Jim Gilmore’s Reality
You can’t do this, they tell me. You’re too weak, they tell me. Do like Bob Ehrlich and get the heck out of there, they say. But I don’t listen. I am going to be the next President of the United States, and the only thing stopping me is my own will.
What they don’t understand is that I’m more powerful than they realize. I was governor of Virginia. I could move mountains with my mind, and I worked as chair of the Republican National Convention for several years. It was the least I could do to decide to run for President; the people of this country deserve no less than that.
Yesterday, I went to the Iowa State Fair to celebrate my sixteenth day campaigning. I had a great time, throwing darts for prizes and drinking orange juice out of a champagne glass. Is this what the people of Iowa live like? This I wondered as I wrestled a pig onto the ground to win it as my prize.
“Do you live in Iowa?” I asked one woman passing by me. I carried the defeated and muddy pig over my shoulders, walking towards the spit-roast.
“Yes, I do,” she replied. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
I snapped the pig’s neck and let the blood drain out. “No, ma’am, I’m not.” She went on her way, and I scanned the horizon amongst the dozens of people in the vicinity, looking for more evidence to the strangeness of this fair. I saw the face of a man who I killed twelve years ago, but he faded from existence as I looked at him. Most likely, he was but a ghost to begin with.
I set the pig up on the spit-roast and sat myself down on the sit-chair. I levitated two orbs of energy and let them circle around me; I named them Blue and Jennifer. Iowans are too peaceful, I thought. I could never stand to be around something like this fair, if not for the campaign.
However, apparently, I could stand to be around something like this fair, I found out, as I saw myself walking towards me. Not the exact same me that I am, but a different me. This universe’s Jim Gilmore. He trotted down the grass pathway, talking to a reporter, and I couldn’t bear to look at his face anymore. I sent my hand forward; Blue and Jennifer zoomed past me, and charged through the chests of both the other Gilmore and the reporter, killing them before they even hit the ground.
I teleported up to the other Gilmore and looked down at him. Even in his dying breaths, he remained adamant. “Get… help,” he muttered, not even caring to notice that I was another version of him.
“Your only help is in knowing that your existence’s end helps slow the heat death of your universe, albeit only in small amounts.” He perished, and turned to ash. The reporter I left to die in agony, as punishment for her approaching of the other Gilmore in the first place.
I teleported back to the spit roast. The pig continued to burn into tasty meat, but I felt that I was no longer all that famished. Should I go back to the games parlor and win another prize? No, I didn’t think that was necessary.
Jennifer and Blue came back to me, and I walked away from this universe. I snapped my fingers, and everything went white as it disappeared from reality.
Then I snapped again, and brought it back.
Hmm… I looked back at the spit roast, and felt a strange emotion that rarely occurred to me. I think people of this universe call it pity. The other Gilmore was the only other version of myself that had ever found to be so weak and vulnerable, and yet I could not let myself simply end him and his universe in an instant. No, I think I had better plans.
Lifting my hand and facing it towards the spit roast, I took the cells of the dead pig and transmuted them into human tissue. Within an instant, I had recreated the other Gilmore, with his memories, feelings, and health conditions intact.
“I have decided that you are to survive,” I told him.
“I will allow you to continue your likely futile quest towards the Presidency of the United States. However, I must let you know that I, too, will be joining the field.”
“My universe proved too hostile towards my abilities, and I was unable to capture the Presidency there. But this universe may welcome me more. If that is so, then you can be my Vice-President, if you wish.” I shook the other Gilmore’s hand before he had a chance to respond, and then teleported away from the Iowa State Fair.
Bob Ehrlich didn’t have what it takes. But he is not me. I can control any element of the natural sciences at my will, and my will is strong; the political sciences will be no different.