Dispelling the Fiction
Marco sat down in his chair, sweat pouring down from his forehead.
He had lost.
But it wasn’t his game to lose, so he just really didn’t understand. How could he not win? He was supposed to. Everyone said he was going to. But then he… didn’t.
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Hillary Clinton slouched in her throne, looking down upon her advisers like a lioness surveying a herd of gazelle. Her underlings trembled under her palpable gaze. She could taste their fear but, for once in her reign, that wasn’t enough. The Crown Princess demanded answers. Hillary unfurled her crooked spine exhaled a puff of smoke.
“Which one of you will answer for these transgressions?” Hillary clacked her scepter on the floor. “Is it you, David the campaign manager?” One of the underlings let out an audible chirp, now shaking so fast that he could barely keep himself standing. The clockwork ticking of gold on marble was maddening, but David didn’t say a word. Hillary stopped. “No, it wasn’t this one.
“Hmmmmm, and what of Marie, the Social Media Director? Is she the reason why that geriatric communist is now ahead of me in two states!?” Hillary tossed her scepter at the woman. Its crystalline head shattered and flecks of glass washed across the throne room floor. The woman fell backwards, shrieking in pain as hundreds of glass splinters sliced her palms. Read more ›