[Election ‘016 041] For the Queen

[Election ‘016 041] For the Queen


For the Queen



Queen Hillary sat on her throne overlooking a vast and ornate throne room. It was adorned with vibrant reds and understated lavenders on the widespread carpets as well as the banners on the walls. Several ancient statues lined the edges of the room, making poses that praised towards the one sitting on the throne– which was her, of course.

It was peaceful in the kingdom, as of late. The uprisings had been quelled, and the people were pacified. She knew not how it was accomplished, but she did not give too much thought, for she had more pressing matters to deal with.

As a matter of fact, one of those more pressing matters was about to address her now, for she saw Sir Chuck Schumer, one of her valiant knights, entering the throne room and moving at a brisk pace towards her.

“Queen Hillary!” he shouted as he approached.

“Do not raise your voice in my domain,” Queen Hillary requested.

“My apologies,” Sir Schumer said. “I am simply concerned about our current record of progress in terms of our current endeavors in the kingdom.”

“Do tell,” she said. She was curious about what he had to say.

“Well,” he began. “I feel that our plan to rid the populace of their arms will not go over as well as we hoped.” He began rubbing his palms together, and sweat began to drip from his brow. “I have heard various cries from those of old that still follow that forgotten Constitution that our acts are illegal; they may rile up the masses if we do not tread carefully.”

Queen Hillary shrugged. “We can quell any attempt that they make on our power, so I am not in the least concerned.”

“But my Queen…”

“I said that I have no concern held towards it.” She waved him off. “We are going to begin collecting arms as soon as our force is readied. Begone, and see to it that we start our collection posthaste.”

Sir Schumer exited the throne room, leaving Queen Hillary alone. She felt like taking a nice, steaming bath with four of her most beautiful servants. However, she did not feel like she wished to end her royal duties just yet. She needed to exercise more of her power, as a demonstration to those who wished to undermine her.

She called in Lindsey Graham, Duke of the Carolines and a member of the Imperial Senate. He was a leading member of the opposition party, but he still came as soon as he was notified of Queen Hillary’s desire for him.

“Milady,” he said, tipping his trilby. “How ya doing, darling?” His less-refined dialect showed that he was not born of the upper crust; he spoke well, but his lowly upbringing was evident in his voice, which gave him an advantage in making discourse with his constituents.

“Why hello, Good Graham,” she said. “I have been needing your services.”

“I sure hope so!” Graham said. “I didn’t come all the way out here just for tea and croquet, now did I?”

“No, what I ask is something more important. Something that only you can do.” She clasped her hands together and leaned forward. Graham was still ten or twenty feet away from her, but her change in stature was still likely to be imposing to him. “I want you to gather the other Reenos, and sow discord within your opposition. Make some of them support the measures of safety in my weapon-collection enactions. Divide them so that none can be conquered.” The Reenos were the unofficial name of those like Graham who were members of the opposition party, but nonetheless supported Queen Hillary in many or most of her policies. They were what she used the most when she wished for the opposition to be muddled and unable to act with any unity.

Graham hesitated for a second. “It will be done, my Queen,” he said, his smile fading. “It’ll be done as a Georgia Peach.” His face brightened back up. “What do you wanna do?”

“Make a bill to codify it into law,” she said. “It may not pass through the Imperial Senate, but the mere creation of the bill will be enough to legitimize my effort.”

At this, a graying, wrinkled man stepped beside Queen Hillary, holding a saxophone around his neck. “Oh hey, baby. Heard you calling for me.”

“No, Bill,” Queen Hillary said to her Consort-Meister, the former King until he abdicated from his position. “I was referring to a bill to be made into a law.”

He pointed both his thumbs at himself. “I am the law, baby. I don’t inhale, because I don’t have to. Doesn’t matter what I do.”

Queen Hillary sighed. “Bill, why don’t you and Duke Graham go discuss whatever matters you wish to discuss… elsewhere?” She motioned for Graham to join Bill.

“I’ll do it,” Graham said. “You want to get some sweet tea?”

Bill nodded, and played a tune on his saxophone. “Always up for that!”

The two of them sashayed off to perform whatever pointless tasks they wished to perform. She cared not, so long as they did whatever she bid them to. And they would.


Not all people in her life were as obedient as them. She pulled out a small portrait of a handsome, young man with jet-black hair, slicked back to compliment his sharp nose. His name was Rafael Cruz, Duke of Texaco.

He was defiant. Passionate. He cooked bacon on the barrel of an M-16. What this man could not do, was very little, but what little that was turned out to be submit to Queen Hillary’s dominance. He cared little for her, and made his own way in life.

Every time she thought of Cruz, she felt only one emotion– fear.

Cruz was adept at bringing the people to anger. He spoke of a time of old, when there were such concepts as freedom and liberty. The people knew not of the past, but until recently they cared not to learn of such things. Cruz and others in the opposition party were changing that, though, which was causing much uncertainty in the royal house. Even Queen Hillary was mired in confusion.

She felt an unease, as if a time were ending for her. An era of peace and prosperity for her finishing, and letting her reign fall into obscurity. She could not stand for this. She was too scared to find out what would happen…

Queen Hillary would keep her power, at any cost, she had decided. And this propelled her every decision from then on.

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