Two Clintons and a Trump

A Very Wealthy Suitor

Hillary sighed and brushed her hair out of her wizened face. The clouds had just parted, allowing for the sun to shyly peek out from behind. Life got boring in the White House though, and Hillary wasn't satisfied with her husband. Her eyes darted around, searching in vain for her husband. Typical. Her voice matched her depressed face, for Bill was never around anymore. She didn't even know why she had expected for him either, it wasn't as if he went out of his way to make time for her, and yet here she was, still diligently waiting on him like a dog. She scoffed, was that what her life had become? Had she been reduced to a dog? The grim reality struck her- and not in the sexual way Bill often pleasured himself with- it was a much softer blow than that.

The door snapped her out of her thoughts, creaking in protest from old age. Hillary glared back at it,  I have it far worse, trust me. She shot a withering look at the slab of oak. It didn't utter another sound.

"There you are, my love!" The man proclaimed, sweeping her off her feet. Well, he tried at least, but they were both well past their prime, and death taunted them at every corner.

Am I your love? She bit her tongue, as much as she would have loved throwing those words at him, Hillary thought better of it. Instead she plastered on a smile, if Bill were paying attention, he could've seen right through it, but luckily for her he wouldn't be attentive today, not after such a stressful meeting. She almost pitied him, she doubted Kim Jong Un had been pleasant company, and he wasn't her type at all, but at this point she would've taken any man's company over his.

He gently put her down, carrying her like precious cargo, his eyes leered into her though, a stolen glance that had broken down the significance of his words once again- she stared back, and he recoiled from her icy grip.

Two can play at that game. Her lips teased into a vicious smile, and the married couple parted ways.
The air was so dense it could've been cut with a knife. Bill tensed up, clearing his throat as to acknowledge the elephant in the room, and he went his separate way.

"See you at dinner, darling," Hillary cooed back at him.

Bill shuddered, eagerly closing the door behind him.

Hillary shrugged back into her chair, the plush velvet all the more enjoyable in the silence. Her husband was finally gone, after he had the audacity to come home late, and now, she had the whole afternoon to herself.

To the uneducated housewife, this of course would've meant stimulation, but Hillary sat down, soaking up her hours during a quiet tea time. She traced a finger on the dusty shelf- had the housewife not cleaned today? She scorned, then remembered who she was talking about. Of course it's my job. The president scowled, what wasn't her job these days? She shook her head, thinking no more of, opting to rather enjoy her sparse time. The book slid into her fingers, much like how the president had slid into her direct messages, and the familiar rough cover comforted her. She breathed in the musty smell, envigored with a lust for knowledge as she flipped through the worn pages. The writing was faded, a shadow of what the ink had once been, it had not aged well at all, and the woman found herself squinting at the barely legible words even more so than she had done before. And to think she once had the body of a goddess! Bill wouldn't have dared denied her then, yet now here they both were in their unhappy union, and the man still likened himself as superior.

The thought of that made her blood boil. Hillary slammed down the book, no longer concerned with the poetic words that would do little to snuff the raging inferno within her.

The novel dropped with a thump, a scrap of paper floated downwards like a leaf, nestling on the hardwood floors of the living room. The fractured light of the window bounced off the paper, a warm sliver, just beckoning her to pick it up.