“Second Coming”

c. 2018 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(11-18)

It was a quiet morning at the White House.

President Trump had dozed off after midnight, while watching reruns of  'The Apprentice.' His wife was away on a foreign tour, but promised to return before the week of Christmas. Even the Secret Service agent outside his bedroom had succumbed to the prevailing boredom. No sounds could be heard, not even the heartbeat in his chest. This seemed more than odd. It was an eerie portent of judgment. But he ignored the mood. The Donald brushed back his comb-over hair and sprawled across the empty bed. A deafening, smothering silence filled his ears. Then, he realized that the clock on his nightstand had stopped running.

No breeze pressed at the window. No rush of air came from the ventilation. He had literally stopped breathing. His lungs were like stone. He could not cough or call out in distress. Yet somehow, his life continued. Somehow…

A face split the darkness, glowing in hues of white and gray. Then, a soft voice resounded.

“I am Christ, the Lord,”

President Trump pulled the bed sheet over his face. “Whaaat? Melania? Did you get home early?”

“Behold, the Son of God,” the voice continued.

Trump trembled under the bunched fabric. “Security! SWAT team! Secret Service!!”

The face brightened. “I have paused time itself. Do not fear my presence. No one can hear our conversation. Sit up and behold me, now.”

President Trump rubbed his eyes. “Is this a CNN trick? You’re Jim Acosta in a fright wig, right?”

The visitor bowed his head. “Behold the Lamb of God, Jesus.”

“Jesus?” Trump exclaimed. “The Big J. C.? This is huge! Where is my cellphone? I have to send out a blast on Twitter. A Twitter tweet. The biggest, greatest, ever. And when I say huge I mean huuuuuuge...”

“I have come here, in this suspended moment, to admonish you,” the visitor said. “You have claimed to act with my blessing. Yet your heart is filled with self-interest and pride. Do you remember my words? ‘Not every one who saith unto me, Lord, Lord shall enter into the kingdom of heaven; but he that doeth the will of my father which is in heaven. Many will say to me in that day Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in thy name? And in thy name cast out devils? And in thy name done many wonderful works? And then I will profess unto them, I never knew you: depart from me, ye that work iniquity.’”

President Trump scratched at his spray-tanned cheek. “Is that from a Charlton Heston movie?”

“I am the savior of humanity,” the visitor whispered. “Hear me now! You claim before the world to know my teachings. To hold them dearly in your heart. But I ask you now to examine yourself. Do you act in service to me and my father, or only with selfish pride? Are you only using my name to shield yourself?”

“I’ve got a big Bible at home, let me tell you,” Trump retorted. “A big one. Gold edging on the cover and pages. It came from my parents. From my grandparents. A big one, bigger than you’ve ever seen, anywhere...”

The visitor covered his eyes. “Have you read my words? And received them into your heart?”

President Trump shook his head. “Look, I don’t have time for this. I am busy being the commander-in-chief, very busy being in charge, busy, very busy...”

“I have stilled time,” the visitor replied.

Trump was irritated. “I have a lot of churchy people in my corner, okay? A lot of them. You don’t see that with Hillary unless they are street-priests, those kind of hippie street preachers who hide illegal aliens. People who really believe in you believe in me. Believe me!”

“I am Christ,” the visitor repeated. “The Son of God. Not a political figure. Not one to anoint holders of wealth and privilege. Or holders of power. Do you remember these words? ‘Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal: But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven.’”

President Trump shook his head once more. “Churchy people don’t like Hillary. They want her locked up. For a long time. A very long time. They want me to run again in 2020. They want me to run again and again and again, believe me...”

The visitor covered his face. For a moment, the room went dark.

“I am the messiah, the fulfillment of prophecy,” he said. “Not a tchotchke for a campaign season. Not a spokesperson. Not an endorser of willful, prideful men. To inherit the kingdom, you must shed the trappings of sin and follow me. Do you understand?”

Trump closed his eyes. “I understand this must be a trick from MSNBC. Or the failing New York Times. A trick. A stupid trick. But I am not going to be fooled, okay? Not a fool. Not going to be fooled.”

The glowing face disappeared, at last.

“I want a Coca-Cola,” President Trump shouted. “Bring me a Coke and my cellphone. Waiter? Butler? Secret Service?”

Air ebbed from a vent in the wall. Time had been restored, in full.

An agent outside rapped gently on the door. “Mr. President, are you alright, sir?”

“Yes, I am great!” Trump boasted. “I’m greater than great. For a man my age, greater than anyone younger. Anyone. No more steak before bedtime, though. No more dreams, no more dreams. No more.”

“Very good, Mr. President,” the agent agreed.

Trump sat up in bed and reached for his slippers. “Now get me a Coke!”

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