“As long as a person is unsuccessful in his purpose in this world, the Holy One, blessed be He, uproots him and replants him over and over again.” (Zohar I 186 Kabbalah)
As you can see by the quote above, I write stories based on the belief in Reincarnation or Past Lives. I wrote this little bit of flash fiction last year. I thought it was a good time to bring it back. Enjoy and let me know what you think!
KARMA TRUMPS DONALD
The sudden brightness blinds the man. He quickly covers his eyes, but his child-size hands are not large enough to protect them from the intensity of the light that surrounds him.
Turning toward his Secret Service, he barks. “Turn off that light.”
No one answers.
“Goddamn it! I said, turn that light off!”
Still, no one answers him.
“Stupid idiots…” he mutters under his breath. Keeping his eyes closed, he waves his hands around in search of one of the agents. But his hands come up empty. Livid, he opens his eyes to yell at his secret service.
Surprised at how quickly his eyes adjust to the unnatural brightness, he looks around for the first time at the vast open space around him. Since his birth, his father’s wealth guaranteed friends, lovers, and protection. For the first time in his life, Donald Trump finds himself completely alone.
“Hey! Where is everybody?” he calls, looking around frantically. “I’m Donald Trump… and someone better tell Donald Trump… what the hell is going on,” stamping his foot to emphasize his point.
Silence.
He stomps his feet again, like a 4-year-old having a temper tantrum, his fists waving in the air. Donald screams at the top of his lungs. “I am Donald Trump!!”
Silence.
Beads of sweat trickle down the fat folds of his back as he runs a tiny size finger around the inside of his shirt collar, loosening his red tie. In the distance, he sees a sphere of light spinning slowly towards him. Mesmerized by the shiny object, he watches it grow in size as it approaches until it stops directly in front of him.
“Follow me.” A voice orders.
“Who said that?” Donald spins around to see who spoke, but his great bulk causes him to lose his balance, and he falls on his face. He lays there waiting for someone to help him but then remembers that he is alone. Picking himself up, he dusts off his navy-blue suit.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he notices the Orb is changing shape. Gone is the luminous round object that had first appeared. In front of him is a man with black hair, slicked down and parted on the side. Small beady grey eyes, much like Donald’s own, are staring back at him. A square bushy mustache sits above the indent of his thin upper lip.
Donald stares at the figure before him. “Adolf?”
“Guten tag, Donald,” The mustached man clicks his black boots together.
“This is a joke! Someone is playing a joke on Donald. Very funny.” Donald forces himself to laugh, but his voice is threatening. “Is this your joke Stephen Miller? I know it must be you.”
“This isn’t a joke, Donald. You’re dead.” The Austrian tell him.
Donald stands open mouth staring at Adolf Hitler in shock, then shouts, “Wrong! I’m not dead. You’re dead!”
“What? What do you mean wrong?” The confused German leader decides to start again. “Look, Donald, you are going to have to accept the fact that you are dead. We are both dead.”
“Wrong, wrong, wrong.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” shouts Adolf. “What is wrong with you? Stop arguing. You are dead! KAPUT!”
Donald mulls this over in his mind before replying. “Well…if what you say is true…then… this must be heaven.”
“No… this isn’t heaven.” The Nazi smooths back his oily hair while he works on regaining his composure. “I’m sorry, but there is no heaven, and there is no hell, Donald. I am here because it was decided, by the committee, that I would have to be the one to meet you.”
Donald grabs the Austrian’s hand, yanking him in close for a handshake. “Well, thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you. You did great things: I did great things. We are both great leaders Although, I …”
“You don’t understand what is happening here, do you.” Adolf pulls his hand back and stares at the man before him.
Donald wears a blank expression on his face.
“Well…you will… God knows I finally did.” Adolf straightens his military jacket and turns to leave. “Now follow me, Donald. It’s time.”
“Wait a minute,” Donald calls after the dictator. “Stop!!”
Adolf stops and turns back around. “Yes?”
“You didn’t tell me how I died?” The orange man stands, hands on his hips, the folds in his face turned into a grimacing frown.
“You don’t remember?” Now it’s the Austrian’s turn to stand with his hands on his’ hips, scratching his head. “How can you not remember? We always remember.”
Donald folds his arms across his expanding chest, but the reinforced stitching on his expensive suit strains. Instead, he stands with his hands at his side.
