Trump Plans to Release Classified JFK Documents
“Wha...where am I?”
The man became alive in darkness, yet there was some surface that supported his body. He was lying down, head feeling it had taken a bullet, not quite sure who he was nor the strange land he inhabited. Slowly, he rose, the invisible ground shifting as he moved.
“Wha...what is this place?”
As if answering his question, a faint ball of aquarium light faded into existence, illuminating the midnight blue fur which he stood upon, as well as a particular symbol a little off in the distance. The man wasn't quite sure what reaction he was supposed to have other than fright and confusion, gazing around the infinite darkness around him.
“Hello!” he called out into the void. “Is anyone there?”
The ground below him shift. A rumble in the distance felt like a roar to him. Whatever he was on, it was alive, and it didn't seem to know that he was there. Adrenaline pumped through his veins at being in the vicinity of a giant.
“What...what is this place!” the man shouted off into the void, hearing no echo, nothing at all. Something lurked in the darkness; something that could crush him in a second, yet he was too tired to be worried. “Is someone there? Is something there?”
The only response came yet again from the ball of light. It exuded a few faint halo of lights, earning the man's attention, before it began to glide forward, and taking its light with it. The man felt the darkness slithering up his ankles, and did not want to be left in that nothingness again.
As he slowly walked forward, the man in took the details of this strange place, of himself. The ground would indent whenever he took a step by less than an inch, decompressing for his weight. He also wore a suit, black jacket and white dress shirt, though the latter was stained with blood.
Slowly, he brought down his fingers and pressed it against his torso, feeling no pain and finding no wound; the blood too dry to leave an impression on his fingers. Try as he might, he could not ponder the origin of the blood, for his head hurt far worse than what any migraine could induce.
The man looked out to the farthest reach of the light, hoping to see some sort of land, anything that clue him in to wherever he was, but there was only more nothingness. Walking on a giant in a vacuum of space, if it were not for the fur, the man would have assumed he was stepping on the turtle that held up the world.
“You there. Ball of light!” The man looked up as he addressed the thing which led him. “Do you possess sentient consciousness? Can you understand English? Can you understand me at all?”
It did not stop. It did not reply with the halos of light. The ball of light kept gliding forth, covering land in light when it came for a small period of time, and when it left, that land would be in darkness forever. The man stopped walking to process this thought, only for the light to fade, and he knew that if he did move, he would be left the same just as those forgotten lands.
“Are you moving on your own?” The man continued to ask even though he knew he wouldn't get a response. “Or is there something controlling you?” He gasped, stricken by pain from his frontal lobe, which he desperately grasped at with both hands. His fingers tried to repress the pain, but it spread throughout his body anyway.
“Agh!” the man panted. “Ahh,' the man tried to breathe. “Ahhhhhh.” The pain grew worse as it traveled through his veins. “AHHHHHHHHHHH.” The man fell to his knees, screaming and crying as agony tore through his body. “Help. Oh god. Please help me!” His body felt light, like he had boarded a plane taking off.
The man fell forward. He did not move as he lied down. He felt an iota of warmth travel along his back, before the coldness of space began to bit at him. It was not the pain that bothered him anymore; it was the coldness.
“Please...ack...don't...go...” The man tilted up his head, watching the ball of light slowly glide away. He reached out a hand towards it, as if to siege it in his palm. “...don't...leave me...please...”
The ball of light did not pause. It did not respond. It's last particles of light were beginning to travel past his head, and, in a few moment, he would be apart of the land lost and forgotten in the dark. Every part of his body felt like it had been set aflame, an inch intensifying the pain, but wouldn't it be worth the agony to stay in the light for just a little longer?
The man crawled forward. His hands reached as far forward as they could, enduring the pain of his creaking joints, as he grabbed onto distant tufts of fur, and used them to pull himself forward. He repeated the process, over and over, staying within the lights end...and slowly catching up.
“...I'm not gonna...” He coughed. “...going...to let myself...die...here...” He coughed blood. “...I'm going to acquire my dream...to make all this is wrong right...I'm going to be a great man!” More blood, gushing from his forehead as well, but he did not care. In the distance, he saw shapes on the ground, and he knew that his greatness, that his dream was within reach of his bloody hands.
“...we're going to make it there...the dream of a man...the dream of a nation!” The man began to pick himself up, standing up on brittle legs and a flimsy torso, but he held himself anyway. Despite the pain, despite his flaw, despite it all, the man would hold to greatness not only for himself, but all those whom he served. “I'm glad to announce...my fellow people...that our great country...”
The man began to rush forward. He felt the pain, the aches, the snaps and the blood gushing into his eyes, but he saw through it all. His feet stepped onto a surface darker than black, like deep space itself, and even left the light of the ball that had guided him so far.
But the man no longer needed it.
For, this man, saw the light in the distance, of the thing that everyone dreams under, and would one day dream upon. It was a goal that showed the next progression of his species, and he would be the one to show how far his kind had come. In his own passions and resilience, the man ran to the moon, which emitted its own faint light.
Run run run.
Step step step.
Crawl crawl crawl.
The line was crossed. Warmth flooded across his skin. He was on the moon the belonged to this giant, something maybe more dangerous than the real thing, yet he had done it, and he had done it with the human spirit. The pain surging through his body began to fade, yet the aching in his head would never leave.
“I see you have done well, little one.” The man's eyes shot open, almost blinded by the moon he had fallen upon. He was scared to move, even to blink, as more of the warmth flushed over him. But...where was that warmth coming from in a place that resembled the emptiness of space?
