Trumped

ten // tying loose ends

Tying Loose Ends

Lindana's trial went absolutely swimmingly and now she's serving a few years in jail. I testified against her, of course, and even rooted for the death penalty. But, majority rules and she got away easy. (It turns out her reason for committing such criminal acts was because her seventh great-grandmother was a maid for my ancestors back in the day and had left a precious heirloom—but is a handmade broom really worthy of being passed down from generation to generation?—in one of the rooms here. Lindana did her research and found out that the valuable—to her—object was buried right inside of my own walls. I, along with everyone else was shocked.)

Her children are now in foster care, due to an unfit living environment and no parental guardian. I'm happy for them, finally free from the vicious clutches of that horrid woman. I've said it before and I'll say it again: she deserves life in prison. Too bad breaking and entering is only a misdemeanor (or is it a felony? I dozed off a lot during the court case), otherwise Lindana'd be behind bars for the rest of her sorry, miserable existence. I'd only visit her to laugh at the state of her frail body, withering away amongst other criminals, wasting away in the tough environment of prison.

I, on the other hand, am thriving. I'm leading in the polls and my life is terrific. This past week seems as though I've lived for more than sixty-nine years. All my issues have been resolved, aside from Hillary. I still need to fix things with her; after all, if it weren't for her man-like genius, we wouldn't have caught Lindana. And for that, I will be forever in her debt—or perhaps not. Maybe I'll just settle on buying her a frappe and call it a day.

Quite frankly, this week has been extremely hectic. I've had more action this week than I've had in a lifetime. (Well, I still am extremely youthful. I suppose I just need to live life to the fullest; I am only in my late sixties. I've got plenty of time left to enjoy life!)

I decide to call Hillary over so we can rectify our relationship. I'm ready to go public with our romance (even though the press has started numerous rumors about our budding romance, we haven't confirmed or denied them yet).

Hillary tells me she'll be here in seven minutes or so, and I feel strange sensation in the pit of my stomach. Even the mere thought of Hillary coming over invokes nerves. I never thought I'd say this but I actually have real feelings for a woman. As mentioned before, I only marry for profit, so it's absolutely insane that I, a man practically made of money, can fall for women who don't have as much money as I do...

While I'm waiting for Hillary, I do what any normal rich person would do and surf the web to see if I can hire more servants but still have a balanced income. It turns out it's actually possible to employ workers and have them pay you. The world is truly amazing these days. I can't wait until the day we don't even have to lift a finger to hire secretaries. Ah, living the luxurious life of riches is far better than people tend to let on. (Rich people always lie and say, "Oh! Being rich is so annoying! I'm going to donate to charity!" but really, they enjoy every moment of their lavish lifestyles and certainly wouldn't ever trade lives with a normal civilian such as Lindana.)

A few minutes short of seven, I hear a knock on the door. It can only be Hillary; I open the door and sure enough, it's her. Her graying hair is frayed and her eyes look dead. Frazzled is definitely the word I'd use to describe her appearance right now. "Hillary," I say, stepping aside and permitting her to enter. "We need to do something about our relationship. This is urgent."

A small sigh escapes her and she says, "Like what?"

"Well, for one, I personally would like to pursue our romance. I hate being apart from you. I love you," I admit, my cheeks darkening with embarrassment. (It is honestly humiliating that I am falling for a woman such as she.)

Hillary's face tinges with a slight shade of pink at this blunt statement and shyly responds, "Donald... I love you, too. I just... I don't want the media to attack us more than they already are."

It's as though we've swapped standpoints on the subject. I dismiss this entirely. "The media are going to ruin us no matter what. It'd be far better to just accept it and get on with our lives. Once I become president—"

I'm cut off by her annoying, girlish giggle. "You mean when I become president, right? Ha, ha."

I squint at her in confusion and disbelief. "No... anyway, as I was saying. After that, it'll be even worse. There's nothing we can do to prevent this. Let's just flaunt our relationship!"

Hillary shrugs. "I suppose we could. I'll file the divorce papers as soon as possible. Bill can just go back to Monica. I'm sure he'll understand."

I nod excitedly. "Yes, yes. Oh, this is so great. Hillary, in the short time we've come to know each other, I've developed the strongest of feelings for you. And, well..." My voice trails off as I get down on one knee. I pull a small box from my suit pocket and Hillary gasps in joy.

It's not an engagement ring, of course. I'm not about to waste money on a ring that signifies anything but marriage. Instead, within the box there's a rare two dollar bill. I'm sure Hillary will appreciate it very much. I've gone through so many odds and ends to find a two dollar bill, especially since I only own hundred dollar bills or more.

"Hillary Clinton, would you do me the honor of becoming my official partner? This isn't a marriage proposal, by the way," I tell her, making sure I clarify before she jumps to any conclusions.

Her smile sort of falters and she opens the box. Her smile has become a full blown frown, but she tries to play it off. "Oh," she says monotonously. "Uh, Donald. How very sweet of you. I love... it."

My face breaks into a wide grin. "I knew you'd love it from the moment I had acquired it. Now, we still can get married, just not anytime soon. I'm not looking for long term relationships right now, if you get what I'm saying."

Hillary tugs a lock of her dry, limp hair and allows herself a small smile. "Donald, your arrogance and blatancy are why I love you."

Her face is overridden with joy, wrinkles etched into her drooping face. To be honest, she could do with a bit of Botox. But, because I love her, I will permit these small flaws to slide. Because that's what love is all about; loving your partner even if they haven't gotten any facial reconstruction surgery. Simply loving them for their original—even if they are appallingly hideous—features and flaws.

Every time I look at Hillary, I take in her offensive appearance. Even though she has the ugliest hair in the world, or the most wrinkled skin, I can't help but love her all the same. Her imperfections permanently riddled among her skin are the very reason I am head over heels for this woman. Liar or not, she'll always have a place in my heart.

I look into her eyes, which have tears just waiting to cascade down her papery skin. I pull her close to me and brush the straw-like hair out of her face. She presses her chapped lips to mine and we kiss, content.