He looked out the window at the traffic on the streets below. 9:00 PM, one week after he won it all

He looked out the window at the traffic on the streets below. 9:00 PM, one week after he won it all.

He had just stepped out of the shower. Moving slowly but deliberately he straightened the soap dispenser on the sink, grabbed a hand towel from the rack, and cleared the fog from his vanity.

Donald caught his gaze in the mirror. He saw an old man looking back at him. Wrapped in a plain white towel, red from the hot shower, he took in his reflection.

He was weary. After days, weeks, months jet-setting around the country, speaking to Americans from all walks of life, he finally had a few days to gather his thoughts. As he looked in the mirror, he asked himself, “Why did you do this?”

Donald sat down to ponder for a moment while he cooled off. He looked around the bathroom. He looked past all of the luxury and comforts in the bathroom. He looked past the life he had spent half a century building for himself. He looked past everything, and thought of something greater.

After a few moments of reflection, he stood up to meet his gaze in the mirror once again. He looked himself squarely in the eyes. Hair undone, no TV make-up. No tailored suit or American flag pendant, no silk tie or cufflinks. Just him. Only Donald.

He had an answer. “For my father. For my family.” He stood back, and squinted into the mirror. He cocked his head to the side and said softly, “For my country.”

The sounds of the bustling city below rang through the cracked window. A cool breeze ran through the room, clearing out the steam.

“Honey, are you coming to bed?” Melania said gently, from the other room.

“Not tonight, dear.” President Trump looked in the mirror once more. “It’s time to get to work.”

He took a pause to listen to the candle crackling softly by the sink, and grabbed his plain white towel from the rack. 9:00 pm, one week after he had sat with his wife by the fireplace and watched the results roll in.

Ben dried off and wrapped himself in his towel. He stepped out of the shower and glanced out the window and, for a moment, watched the light snow flurry gently covering the grass outside. He took a relaxed breath.

Ben walked toward the mirror and put some toothpaste on his brush. The room was a bit chilly, even as the steam cleared, so he put on his white wool bathrobe. Then he picked up his toothbrush.

Ben looked in the mirror and brushed. He had felt relieved for the past week. America had spoken.

He had no reason to fret. His candidate, in the face of harsh words and embattled opponents, had taken the win. Ben felt that he was truly on the side of the people he wanted to lead.

Ben grabbed a little plastic cup from the small stack on the counter, and rinsed his mouth. He looked in the mirror and smiled. “Listening,” he said softly. “I said it was about listening. Find the people who want what’s best, and find the people who know what’s best. And just listen to both. Help when you can. That’s where the good comes from.”

He had done just that. Ben was at peace. He blew out the candle and walked into the bedroom, leaving the door open behind him.

Cathy was with her bridge group from church for the night. The room was quiet and still, and he was alone with his thoughts. The snow grew heavier outside and the neighborhood grew silent. A warm glow shined from the streetlamps below. As the light, smoky fall fragrance from the extinguished candle wafted through the air, he laid down in his robe. There was always more work to do, but for now, it was time to rest.

She stepped out of the shower and shuffled toward the bathroom mirror. 9:00 PM, one week after she lost it all.

Hillary wiped the fog off her vanity, moving her hand slowly in clockwise circles. Her hands were shaking. They never stopped shaking these days. She coughed and looked at her reflection.

She was wrapped in a plain white towel. She looked at her skin, sagging and pruny from the warm shower. Cold air blew in the window.

She looked at her body and her aging face. No make-up, no hair product, no little American flag pendant on her chest. She met her gaze in the mirror.

For the first time, Hillary felt truly alone. Her eyes grew red, and the tears began welling up. She could call Bill, but he was asleep. She could call Chelsea, but she was off doing work for the Foundation…or what was left of it.

For the first time, Hillary saw only Hillary. Not the first female president. Not the first lady of the 90’s. Not the female Senator from New York, or the secretary of state who once spent her days, weeks, months jet-setting around the world.

She was none of that. It was as if she never was. She saw a 68 year old woman staring back at her. She cried. Her whole life seemed to be building to a triumphant end and now she was nothing.

She was simply an old woman. A woman who had never truly loved. She married a man who slept around and never felt passion for their marriage. A man who was too caught up in his own power plays and affairs to really look at her and say “My dear, you look beautiful tonight.”

She had never really lived her life. She let her life pass her by.

Yes, for the first time in a very, very long time, Hillary felt alone. Hillary felt powerless. Hillary felt meaningless and her life did too. Hillary felt old.

She sat down on the edge of her shower, and buried her face into her hands. For the first time in years, she cried.

The cold November wind whistled softly by the open window. And she cried.

Ted grabbed his plain white towel from the rack. 9:00 pm, one week since America had voted their conscience – for better or for worse.

He dried off and wrapped the towel around himself.

“I’m calm, I’m determined… I’m consistent,” Ted spoke firmly as he cleared the fog from the mirror. He glanced to the suit hanging by the door. He’d wear it tomorrow to mingle among the other senators. But he knew he was above them. He knew he could bring the people something greater.

Ted looked at himself in the mirror. He grabbed the edge of the marble counter and leaned into it. He met his own gaze with a cold stare. “I’m calm, I’m determined, I’m consistent.” He repeated his mantra.

His eyes were a bit sunken – he wasn’t sleeping as much these days. His gait was more deliberate and his stride was longer. His shoulders swayed smoothly and his focus had grown sharper. Something had changed.

He hadn’t been robbed of the delegates. Not by a long shot. “If anything,” Cruz thought as he leaned on the counter and watched his own staunch expression, “if anything I’ve been vindicated. Those who know will always know. Those who don’t know yet will know soon.”