“Well, I’m not going anywhere till you tell me how I died! Who did it? It was an immigrant, wasn’t it…or was it a Muslim? I knew those people shouldn’t be…”
“Oh… for the love of God, stop already!” Adolf grabs The Donald by his arms to get his attention. “No…it wasn’t the Muslims, the Hispanics, the African American, the Jews, or anybody else that you want to blame for your racist benefit! You were wrong. WE WERE ALL WRONG!”
Donald glares at the being before him, his piggy eyes shooting daggers at his former hero. “How dare you!” he spits out, “I’m not wrong; you’re wrong!”
“Not this again.” Rubbing the side of his temples where a headache would typically be, Adolf continues, slowly this time, as if speaking to a child. “Donald, I just said that we were all wrong. You…I… and all the others.”
Donald’s face twists in rage, his hands’ clench, he shouts. “I’m not wrong! I’m never wrong! I’m right. I’m always right! I’m the rightest!”
Hitler throws his hands up in the air. “Have it your way, Donald. It doesn’t matter anymore anyway. Follow me.” He turns to leave.
“No!” Donald stands defiant. “You didn’t tell me how I died! I insist you tell me!”
Adolf waves his hand over the floor. “Fine. Here you go, Mr. Trump” The glass beneath Donald’s feet shimmers till it disappears entirely. He finds he is hovering over his private bathroom.
His bloated body slumped over his golden toilet, his XXL silk ‘tighty-whities’ around his ankles, one hand a cell phone, the other a half-eaten Big Mac. His eyes are open, bulging out of their sockets. His face, the color of an overripe eggplant instead of the usual autumn pumpkin hue he wore year-round.
“What…what happened?” Donald whispers.
Peering down, Adolf replies. “Well, it appears that you were sitting on your royal throne, eating a hamburder, while texting on your phone…”
Chuckling, Donald nudges his new guide. “I do get my best thoughts there.”
Adolf turns to stare at the rotund man standing beside him before continuing, “As I was saying…you had just taken a bite of your ‘hamburder,’ when you started laughing at your ridiculous tweet and ended up choking to death.”
Donald laughs, recalling the tweet that ended his life. “I remember now – I tweeted only stupid people are born poor. I am a very smart person, and I am very rich. If they were smart, they wouldn’t have been born poor. They would have been born rich.” Shrugging his shoulders, he lifts his hands, smiling at how brilliant he is to have figured that out.
“Frankly, it amazes me that no one bombed your bunker,” Hitler replies, eyeing Donald up and down.
Ignoring him, Donald continues. “Wait a minute! Where’s my Secret Service?”
“All right… but remember you wanted to know.” Adolf waves his hand again over the floor.
Now they are hovering over his spacious living room. Half a dozen Secret Service Agents are sitting with earbuds watching their phones, laughing hysterically.
“What’s so funny that they can’t hear me call ‘em?” Donald demands.
They float closer to the agents until Donald can see the phone screens. Each agent is watching a skit of Alec Baldwin imitating him.
One agent nudges the other sitting next to him on the couch, laughing. “He has him down perfectly.”
“I know, right?… funniest shit on TV,” the other agent replies.
Donald’s face is crimson with rage and humiliation. He screams at the scene below. “You’re fired! Do you hear me? FIRED! Nobody’s to watch that failing show in my house!”
The Austrian leans over one of the phone screens laughing. “They can’t hear you, Donald. Besides, Alec is hilarious. The way he pushes his lips together.” Adolf tries sticking his lips out to imitate Alec, imitating Donald. “How does he do that? Maybe if I didn’t have the mustache.” He keeps trying to make the ‘Donald lips.’
“ENOUGH!” Donald waves his hand. “What about my family? My children must be devastated. My wife, Melania, heartbroken. They all love me, you know, tremendously.”
Adolf stops laughing. “If you insist.”
He waves his hand once more. The scene changes to the first family’s private living room in the White House. The entire Trump clan is laughing, clinking champagne glasses to celebrate a great event. His long-anticipated demise.
“This is fake news! They love me! Everybody loves me!”
“Really? Why would they love you?” The Fürher faces Donald, his arms crossed.
“Because…because I made them all rich! Very rich!” Donald replies.
“Yes, you did. But at what costs? At what cost to them or innocent people that you took advantage of on your way to riches and greatness?”
Ignoring the question, Donald continues his rant. “Ungrateful idiots! I should never have left them a damn dime.”
“Well then, it will probably make you feel better that you didn’t. Lawsuits are already lining up in the courts. By the time everything wraps up, there won’t be a ‘dime’ left.”
“Creditors? Why should they get my money? They don’t deserve to get paid.”
“Oh, but Donald, in the end, everyone gets what they deserve. Believe me.” Smirks the Fürher before turning and walking away.
“So, now what? Are you taking me to God? Am I getting my “reward” for all the great things I did?”
Hitler spins back around. “Reward? Are you serious? Reward for what?”
“For all the great things I did! I did great things!” insists Donald.
“Great things? What great things did you ever do in your life, Mr. Trump?”
Taken back, Donald stops. “I did great things! I…I made people very rich. Especially me. I was the best president ever! I did great things as president; ask anyone!”
“Did you really, Donald?” Hitler asks. “Like …separating children from their families and putting them in cages, in concentration camps? Or when you pushed for the death penalty of innocent people? Ridiculing and punishing anyone who disagrees with you? Are these all great things?”
Donald puts his hands up to stop the Nazi leader. “Wait a minute! You did all those things. I got that from you. You rounded up all the people you knew were inferior and got rid of them. People loved you for that. They still do. Fine people. They are the ones that made me president. Well, them and the Russians.”
“The only people that love me for my horrible crimes against humanity are the hate-filled racists that take joy in hurting those that are different! I was wrong, Donald Trump. I was so …very… very wrong.” Ashamed, the dead leader of the Nazi party, turns to leave.
“But…wait…” Donald runs to catch up. “where are we going?
“To the committee.”
Out of breath, Donald wheezes, “Who…who is this committee?”
Adolf stops and turns back. “You are about to find out, Donald.”
“Will the committee give me my reward?”
Giving the 45th president of the United States one last glance, Adolf Hitler sadly shakes his head before disappearing. “Better luck next time, Mr. Trump.”
“Hey! Wait…come back here!” Donald calls after him, but the Fürher is gone.
In the distance, Donald sees five bright, iridescent orbs. Each casts their particular vibrant aura against the stark whiteness as they spin closer to him. While he watches the lights approach, his surroundings turn into a courtroom. The walls and benches made entirely of sparkling crystal and shimmering pearl.
The greedy man stands open mouth, trying to calculate the cost of such extravagance. “I must have this,” he tells himself.
The five beautiful spheres take their places on the judge’s bench.
The orbs speak as one. “Donald J Trump, you have been brought before the committee to determine your next life.”
Once again, he straightens his jacket, adjusts his tie, smiling.
“My next life?” He thrusts his chins out. “Well, since I was such a great president, winning all the time, I think in my next life I should be the ruler of the entire world. I should become God, but …I guess that job is already taken… for now.” He chuckles at his joke.
The orbs pulse with energy as they speak. “Mr. Trump, the only thing you win is the fact that you were the most corrupt, the most selfish, the most racist and willfully ignorant bully on the planet. Not to mention being a pathological liar that treated everyone with contempt. Especially women and people of color. That is what you were winning at Donald J. Trump!”
“Hey! You’re just like the unfair media. I was a great man, rich, powerful, handsome. You don’t want to admit what a great job I did.” Pouting, he folds his arms across his chest, ignoring the seams tearing, and glares at the five swirls of light.
The orbs speak again. “Let’s see all the great things you said and did.”
Donald turns to discover a large screen behind him, suspended in mid-air.
Clapping his little hands with glee, he turns back to the committee, “Are we going to watch ‘The Apprentice’? That was the best television show, believe me.” He points his stubby little finger at each of the five balls of light. “You’re fired… You’re fired…, You’re fired…You’re fired…You’re fired.”
Donald’s smiling face takes over the screen. His voice echos through the chamber.
“Women, you have to treat them like shit.”
“I would never let a woman kick my ass. If she tried something, I’d be like, Hey! Get your bitch ass back in the kitchen and make me some pie.”
“Look at that face! Would anyone vote for that? Can you imagine that being the face of our next president?!”
“I don’t even wait. And when you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything. Grab them by the pussy.”
The last line echoes through the chamber.
“Enough!!” Donald yells, stomping his foot. “This is more fake news! This is from the dishonest media! I demand that you stop this. Fake…”
“Donald,” the orbs interrupts. “Those are your quotes! It’s not fake. You were a misogynist who made it clear that you believe women are inferior, that they should be scorned, ridiculed, and controlled. These are the ideas that you were teaching the young men and women of the world. Why would you treat women this way? Women are the givers of life. Without them, there would be no world.”
Furious, veins bulging, he bellows once again. “It’s fake news!!”
This time, the screen changes scenes, showing Donald Trump winning the presidency over Hillary Clinton on election night. Showing he won the electoral college but lost the popular vote.
