Creative Control

Miscellaneous Mental Musings of an Emerging Artist

The overlord.


At night, the hairpiece relaxes its grip on Donald Trump’s skull, sloughing to the floor in a heap, digesting the satisfaction that comes of its own practiced malevolence.

“What did I do today?” Donald asks the horrified expression he sees in the mirror. “God in heaven, what did I do?” He desperately searches for the television remote, cycles to a cable news outlet, hoping not to see his own name, knowing in his gut that he will.

From a shadowy corner of the room, the hairpiece cackles quietly.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s


This entry was posted on June 16, 2015 by in Fiction, Politics, Society.
%d bloggers like this: