The Winner: or how to win bigly and lose even biggerly

[bravenak]

*this story is how I feel about the Winning Trump and his fans have done to this nation*

The old woman sat alone in the living room, relaxing in her faux leather recliner, watching the news as the winner gave his speech. Things would be different now; she knew this to be true. The Winner preened onstage in the bright lights, confetti and streamers raining down upon him like roses and laurels raining down upon an emperor. She was alone, but she was hopeful. She was a part of something bigger, better, stronger than herself; this was a movement. Her husband Ron had loved this guy before he died.

The Winner stood waving, face curled into a joker’s smile; chins wobbling as the lights flashed, causing his skin to reflect a strange tint, a coppery green fire, and his hair became an exciting neon hue. The old woman did not notice this. Her TV was thirty years old; she never noticed stuff like this anymore, the color was never right. She recalled the man who came before The Winner; that foreigner, that savage, the man who was the last Winner. Watching Jack Van Impe had clued her into the intricacies of the antichrist that all those liberals, and hippies, and feminists, and coloreds seemingly prayed to. Well, she would pray for them.

The Winner gave his speech, and the woman silently recited the words along with him. Every time he reached his crescendo, a tingle in her scalp raised her short neat hair in anticipation, “Take America BACK! Take America BACK! Take America BACK BACK BACK!!” She chanted along feeling warm, and happy, so ALIVE!

All throughout the nation people like her were doing the same thing; praising America, loving the flag, and taking this nation BACK; back from all those welfare queens, and back from mexicans, and back from all those rainbow flag people she saw on parade every year on TV. This nation was going to hell, and the only way to save it was to take it back to when things were normal, better; where people kept their business to themselves and knew their places and had respect. Women don’t even raise their own children anymore!! And those damn blacks think they're too good to keep house for good white folks like they used to. And let’s not even think about Mexicans.

The speech was a meandering thing. It took on a life of it’s own, it went here and there, it promised one thing and then promised it’s opposite; it was long and strange and filled with lies, insults and innuendo. The old woman loved it. This was straight talk!

“And we are going to start winning! We will take back our status, keep those establishment crooks out of your pocket, and we will round up those illegals and SEND THEM BACK! We will take back our schools for decent english speaking folks! We will take back our streets from those gangbanging thugs that run around murdering poor christian souls and demonizing our brothers in blue. We will take back our schools and pray any damn time we want! We will take back our jobs from those leeches who use the government to get a leg up over our decent, hard working RED BLOODED AMERICANS. I’m not a racist, but I find it strange that a white man can’t find a decent job, while we have Illegal MEXICANS working three or four jobs, sending that money back to MEXICO, and helping to build their nation. I say we need to BUILD A BIGGER WALL!” The crowd roared at the stadium, the old woman clapped along with the crowd, she was no racist either. And neither was that crowd. And this was IMPORTANT.

The winner continued to hold rallies and race from state to state, giving the fans more and more of his charming speeches and saying the things that were on everyone’s mind. From his lips to their ears poured the down home common sense that they all knew in their hearts to be true. Those people were taking America’s stuff and it was time to take it BACK!

Down in coal country The Winner told the crowds the devastating truth about how the government had set out to make them fail. The Woman watched him move with nervous energy, an energy not usually found in a sober man in his sixties; certainly not a man of his large size, top heavy and out of shape, his jacket cut large and formless, his tie hanging long over his belly, held together with a bit of duct tape. She admired his ability to be on the go constantly, and if that meant he had to sacrifice healthy food to save America, she was not one to judge. We would all have to make sacrifices. Gluttony was not a major sin in her opinion, he would work on that once he took office. ‘What they won’t tell you is this, my friends; they won’t tell you that they closed down these mines to send your jobs to CHINA!! Closed it right down and sent their executives to China to open mines up there. And now what do we see? Cheap, dirty coal flooding the market, the price of coal drops, believe me! I know these people, I know how they work. I will place a FIFTY PERCENT TAX on all coal, steel, any products we make here- those companies that ship their operations overseas will be taxed into submission! No more shady bankers with funny sounding names are going to control our markets and our banking and our businesses!! Time to take this nation BACK, America! Take it BACK! Take it BACK!!”

Turning up the sound to Fox News, the Old Woman grabbed her knitting bag and set it on the recliner next to her, and rummaged through it to find the piece she was working on. She flexed her fingers and moved her hands backs and forth, one at a time, gently easing the stiffness in her bones. Another dose of her pain pills would be lovely, but she was at the point where she was not always able to pay for her refills, medicare had gotten better in the past few years, and she was grateful she had more coverage on her prescriptions. But it never lasted. Lately she had turned to poppy tea, and cannabis to sooth her joins. It was either that or suffer.

The Winner was in an arena, about a quarter full, with all of the crowd pushed up towards the front, making the shot seem filled with spectators, but you could see the dividers that smooshed everyone together. The newscaster was droning on an on about the Winner, the things he planned, the lies people were telling about his agenda. The old woman knew not to believe them, those liberals in the media always spun things to make good christian leaders look bad. He was going to bring American back to better times, times when people weren’t ripping babies out of wombs and burning the flag.

Thinking on the days of her youth, the streets clean and sunny, sweets sounds of summer playing on the record player; she felt wistful and dreamy. Those were the good days, boys were boys and girls were girls, and everybody knew their role and played it without all this whining! Now kids had no respect and brought any old body back home to meet their parents. Just like her son. Jack. When he left his wife and children to bring home that man he called his ‘partner’, she had had enough of being understanding. Men were men and married women and that way the way god intended. She had been right to push him out of her life. It was an abomination.

