The Coming Darkness–Karen Uffelman

The Coming Darkness

Hillary and Donald lay side-by-side.

“It’s too much,” she sighed.

“You think?”

She rolls on her front, pulling at the light blue nightie that is riding up her thigh.

“I mean, Bill deserves whatever anyone can dish out, but I thought we weren’t going to let this thing get so out of hand. The whole campaign has gotten too ugly. We’re making people depressed.”

He kisses her temple, and then her neck behind her ear, nudging the nightie back up her leg with his knee.

“I’m serious, Donald. You act like this is all fun and games, but the goal is for me to be president, not for us both to be excommunicated from the country.”

“That’s your goal, my darling. I have to say I’m having the time of my life. I get to use big words, I get to find out all of the shit people have on me – especially the shit that I didn’t make up. I get to take the names of all of those shriveling little republicans who didn’t have the balls to take me out in the first place and now I’ve got my middle finger up their assholes and they’re spinning like circus freaks. It’s delicious, my love. If you can’t take back congress after this…”

“I don’t know. I am THE MOST QUALIFIED candidate ever to run for this office. If this were a spelling bee, I could spell all of the words backwards while standing on my hands and juggling chainsaws with my feet. Instead, I’m struggling to beat you. Maybe I should’ve just run against a normal person. Not the crazy, racist, sexist clown man.”

“My dear, if the electorate weren’t so fucking stupid, that’s what would have happened. I didn’t intend to be debating you – nice touch to withhold the handshake tonight, BTW – I honestly can’t understand how this all happened. This was supposed to be funny, not the campaign from hell.”

Hillary coughs. Donald rolls over and pulls something out of the nightstand drawer.

“Here are these throat drops I got you. Supposed to be magic. That soprano at the Met swears by them.”

“Is that the same soprano they sent you with their last fundraising ask.”

“Yeah, yeah. Her. Baby, you know I don’t care about singers. She gives good advice about cough drops, though, trust me! Plus, I worry about you and all this coughing.”

“It’s nothing, I told you.”

Hillary pops a cough drop into her mouth and sucks for a while, lost in thought. Donald sits up and turns to her.

“I could drop out of the race.”

“Don’t be silly, Donald. That would leave poor Mike Pence, and voters are in such a crazed state now, he might actually get elected. He’d have to jump off a building or something. What would he do?”

“I know. I knew he was a poor choice from the beginning. But the logo thing with our initials was just too fun to pass up and I couldn’t find any other running mates with P names. Okay, if I’m not going to drop out of the race, why don’t we just go for broke.”

Hillary frowns.

“What do you mean ‘go for broke’?”

“We could leak a sex tape of you and me.”

HIllary laughs and then almost chokes on her cough drop.

“I’m pretty sure no one wants to see either of us naked, but I like where you’re going with this.”

Hillary climbs on top of Donald and he grins. He grabs her ass.

“It would be incredible, right? Put the rest of this show to shame. I keep trying to figure out how I can up the ante, but it hadn’t occurred to me how hilarious it would be to become totally transparent.”

“Totally transparent?”

“Well, not the sister/brother thing. I would probably draw the line there.”



About bbcstudiowrites

This blog is me archiving the BBC Studio Writers Workshop.

Posted on November 3, 2016, in Fiction, Seattle, Short Stories. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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