Orange and pink painted the horizon as clouds rolled along the tops of skyscrapers. I took a drag on my cigarette then tossed back the rest of my liquor. From my penthouse balcony, I watched the sun set on my empire. Every bank, every government office, every important building as far as the eye could see had my flag, my mark, on it somewhere–the front door, the marble tiled lobbies, the very tops so first-class passengers could see, even on the goddamn urinals sometimes.
That’s how it used to be, anyway.
My corporate tower stood taller than any other building in the whole city. I made sure it was the biggest, the boldest, the best. But rearing its ugly head against the skyline was a rival. I saw it when I woke up, from my office window, from my bedroom window, behind my eyelids during sleepless nights. And from the top of the opposing monstrosity was a blinking hologram that it projected all day, every day.
That caustic red, burned into my brain. Those stupid little stars, one for each thing of mine he wanted: my dominance, my success, my money, my connections, my crown.
This was the grudge that consumed me. At first, it was fun–cute, even. But then I started seeing his mark on more and more, and before I knew it my city didn’t look like mine anymore. My tower wasn’t the tallest, my words weren’t the most absolute, my power wasn’t the most fearsome. But that all ends now.
I’m gonna bring that motherfucker down.
The MAGA Chronicles: Blood Grudge
(A.K.A. Let’s Own That Commie Cuck)
I decided to play up Trump’s anti-China aspects to write a story that parodies real tensions in US-China relations. I’m not really inclined to believe that China wants to ~rule the world~, but a paranoid, unstable, and xenophobic America might be.