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Fic: The Light

The Light
by Max
Written for a prompt given by Brendan
Copyright 2015 J. Maxwell
all rights reserved

#Donald Trump

The stage was dark. The audience, still at first, simmered into a restless muttering, squeaking of chairs, the occasional muted glare of a lighted screen.

Someone coughed, strong, then muffled.


The theater had been fantastic once.


Maybe a couple of times.

Those ghosts left only the very slightest hint of very proper moldering dust to settle around people who could afford a ticket to live theater.

The light, when it faded in, was yellow, incandescent from bulbs old enough that few in the audience had seen quite that color. The stage was worn brown wood, the varnish worn down from such things that people have done. As the warm circle of light grew and slipped to the rear a single man came into view.

Rumpled black suit, rumpled body below, curved and heavy, not having seen grace in his life. His shoulders slumped. Beady black eyes looked at the floor.

Behind him, a much larger hologram of another man, similar in appearance, but finer, filling out his suit sharper, his face expressive, blades where the other man’s face was only dough, and this much larger hologram opened with, “You’re nothing. You’re nothing like me. You were a waste of sperm, boy.”

The man on the stage melted, just the tiniest bit, his head tipping forward just a tiny bit, hiding those small dark eyes.

The father figure faded and a woman appeared, beautiful, her dress painted over curves like a French whisper. She almost looked at him, then away, her back to him... some blue sky and distant path stretching out front of her, but never coming close to him. Then another woman, and another, all different, all exotic, all beautiful, but not of them looked at him.

He sank in on himself, his suit seeming to out grow him as he became more pasty, the circle of light around him shrinking, until he stood on a spot just big enough for his feet.

The light dimmed... so slowly, until he lifted his head.

He straightened his shoulders.  Those thin lips curled into a hateful smile.
“I’m never wrong,” he said in a deep and thundering voice, with deep and almost violent conviction. “I am the smartest man who has ever lived!”

He kicked at the circle, forcing it bigger. He held up a hand, his finger pointing angrily at the audience, sweeping over them, pushing the light out as it went, “I can solve all your problems!”

Another woman appeared on the stage, kneeling on the floor, her arms around some hidden burden, her very self covered in black cloth, only her dark eyes, a hint of dark skin, of otherness showed. He strode towards her, towering over her. “I can save you from them! I can show you the way!”

The light bubbled, figures rising from it, following him as he strode the length of the stage, his finger jabbing at the audience, as if he would give them, in a moment, the most profound and utterly necessary pronouncement, “I will lead you! I am the light you have been waiting for! I can give you what you know is the truth!”  

The shapeless beings of light cheered, gathered behind him, making him more than he’d ever been. His form seemed larger, his features starker, and he held up his hand, casting shadows over his face, “I will hurt you if you harm me! Give me what is mine! You will regret displeasing me!”

He stretched out his hand, a prophet in the light. “They are the enemy!”

Then the bright light brought shadow and his ‘followers’ spread apart, the shadow lining them with more detail, separating them and he spun, pointing at them, “They are lying to you! They are using you! You can’t hurt me!”

His followers pulled back and the light grew tenuous, threads of it holding, but shadows pressing in around him like a spiderweb pulled too tight. “You can’t hurt me!”

Then the light snapped... the thin threads of light breaking and fading, his followers dissolving back into the darkening stage, the circle around him shrinking... and he spun back to the audience... “YOU believe me! Right?! I am the smartest man in the world! I am the richest man in the world! I am the one you want!”

As he spoke though, he shrank, until his suit was large and he was small, young his hand reaching out of the huge dark hole of his sleeve as he pointed accusingly at the audience, “You did this to me! You didn’t deserve me! I am The Donald!”

He pointed there for another moment, his younger face looking lost, afraid, alone and his hand shifted from pointing to reaching, as if someone would take his hand, and he whispered, “But... I’m The Donald.”

The light faded, shrinking, until darkness again grabbed the stage and the audience broke into applause, rising applause, cheers. They shook the dust from the past and stood, bringing life into the theater, the home of art and speech for generations before theirs.

The light returned over the whole stage, and the cast, bowed, hands held. They took a step back and bowed again, unity and diversity... a strength that a frightened heart will never hold.


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