The election was over, sure. But Ted’s time in public service was far from over. He had been invigorated. He had been spurned…for a time. He had been overcome…by a fad. But the tides would change. The world would spin and the country would come around.

“One day, they’ll understand why I said what I said. Why I did what I did. One day they’ll see the light, the light that has long since left the Republican party. And it will fall upon the only man who can pull it from the darkness. Who can save it from itself – who can bring it back to true greatness.”

Ted stared himself squarely in the eyes. He took a slow, sturdy breath. “I’m calm, I’m determined, I’m consistent.”

Ted gave himself one sharp nod. He said simply: “I’m coming back.”

He looked out the window at the lake below. Waves lapped on the shore. He could barely make out the stars in the sky, so he grabbed his glasses to bring them into focus. 9:00 pm, one week after he read the papers and read the election results.

Bernie stepped out of the shower cautiously. He was always careful these days – he didn’t want to risk a fall. He wrapped himself in a plain white towel, and wiped the fog off of the mirror.

Bernie saw an old man looking back at him. He traced over the features of his face, and mused silently over how the years had passed by. It had been a lifetime, and it had been an instant.

He had felt this way for a while, but he felt different now. He felt more tired. He felt less ambitious. He felt, in a word, spent.

Bernie shuffled to look back out the window. His gaze moved wistfully from star to star. He hadn’t spoken to his brother since the convention, but not a day went by that he didn’t think about his brother’s appearance during the convention’s roll call. It was his most emotional moment, the most moving minute in his entire career. It was the only time that he had really realized what he meant to so many people. “But it was too late by then,” Bernie mumbled as he walked back to the mirror.

Bernie had had some time to decompress since the convention, save for just a few appearances later on in the season, but he still hadn’t let it go. Bernie knew what they were saying about him. They said he abandoned his followers. “They said,” he spoke softly to the mirror, “they said I started a movement, and walked away.” He sighed and shook his head.

One last time, he frowned at his reflection.

Bernie looked at the ground, and he walked away.

He stepped out of the shower and lightly tossed the newspaper, which had been sitting on the counter, into the trash. He grabbed his plain white towel and started drying off. His towel was still a bit damp from earlier that morning. 9:00 pm, one week after the election was over.

Gary finished drying off, brusquely, and looked at the mirror. It was so foggy in the steamy room he was almost unseen. Gary cleared the fog off the mirror. His reflection caught his eye.

“Mr. President,” Gary said sardonically. He gave a half-hearted chuckle and stared.

It would have been crazy to think he could have won. Never in a million years, as he was told even by those close to him, would the American people pick anyone besides the two superstar personalities he was up against. Today, it seemed bizarre for him to think he was against two of the most recognizable names in America.

He never made it to the debates, but he got over it. He never really met a strong supporter, but he got over that too. It was a bizarre election cycle, sure, and he never thought he could have won. But something inside of him felt down. Some part of him, some small piece that allowed him a brief moment of whimsy, that let him say “what if”, kept buzzing.

He hadn’t shared the stage, but he shared the spotlight – to some extent. He never owned a poll, but he certainly split the numbers. He wasn’t a player, he told himself, but he was a factor.

He turned his head side to side and observed himself, wondering how he had looked on TV. Then it rang in his head again. “What is Aleppo?”

“And, what is Aleppo?”

He let out a laugh and gave himself a wry smile. The smile gave way to a grimace, which gave way to a strained inhale. He didn’t lose it for himself, he knew that to be true. He didn’t lose it because it was never his to win. But something inside him still buzzed.

Gary wiped some stray water off the counter, washed his hands, and walked away from the mirror.

He looked out the window at the evening sky. 9:00 PM, one week after he watched the election results roll in on Fox.

Jeb had just stepped out of the shower. He wiped the fog off the mirror, combed his hair, and tightened the plain white towel around his waist. He slid his turtle soap holder back to make room for the comb and gingerly set it down. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and saw an old man looking back - he met the gaze with a slight frown. His lip quivered.

“Jeb!” Columba shouted from downstairs, “I made your favorite guacamole! Come down soon, the taco meat is getting cold!”

“Coming soon, dear,” Jeb called back in a subdued voice through the cracked door. He looked back at the mirror and sighed.

As he walked out into the bedroom, he glanced at all of the homely comforts Columba had placed around the room. His turtle candleholders on the nightstand, his favorite picture of Lincoln by the bookcase, and the signed picture of his brother, President George W. Bush, that he had received from his small donation to the Republican party in 2004, sitting on his desk. “It’s not all bad,” Jeb thought.

It had been years – 9 years, in fact – since he had been governor. Sometimes the feeling ate away at him. It had been almost a decade. He yearned for the opportunity to be admired, to accomplish something great… but sometimes he felt like he just didn’t have the energy. He kept his spirits high with one incredible thought: “I’m the son of a president, and the younger brother of a president. That’s pretty amazing in itself.”

Jeb quickly scrawled this thought into the journal on his desk. He cocked his head to the side, and read it again. His brow furrowed, then gave way to a relieved smile.

“Jeb!” Columba yelled, “I’m not going to say it again! Come down for dinner!”

Jeb shut his journal, threw on some long johns and a T-shirt, and walked quickly down the stairs - skipping every other step. It was time for guac.

These got too long for trump gen

> 2016campaignfanfiction wordpress com

I'll be updating here on Sunday with Obama, Stein, and Rubio

Christie, Kasich, Bill Clinton, Glenn Beck, and more to come after that

Bless you user

these are amazing

fukken saved pls post more