“Make sure you get your voting sticker, that way we can take your picture once you get back”, my mom said. It was a tradition for my mother to take a picture with my voting sticker on for the Presidential Election every four years and i may not be a big picture guy, but it made my mom happy, so i never minded doing it. I always took pride in who I was voting for.

I don’t want a picture this year, I responded.

My pricing was just up the street at a church close to my house. Once I pulled up to it I felt empty, which was abnormal. I saw all the election signs and parked my car and got ready to do what I felt like was the right thing, but for the first time ever, I was unsure.

I walked up to the church and waited in line. I saw people with mixed emotions. I envied the ones that looked happy. I received my ballot and walked to a cubby or whatever that thing is that divides you and prevents other people from seeing your votes. When I got there I took a final moment to think about everything that was at stake. I grabbed my pen and voted for

Gastradamus is my name and gassy topics are my game