I am in a large room. Alone. It looks like I'm in Versailles. I can hear voices outside the door. Muffled. Men. Arguing. I try to move but I am tied to a large bed. There's a stabbing pain in my ribcage. With every breath the pain surges through my entire body. Broken. My jaw is swollen. My tongue digs into the craters where some teeth used to exist. Bitter, salty, metallic. The argument outside the door intensifies. Still muffled through the thick wooden panel. I don't know how this happened. I know what is coming. I want to disappear.
The door opens, the argument has stopped. Donald Trump walks in. He's dressed like Louis the 14th. He comes to the bed and hovers over me. He looks through me. He breathes in loudly, forcefully through his nostrils. He starts to talk, then hesitates. He does it again, he's searching for the words. "This time it going to get a little worse for you," he tells me. His breathing has escalated. In one motion he balls his fist and punches my eye. There's a ringing in my ears. I am dazed.
He opens a hole in his pants. He grabs his wart-like cock with his right hand and begins to stroke it. Breathing hard. He tells me to ask him for it. He squeezes my cheeks to force my mouth open. He inserts his cock into my mouth. He pushes in and pulls out. He tells me it feels good. He tells me it feels better for me than it does for him. He tells me I'm about to receive greatness. The teeth I have left in my mouth clamp down. They tear through the flesh, the veins, the sinew. He faints on top of me. I lay on my deathbed, chewing on my last meal. I smile.