“SENSORIUM” (SHORT STORY)
In an underground soundstage, reality bends.
Electronic stars watch as President Donald Trump prepares for humanity’s reckoning. An apocalyptic threat looms. A new future awaits.
“Sensorium” is a cosmic short story about the end of the world.
How will humanity face its greatest challenge?
Can one man change everything?
1,000 words / 4 minutes of psychedelic reading pleasure
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‘All is flux, nothing stays still.’ Plato
STEFANO BOSCUTTI
SENSORIUM
Copyright 2024 Stefano Boscutti
All Rights Reserved
PRESIDENT DONALD TRUMP is levitating cross-legged above the cream and gold Presidential Seal woven into the carpet of the Oval Office soundstage deep underground.
Makeup artists have removed his fat suit, his latex jowls, his woven hairpiece. His natural hair is white and swept back, his body lithe.
The Hyades star cluster glitters on the giant ultra-high definition LED screens through the white-framed windows and French doors.
Trump closes his eyes. He has to deliver a speech to the United Nations General Assembly in a few hours. Each of the one hundred and ninety-three member states will be present in the General Assembly hall. It will be the most important speech of his life.
It will be the most important meeting since the First Session of the General Assembly was convened four months after the end of World War II.
Now the world faces an even greater threat to peace and security. The threat is as much existential as it is physical. The threat is coming from a distant galaxy.
Trump must prepare the world for an alien invasion he’s known was inevitable for almost a decade. Negotiations with a series of envoys had broken down irrevocably.
A fleet of starships the scale of which no human has ever seen is only days away. How can Trump avert the chaos when the skies darken and the aliens descend from the heavens? When the gods are upon us?
Massive alien starships entering Earth’s atmosphere will trigger a series of unprecedented global events.
Military installations and operations worldwide will go to the highest alert. Emergency broadcasts will flood the internet. Atmospheric disturbances including sonic booms, air displacement and wild weather will whip around the globe.
Widespread panic and traffic jams as people attempt to flee cities or seek shelter. Overwhelmed emergency services and communication networks. Government operations suspended. Stock markets collapse. Birds slip and fall from the sky.
Trump can hear a moth outside one of the French doors, fluttering against a window pane.
How will society cope with this fundamental shift of humanity? From dominator to dominated. From technologically advanced to superseded by science we cannot even imagine.
What will the aliens want? Will they be peaceful? Warmongering? Indifferent?
Trump feels electric starlight ripple through the windows and French doors, scatter over his skin. His heartbeat echoes.
The lighting rig hums overhead with bright key lights and soft fill lights. Everything is attuned to the smallest detail.
Time stretches, warps, as the set around him starts to breathe, the white walls pulsing with a life of their own. Trump opens his eyes as the walls thrum with a soft, ethereal splendour. Gold-framed mirrors vibrate and ripple. The Resolute desk shimmers, its edges blurring and softening.
Warmth spreads through Trump’s body, starting from his core and radiating outward. His skin tingles, each touch of the air on his hands and face magnified tenfold.
Trump imagines past presidents. Their eyes alive, their expressions knowing, as if they’re watching him, judging him.
His thoughts start to splinter, no longer linear but branching out in all directions. He thinks about the weight of this place, the decisions made here that shaped the world, but now these thoughts are tinged with a surreal sense of detachment. Everything feels both incredibly important and incredibly absurd.
Thoughts race through his mind, faster than he can hold onto them. They’re fluid, almost liquid, shifting shapes and meanings with every second. Lapping together into a unified whole where everything is interconnected.
Ideas that once seemed concrete now feel unsettled, malleable. His sense of self begins to dissolve. He’s overwhelmed by a sense of awe and wonder, a sense of humility.
Trump feels a faint, sweet aroma, almost like incense. The air is different - fresher, crisper, with a hint of something metallic. Feels the hush of the FILM CREW, the distant clatter of a LIGHTNING TECHNICIAN adjusting a light stand.
He looks over to one of the three inset doors. It opens to reveal a MILITARY SECURITY GUARD in full combat gear standing to one side in the vast soundstage. Leads and cables snake across the floor.
STEVE BANNON is standing in conversation with one of Trump’s military physicians, DR. JOHN TRAVELL.
‘So how’s the President doing?’
Dr. Travell glances over his shoulder toward Trump, concerned.
‘We’re still trying to level out his medication.’
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Copyright 2024 Stefano Boscutti
All Rights Reserved
The moral rights of the author are asserted.
No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, digital, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or copying and pasting, recording or any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing.
Stefano Boscutti acknowledges the trademark owners of various products referenced in this work. The publication or use of these trademarks is not authorised or sponsored by the trademark owner.
This is a work of fiction. While many of the characters portrayed here have counterparts in the life and times of Donald Trump and others, the characterisations and incidents presented are totally the products of the author’s slippery imagination. This work is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It should not be resold or given away. Thank you for your support. (Couldn’t do it without you.)
Discover novels, screenplays, short stories and more by Stefano Boscutti at boscutti.com