DOGE riffed Congress. “They’re a waste of space.” The ACLU protested to the Supremes and lost 5-4, in an unsigned opinion. Executive orders are now the law of the land.
His majesty, Donald I, plans to build a “Big, Golden Wall” in the oval office as a backdrop for signing executive orders. He led a column of minions wheeling suitcases filled with gold bars from Fort Knox. He declared, “Forget gold; Bit Coin is the new normal.”
Next up: inefficiency in the court system. DOGE sent layoff notices to all federal court judges, including the Supremes. There are no appeals.
After a downpour, the Stetson disintegrated into an ill-formed mess. The cowboy set it on the hatter’s counter. “A replacement. Free.”
In a nasal tone, the fastidiously dressed clerk said, “No guarantees.”
The cowboy pulled out his gun. “This here’s my guarantee.”
“This here’s my answer.”
The cowboy’s gun flew from his hand. He hit the basement floor. Ominously, a trap door snapped shut above him. Blood trickled from his head.
The place smelled worse than the stockyards. In the dim light he saw sewing machines and skeletal workers manning them. Lord, oh Lord, what had he gotten himself into?
They sloughed into DC for the inauguration. They meant to get there sooner, but the polar vortex swept down and froze the engines on their hogs. They took a bus to DC. Man, they were jazzed. Trump would “Make America Misogynist Again.” Overturning Roe was a down payment. He’d keep his promise to protect women, “Whether they like it or not.”
Tex, the organizer, noticed there were no chicks in the crowd. Ladies, way too delicate for this weather. He checked his dating app. Every woman’s profile said, “Not interested. Back in 2029, maybe.” WTF?
On her eighteenth birthday, her mother presented the princess with golden slippers, shiny, with sensible heels and a square toe, perfect for adventuring. The princess tried them on. They fit perfectly.
“They always will,” her mother said. “They cost a pretty penny, but they’re worth it.”
Her mother’s last adventure had been to the place where pretty pennies are mined. “We’ll travel. We’ll have such fun. You can’t imagine.”
The princess looked at her mother’s feet, but they were shod in ordinary leather. “Those are your Adventure shoes?”
“They change to suit the occasion. They’re quite useful.”
The day before the election results come in, I’m anxious. I shuffle and create a spread, laying Tarot cards on the counter. The High Priestess represents my question. This card symbolizes divine law. The future is hidden, but intuition can be a flashlight in the dark. Which way to go? Towards integrity or expedience? It is an uneasy choice.
The Tower and the Ace of Wands (reversed) suggest a past where change has been postponed. We struggle to transform an outmoded system. It will take longer than one election cycle to develop the collective awareness required to come to consensus. In the short term, established institutions will remain in place.
How does one cope? The Hanged Man suggests a pause, a rebirth, and a reassertion of the feminine principle. Integration comes from a process of sifting facts, feelings, and thoughts together. Can we do it? The Six of Pentacles (reversed) points to money selfishly misused, an environment that must change. The Emperor is the X-factor, the unexpected outcome. The card represents rule by force under patriarchal institutions. If this is the election’s outcome, I hope we unite to change direction and reach for a different future under the rainbow card.
The dust flew in front of her broom raising a cloud in the moonlight. She swept when she wanted, ate when she pleased. The rhythm of the ocean, the lighthouse, and her life as caretaker filled her days and nights. The flashing Fresnel lens, its light constant, guided sailors in the worst weather. Guided them safely to shore. A guide is what she’d become. She knew the rocky, sandy, sea-stained cliffs.
She knew enough to steer clear. She’d learned on her own wreck of a life. In the damp ocean air, she watched the moon cycle through never changing phases.
By the third attempted murder, I was onto my stepmother. It was the almond smell that gave her away. When she showed up at the door, I cheeked the apple and did a fake faint. Overconfident, she left without checking my breathing. That evening, the dwarves and I made a plan.
Doc certified the death certificate and the dwarves laid me in a glass coffin. Sleepy’s in a narcolepsy group with a few royal types. Before you could say Prince Charming, I was in another kingdom. At the wedding, Grumpy wrestled Mommie Dearest into iron shoes; Happy lit the fire
A burley soldier shoved Hansel aside. The soldier had taken his father’s leather, paid nothing, and laughed when Hansel’s father said they’d starve if he made no shoes. The soldier said, “Old man, we fight for you.”
Fight! But everyone wanted peace. Food and peace. Gretel, his sister, Jakob, his uncle, even his stepmother, though she gave no peace herself. Hansel stooped; straightened, stone in hand. In anger, he threw a rock at the swagger of a man. All of Hansel’s feelings, hopes, and fears flew with it. At the moment of impact, the world exploded into a forest path.
– Sir, you have said that your peeps respect the “building,” the Senate, and the dress code should reflect that. Care to comment on the deer horns guy? January 6? He broke in. He was convicted of felony obstruction after sitting on the Senate dais encouraging rioters.
– Let’s just say, tourists can wear what they want. It’s a free country.
– But does it show respect, sir?
– Well, within our community, far right Republicans, free to dress and act is a cultural imperative that I am not in a position to judge.
Now, excuse me while I slip into something more comfortable.
Edmund Dulac, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
She rushed along a lightening illuminated path. Mud sucked one satin slipper off, the other she tossed away calling it useless, like she had the cooks whose roast meat was not bloody enough, their bread not crusty enough. Torrential tears fell. Rain streamed from her hair, her clothes, and the tip of her nose.
A man and his unruly mare pulled up, clods flying.
“Fool, do you know who I am,” she asked.
Eyebrow raised, he said, “A woman in need of dry clothes.” The lord carried her to his castle, grand as her father’s.
Monica's Monday Morning Flash 
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