The race

A Short Story
by PrinceAlexander (with the little help from  "Plot Generator")
http://www.plot-generator.org.uk/story/

Donald Trump had always hated bureaucratic White House with its wandering, watery ways of ruling. It was a place where he felt pessimistic.

He was a pessimistic, sarcastic real estate developer, fat beer drinker with no hair and strange wig. His friends saw him as a mammoth, mangled Maverik. Once, he had even promised to rescue a quarrelsome American people from being not so great and deplorable. That's the sort of man he was.

Donald walked over to the window and reflected on his stale surroundings. The rain hammered with the heavy fists of a boxer's punch.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Hillary Clinton. Hillary was a deceiving Lady Macbeth, but only older, shorter with the shark teeth smile and wearing trousers.

Donald gulped. He was not prepared for Hillary.

As Donald stepped outside and Hillary came closer, he could see that barracuda smile on her face.

Hippocratic Hillary glared with all the wrath at Donald as a tiger wanting to snatch Mickey Mouse. She said, in hushed tones, "I hate you and I want you to concede your defeat"

Donald looked back, even more presumptive while fingering the teleprompter. "Not so fast, Hillary, you are yourself crooked and corrupt marionette," he replied into the microphone with a wide grin.

They looked at each other with sarcastic feelings, like two diced, deceiving and very aggressive animals: an elephant and a donkey. Presidential elections, were carried under the sounds of loud jazz music playing in the background and all USA liberal media were misinforming public to the beat.

Donald studied Hillary's sick hair and short slumpy figure. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," began Donald in apologetic tones, "but I don't feel the same way, and I never will. I just don't hate you Hillary."

Hillary looked hippocratic, as usual, but her egoistic emotions raw like a mouldy, magnificent hurricane.

Donald could actually hear Hillary's ambitions shatter into pieces. Then the deceiving and crooked Lady Macbeth hurried away into the distance.

Not even a drink of beer, but only decisive elections victory, would calm Donald's nerves tonight.

THE END