“Don't pretend to have already burned-out,” the voice said again, accompanied by a familiar warmth. “Your spirit is fickle, but yet not over. Rise now, and address that which causes your fright.”
The man was confused. The man was scared. The burst that had shown him to his dream had faded away, leaving just the man, exposed in bloody dress clothes. Slowly, he rose, and looked up into the nothingness, and saw two beautiful blue stars, framed by dark eyelashes.
“What...are you?”
The face shifted, a few giggles escaping out a dark blue muzzle, which was slender almost to perfection. “I am an alicorn Princess of Equrstia,” she said, awashing him in the warmth of her breath. “It is my duty to oversee the propsiety of my nation, to quell the nightmares that arise in the dreamscape...and to escort humans who have lost their life into the eternal void.”
“E-Eternal void?” The man could not help but stutter, hardly ever doing so in his life. He was microscopic, standing on the body of a giant horse, and yet, the greatest fear of human kind overridden any sense of confusion. “D-Do you mean d-death?”
The giant face nodded.
“Your death was not a fair one, especially to a man of your stature, Mr. President.” Something had been echoing in the man's head, something other than the blistering pain, and now, it had been given a forum. “You were a man about moving his kind forward, towards a better future, to distant goals that require progression, to the point that you pressured those things even in near death. Your name is JFK, and you were a great man, and because of that, your nation killed you for it.”
JFK felt as though his brains were going to explode. The pain was unbearable as he stood still, as he remained in stagnation. He felt himself ready to fall to his knees, either from the pain or the horrible truth of it all.
“Move now, President, go forward, even in death!” the heavenly voice said. “It is your way, and to go against it is to kill something more than yourself.”
JFK did not move, he did not think, he did not do. He stood there, on the moon, basking in the light of his recent accomplishment, but even that was beginning to dim. It all was beginning to dim. The blood in his eyes begun to stung, and if he kept like this, just standing around and doing nothing, then the pain would get worse. Nothing would happen if he did not move forward, and that's what scared him most.
They were small, painful steps, but JFK took them forward.
A smile blossomed on the giant lips, the eyes above watching every inch of progress he made. “You're doing good, Mr. President, you're moving forward. With everything you ever did, it was always a move forward, and that philosophy is at the heart of the doctrine, in which, we rule our nation with.”
JFK wanted to cry, but blood was already dripping out of his eyes. He did not know this horse and almost hated this horse. He knew that he had to be careful, as if he were talking to a goddess, but he slowly began to stop caring. The president was moving forward with every step, and that would cover everything, so he stopped caring.
“A giant horse governs a nation in complete darkness,” JFK said, his shoes squishing with own blood. “And I'm walking along its body to my own demise.” He cast an eye upward to the two gigantic ones that looked down at him. “Tell me, why is that you're a giant hovering over little ponies?”
“Our ponies are little to us, but still giants to you.” Her muzzle lost its smile, face slowly retracting into the darkness, taking the light emitting from her eyes further away from him. “It's you humans that are so tiny, so full of spirit to prove themselves to the beyond, despite not knowing what lurks there.'
JFK”s steps became shorter in the distance. Even though blood covered his face, fear still made a visible impression on it. He looked up fully to the distant goddess. “You mean...you're not the worst thing the cosmos could convince?”
“Heaven's no!” Her head wavered in the head. There was nothing the little human could to do hurt her, but words still stung. “There exist a cosmos beyond your cosmos, one which someone like I is but a particle of dust. We still live on with this knowledge, but we have not tried to defy it like you humans have.”
“But, in the end, it's pointless, right?” JFK said, his steps barely covering an inch, but at least he was still moving forward. These thoughts were slowing him down, killing his movement. “Our goal to reach the moon when there's countless more, dwarfed by the likes of you. Our existence could be crushed in an instant, and yet, we go on blissfully unaware.”
“But that's where our respect comes from,” she said. “You are hopelessly minuscule with no hope to do or change anything, yet you proceed to anyways for countless generations. Your kind is determination and grit, and you are the living embodiment of the human principle. Even with the overwhelming truth, you still go forward, even If your foots are small in the grand scheme of things.” She took a breath, bringing back her light as her muzzle came dangerous close to the little man. “The only thing that bothers you, is that your steps are too small for your own liking.”
JFK listened. The words of the giant horse stirred something within him, something caple of brightening or extinguishing the fire of his spirit, and it was his choice which would occur next. He looked down, not in defeat, but to see just how much distance his steps were covering.
Minscuile.
Minscuile.
Inch.
Inch.
Foot.
Foot.
The light grew brighter, in both his spirit, and in her eyes.
“Your death was tragic, a dream forever taken away from you—a keeper of the dreamscape would never let such a crime transpire. If the humans would not right the wrong that they had set upon themselves, then it was up to ponykind to give you your last wish before you met your demise.”
“The moon,” JFK muttered to himself, yet loud enough for her to still hear. “More than anything, I would stare up at the moon, late into the night, and dream of sometime going there. I knew I lacked what it took to get there and gave that duty to someone else, but even in my most private dreams, I wanted to be the one to have done the deed.”
“And that you have,” the giant face said, pulling away further and further, knowing that the human was reaching his end. “You have woken up on the rump of a giant, traveled across her cheek to reach the moon adorning her butt, and is now bravely walking to his own death.”
The human was too far gone in moving forward to even care about the absurdity of it all. His life was absurd. His kind was absurd. His world was absurd. His cosmos was absurd, and that which was beyond it was infinitely so. If life and death was such an absurd thing, then he might as well die absurdly.
JFK whipped around, did a moon walk on the alicorn's right butt cheek, before falling down, and dying.
