The room was dimly lit, a faint glow from the desk lamp casting long shadows across the Oval Office. President Trump, reclined in his chair, was fast asleep, his head tilted to one side, and his tie loosened from a long day of meetings. His muttering broke the stillness.
“Zelensky wants expensive toys and is handing them over to Russia,” he mumbled, his words almost incomprehensible.
He shifted slightly, his expression twisting as the dream unfolded in his mind. “Putin… Putin is a street performer. He stirs up trouble and revs up NATO.” A faint chuckle escaped his lips, as though amused by the absurdity of it all.
In his dream, NATO appeared as a towering machine, its gears powered by Israel, with both entities locked in a symbiotic relationship. “NATO is a separate force of Israel,” he murmured. “They’re in the same business… depend on each other.”
Then his tone softened, almost reverent. “Israel… the guardian of Palestine. Palestinians and Syrians… they have similar faces.” The dream shifted again, growing darker. “Syria and Ukraine… both being manipulated by Russia.”
A loud knock on the door snapped him awake. His aide, a young woman in a crisp suit, pushed the door open and stepped inside. “Mr. President, it’s time for your next appointment. Please leave,” she said firmly, her voice cutting through the haze of sleep.
Trump groaned, straightening his tie and smoothing his hair with practiced precision. “I know, I know,” he grumbled, getting to his feet. He paused briefly in front of a mirror to adjust his signature bangs, then strode out of the room with an air of purpose.
As the door closed behind him, the aide glanced around the office. Her eyes fell on a smartphone lying on the carpet, its screen lit up from the fall. She bent down to pick it up and froze when she saw the wallpaper.
It was a photograph of Kamala Harris, her smile wide and radiant.
The aide straightened, the phone gripped tightly in her hand, her mind racing. A moment later, she slipped the phone into her pocket, her expression unreadable, and left the room.
Outside, the President was already halfway down the hall, his tie perfectly straight, his steps steady, as if he’d never been asleep at all.
All names of people and organizations appearing in this story are pseudonyms.
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