Excerpt (and photo) the first

Expect lots of pictures like this again.

So, here we go -- the first words I wrote this year. (~1900 words in about 2.5 hours)

Prologue

November 6th, 1860

Columbus, Ohio

A dark figure crept silently outside the post office in the middle of town. The light from the moon was unable to penetrate the shadows in which he hid. His natural ability to blend into hidden corners served him well as the town square, not 25 yards distant, was filled with all manner of people waiting for news from the election. As the man made his way to the rear of the building, he made no sound, nor left any evidence that he even existed. Reaching the back door, he removed a skeleton key from a pouch at his belt. Quietly, he slipped it into the lock, turned it, and opening the door, he stole inside.
He found himself in the back room of the building, a simple two-room affair. He rolled deftly to his right, leaving him kneeling behind a large wooden cabinet. He peeked around the front edge of this and watched the activity in the adjacent room.
Two men sat at a large desk, wearing blinders and working by lamplight. On the floor between the men lay two large satchels, filled with election ballots from which they drew, one at a time. They worked with professional swiftness and detachment, counting each slip of paper and then destroying it. They did not speak to each other, nor did they give any indication that they were aware of the other’s existence. If they felt any particular emotions about the numbers they wrote, they made no sign.
Assured that the ballot counters were completely focused upon their task, the shadowy man left his hiding place, creeping forward and staying low until he was no less than 10 feet from the desk at which the men worked. From underneath his coat, he produced a satchel, a duplicate of those that lay on the floor. Almost crawling now, he stealthily slid this bag into place at the same time that he removed one of the two original bags. Still undetected, he retreated from the room, and from the building, his mission accomplished.
He stole back around the side of the building. As he walked, a change came over his demeanor and presence. He gradually lost his stealth and invisibility, which in the middle of a public square, such as the one he now found himself standing in, would actually attract attention. He blended in a different manner now, appearing as mundane as the next person, approachable, yet completely forgettable.
Like the men counting the ballots, he was completely impartial to the task he had just performed. That it would change the path of the country in which he resided (he did not call it home; not his country) did not matter to him. It was a job, no more and no less. One man or another would become president, and some men with large sums of money wanted to ensure that their man won the contest, no matter what it took.
The man stepped inside the telegraph office and handed a prewritten telegraph form to the operator. The message contained inside would appear to be an innocuous note concerning the illness of a beloved family member, but to the intended recipients, it would speak volumes more: the deed was done. He put a few coins on the counter and stepped back outside.
And then he disappeared.