The grand halls of the White House buzzed with activity as Donald Trump prepared to take the oath of office, beginning his second term as President of the United States. Staff members darted in and out of rooms, clutching papers, adjusting microphones, and arguing over final preparations. The air was thick with urgency and a hint of chaos.
In a private room down the hall, the soon-to-be president was engaged in a peculiar practice session. Clad in sweat-stained workout gear, Trump ducked, pivoted, and sidestepped with surprising agility, dodging shoes hurled at him by his personal trainer. “Good! Keep your eyes on the trajectory!” the trainer barked.
“Enough! I’m sweating like a dog!” Trump grumbled, wiping his forehead.
From a corner of the room, his stylist shouted, “Prepare the usual suit—the one made of bulletproof boards and fireproof cloth!”
An assistant peeked through the door. “The usual red tie is fine, right?” she asked, holding up a silk tie that gleamed like a polished Ferrari.
“Always the red tie,” Trump replied, straightening up. “It’s my power color.”
In the adjacent office, a heated discussion unfolded among his staff. The writer of the inaugural speech manuscript waved a stack of edited pages. “I’ve toned it down,” he began, addressing the room. “‘Deportation Program’ is now ‘Criminal Deportation Program.’ Is that acceptable?”
One of the senior aides nodded. “That’s fine. Let’s be honest—we don’t even have the budget to deport all immigrants, so we might as well manage expectations.”
The writer sighed, crossing out another line on the draft. “Fine. Now, about tariffs. We agreed to conditions and time limits, right? But we need specifics. What tariffs will we raise?”
A younger staff member chimed in nervously, “Items that won’t affect the lives of ordinary people, even if prices go up.”
The writer raised an eyebrow. “There’s no such thing.”
“Find it,” the senior aide shot back. “Think harder.”
The room fell silent for a moment, save for the scratching of pens and furious typing. In the corner, a new administration staffer whispered to a colleague, “This is like trying to invent a square circle.”
Meanwhile, Trump entered the office, still dabbing at his neck with a towel. He glanced at the manuscript in the writer’s hands. “What’s the holdup? I want this speech to go down as the greatest in history.”
The writer hesitated. “Just finalizing the details, Mr. President.”
Trump grinned, grabbing a bottle of water. “Good. Details are important. But remember—make it big. Make it bold. And make sure it’s something they’ll never forget.”
With that, he strode out of the room, leaving his staff to scramble in his wake. Outside, the countdown to inauguration ticked on, and the world braced for what was to come.
All names of people and organizations appearing in this story are pseudonyms.
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