he was a traitor

"Murderer! Slanderer! Evil, terrible fiend!" the crowd called.
He stood silently, his face still and steady. He swallowed the colletive jeers of the multitude that tore at his assurance.
"...you have been accused of the murder of General --- of treasonous talk in reference to our Imperial government, of threatening Imperial officers in the high city of..."
The charges were all true. He had commited the deeds, and many others unaware to these fools. He had no regrets. His cause was just, his goal truth, was freedom: it was his stool. He stood tall and proud on his faith, his faith in his cause, his faith that kept him sure ans steady.
He stood until, with one deft motion, his faith was kicked out from under him and he dangled, there on the scaffold, from the ropes of his doubt, his body slowly spinning with a look of terror and disgust on his face.

the president was embarrassed

A flicker.
The light dimmed, flashed, and blew out.
The words that had been scrolling down the screen disapeared. The script had died.
"...and this war-..." the president cut off, "...this war..."
Blood rushed to his head. He started breathing deeper, his body longing for oxygen and longing to disapear. His face turned red, red as the blood he was spilling. He had sent thousands to their bloody death and now, sitting in front of all his people, as he tried to explain his blunder, his guiding teleprompter died.