Full of selfish pride, Donald readjusts his tie, smooths down his suit jacket, and thrusts out his chins. ‘This is more like it,’ he thinks to himself. ‘Now, they will see that I was the greatest president ever in the history of the United States.’
The courtroom fills with the cries of thousands of terrified innocent children. Sick and alone, begging for their parents, pleading for anyone to save them. A montage of Trump’s speeches flash across the screen, his voice blares over the proceedings.
“I will build a great wall … and I will make Mexico pay for that wall. Mark my words.”
“When Mexico sends its people, they’re not sending the best…They’re bringing drugs, they’re bringing crime. They’re rapists…”
“This is an invasion. When you see these caravans, starting out with 20,000 people, that’s an invasion.”
Trump: “How do you stop these people? You can’t, there’s —”
Crowd: “Shoot them.”
Trumps: “That’s only in the Panhandle can you get away with that statement.”
“These aren’t people. These are animals.”
Donald Trump’s voice fades away, replaced by the cries of the persecuted once more.
The final image on the screen is Donald and Melania holding the orphaned baby whose parents were shooting victims in El Paso. Donald is grinning with his thumb up.
“Now, that is a very handsome man there.” He turns back to the committee. “People tell me all the time that they can’t believe how handsome I am. Believe me. And Melania, of course, is beautiful…I always have …”
“SHUT UP!!” A booming voice from above stops Donald in mid-sentence.
The once ‘great’ man stands, mouth open, staring upwards. “Is that God?” he asks.
“Donald J Trump,” the orbs speak again.
Donald brings his attention back to the committee. “You have had money and fame your entire life. You could have chosen to help the world, to help humanity. But, instead, you have used your wealth and power to lie, steal, cheat, and abuse those that were the most in need. We, the committee, have judged you and have decided your fate. You may choose between three different lives for reincarnation. If you do not decide yourself, the committee shall decide for you.”
Donald shakes his head and begins to argue. “Wait just a minute, folks! Who are you? You can’t judge me! There’s no one…” waves his hand, “…in this entire place that’s good enough to judge Donald Trump. Who do you think you are!”
The five shimmering balls begin to grow and change shape. Donald finds he is standing before five people. None of whom he recognizes.
“Who the hell are you?” he demands.
The first one, a woman, speaks. “I am Heather Heyer. A white supremacist murdered me. You called them “very fine people.”
The second one, a little girl, speaks next. “I am Jakelin. I died when you took me from my parents. I was refused medical care and thrown into your ICE concentration camp.”
The next two are a young Hispanic man and his wife. “We are Andre and Jordan Anchondo. Our lives ended protecting our baby from the man that targeted Hispanics because of your racist, hateful rhetoric demonizing immigrants. That is our baby that your wife held, while you proudly stood there, grinning, a thumbs up to your base for a job well done.”
The last spirit speaks. “I am George Floyd. I represent all the innocent black men, women, and children who have been murdered by the police. I stand for all the BLM protestors you have threatened and sent your agents out to stop. Colin Kaepernick, and others, took a knee to protest the racial inequality of our judicial system. But all you said was, ‘Get that son of a bitch off the field right now. Out! He’s fired. He’s fired!”You stoked the flames of hate and bigotry, and because of you, many more are going to die.”
The five spirits speak as one united voice once more. “We stand for Humanity….and Humanity judges you, Donald Trump!”
Speechless for the first time in his self-absorbed life, Donald stands, staring at the five figures before him.
They continue, “These are your choices.”
The screen behind him shows a hut in Africa. A young girl struggles to walk, her legs misshapen.
“The first life is a girl born crippled into the poverty of one of your “shit hole countries.”
The next life appears, showing a jungle clearing with a girl tied to a post.
“Or…perhaps, you prefer the life of a young girl who is kidnapped, forced into a child sex trafficking ring by guerillas in the jungles of South America.”
The last image is a Bedouin in the desert.
“Or… you can come back as a female in Afghanistan. In a village that is ran by the Taliban. You decide Donald…what will it be?”
Puffing out his chest, he regains in self-importance. “I refuse!” He plants his feet far apart and lifts his chin into the air in defiance. “I demand to be treated with the respect that I deserve!”
“As you wish…it has been decided.”
The floor beneath him disappears. Donald falls backward, flailing his tiny hands and feet. His fake yellow hair blows across his face as he descends downward. Further and further, until nothing is left but the echo of his scream. “Noooooooooooo…….”
An older woman squats on the dirt floor, struggling to pull the baby from the mother’s womb. The baby cries out its protest at the harsh treatment of birth. Holding the baby girl in her skeletal arm, the older woman watches the young mother take her last breath.
The End