you—it’s impossible to lead this party when we’re too busy fighting each other to lead the nation.”

More whispers spread like wildfire.

Mickey’s gaze softened as he looked out at his colleagues. “We’ve got to get our house in order. Otherwise, we’re not just losing elections—we’re losing the country. And I can’t be part of the circus anymore.” He stepped back from the podium. “I’m withdrawing my candidacy.”

The declaration hit like a thunderclap. Even the Democrats, who had been waiting to see how things unfolded, sat stunned. Gumbo and Corn-Pone looked triumphant—until they realized they didn’t have a clear replacement lined up.

What followed was a long, drawn-out series of nominations, speeches, and failed votes. Hour after hour passed as the House remained deadlocked. The Republicans scrambled to find a candidate with enough support, but no one could unify the factions.

By the eighth vote, the mood in the chamber had shifted from tense to absurd. Representatives leaned back in their chairs, some openly scrolling through their phones or chatting with aides. Frustrated and punch-drunk from exhaustion, someone on the Republican side—no one was sure who—stood up and shouted, “Nominate Jeff Hakeem!”

Laughter rippled through the chamber, but the mood grew serious when Gumbo Gordon and Jimmy Corn-Pone exchanged mischievous glances. With exaggerated solemnity, they stood and announced, “We vote for Hakeem!”

The chamber roared with laughter, but the joke didn’t stop there. Mickey, still seated at the back, caught the absurdity of it all. He raised his hand and called out, “Mickey Johnston votes for Jeff Hakeem.”

The room erupted again, the sheer ridiculousness of the situation leaving some representatives in tears of laughter.

But then the unthinkable happened: three Republican representatives—exhausted and frustrated—slipped out of the chamber, muttering something about dinner. No one expected their absence to matter—but it did.

When the final tally was read, the chamber fell silent.

“Jeff Hakeem: 218 votes.”

Gasps of disbelief spread through the room. Jeff Hakeem, the Democratic leader, stood frozen, his face a mixture of shock and amusement.

Gumbo and Jimmy’s smug expressions melted into horror.

Mickey leaned back in his chair, a tired smile creeping across his face. He had never imagined the day would end like this.

Jeff Hakeem slowly approached the Speaker’s chair, shaking his head. “Well,” he said, addressing the room with a bemused grin, “I guess I’m honored. Let’s get to work.”

The room exploded with noise once more—half outrage, half uncontrollable laughter. The Republicans who had left for dinner returned, their jaws dropping when they saw Hakeem at the podium.

Mickey rose and walked toward the exit as the chaos behind him continued. He could still hear shouts of “RINO!” and “Traitor!” as he pushed open the heavy door and stepped into the cool January night. He took a deep breath of the crisp air, feeling a strange peace settle over him.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.