Silence filled the rooms and ate at her. Bit by bit the quiet took on a life of its own, resting with her like an old friend staying for a long visit. The town had become smaller and smaller since Jack had left. The house had grown bigger.

In May the winner started a war with the Mexicans. She wore red, white, and blue and planted her flags amongst the primroses and in front of the rose bushes.

In June the first battle had ended, and she wove yellow ribbons around the flag poles and tied them to the magnolia trees.

In July she attended the town celebrations, hugging the friends she had made throughout her life, kissing their grandchildren and praising their looks in their uniforms, ushering them off to war.

In August she received a visit, her grandson and granddaughter. For a whole month the house was filled with music again. She had no thoughts to spare for anger or frustration, her family was home, she was happy.

In September her grandson enlisted to serve the nation at War. The Chinese were playing war games in the Pacific, the Mexicans were fighting back on the southern border, taking over towns by using the Cartels as soldiers. They fought dirty. They had no honor. He would help our nation take our land back! And show those silly anti war protesters how a real American made our nation proud.

In October her granddaughter came back. She was in love with a boy in town and she was coming to live with her. Sounds and motion again filled the house. Winter may be on the way, but the old woman felt like spring.


In December, terrible news had come. An attack in Oaxaca had left her grandson injured, his leg had taken shrapnel from an IED, it was amputated. Shock led to grief, but she carried on and began to make her home welcoming for her sweet sweet boy.

It was January that changed everything. She had arrived home from her weekly volunteering at the church kitchen when she tried the bathroom door. It was locked. She knocked. Knocked again. The water was running inside, she could hear it going down the drain, but nobody was answering. She ran down the hall to her grandson’s room and burst inside in a mad panic. He lay on his side, staring at the wall, his usual daily activity since his discharge. An empty liquor bottle lay next to him like his lover, nestled close to his chest. He looked at her in a bland way before saying “What do you want?”

“Do you not hear the water running in the bathroom?How long has it been on? I knocked on the door, is your sister in there?”

“It could be attila the hun for all I care, what do you want me to do about it? I have no fucking leg! Fuck off you old bitch!!”

“Help me get inside and you can drink yourself to death for the rest of the day! Get your ass up!”

Slowly he raised himself off the pillow and turned over to roll out of bed. The old woman waited impatiently as he grabbed his crutches and shuffled out of the door.

At the bathroom, he stopped and assessed the door, touched it and checked for weak spots before stepping back, then forward as he pounded his shoulder into the thin wood. It popped open immediately.

The old woman watched as the ambulance left, the remnants of their visit strewn about her home and yard. The coroner van arrived to take her granddaughter to autopsy, they wanted to be certain of the cause of death.

But the blood running down the drain told the tale. A butcher they called whomever had done this to her. The holes ripped into her carried the embryo out of her womb, right along with most of her blood. She had forgotten. She had forgotten in her nostalgic dreams, had forgotten how things really were way back then. And she had helped bring America back.

That night The Winner was on TV giving a speech. She did not smile, did not clap, did not feel a part of something bigger. She turned him off. And she cried. Alone.

[betsuni]

1. We were just talking about writing and here you are WRITING!

See, I can't do this, this is fiction -- difficult. Great job, bravenak!

[bravenak]

2. If I don't write about it I might go crazy, lol

Thanks. Fiction is my thing

[brush]

3. That is great. You've got talent. Anything published yet? You need to submit this somewhere.

[bravenak]

5. I have only published poetry, maybe I'll look for somewhere

This is just my first draft tho. I see flaws

[brush]

8. There are short story competitions to submit to. Are you in a writers group?

[bravenak]

9. I'm not actually not in one. I feel guilty.

Maybe I should find a contest

[brush]

11. Nothing to feel guilty about. Writers groups offer critiques that help you find . . .

your voice and where you are as a writer — plus socializing with other writers.

I belonged to one in NY but am now in Vegas.

I know in Ak it might be a challenge to find an AA group though

[bravenak]

12. Yes. It is so hard up here to find other black people to do stuff like this with

Everybody is so busy trying to work so they dont have time for the little pleasures in life

[brer cat]

4. Well done, bravenak.

I wonder what will happen when this plays out in real life.

[bravenak]

6. I will be so sad.

Texas kicked planned parenthood off medicaid. I hope the women of Texas can find a place to help. Maybe Mexico if need be.

[The Polack MSgt]

7. Wow, well done Bravenak. K&R

[bravenak]

10. Thank you

[Hekate]

13. Devastatingly good

[bravenak]

14. I feel this coming. Defunding PP will kill us. Devastating

[Hekate]

15. As I said in another thread, commenting on progressives asking women and POC to....

....hold back (again) for the common good in times of crisis: what some call identity politics is a matter of life and death to US.

[bravenak]

16. So true

They would never bite their tongues if it were them in danger. We dont matter

[dionysus]

17. Pretty good.

[mcar]

18. I have chills, brave

My two sons, my wonderful babies, are draft age. You have expressed my deepest fears.

[bravenak]

20. I fear all of it too

Life is getting dystopian

[ismnotwasm]

19. How did I miss this?

Wow...

[bravenak]

21. I write late at night

I have writers block right now on my poetry so I have to try to break it down by writing anything. Trump is good for my creativity, but horrible for america