Hakeem takes the oath
It was a Thursday, which meant chicken for lunch at the House Democratic Caucus and at least one member asking if they could bring their emotional support chinchilla onto the House floor. Hakeem Jeffries had, as always, nodded politely, made a mental note to ask legal counsel, and then excused himself to listen to the Wu-Tang Clan on noise-canceling headphones in his office for twelve minutes before the budget meeting. It had been less than a week since House Democrats, capitalizing on their midterm blue wave, had elected him Speaker.
That was when the Secret Service arrived.
They did not knock. They appeared, like evangelical missionaries or Republican subpoenas—unexpected, urgent, and never smiling. A tall woman with aviator sunglasses and the forearms of a fencing champion leaned in and said, “Mr. Speaker, you need to come with us now.”
“I haven’t done anything—this week,” Jeffries replied, already reaching for his jacket.
“No, sir,” she said. “You’re not under arrest. The president is dead.”
Jeffries paused, blinked once, and said, “I think you might need to be more specific.”
---
Across the Atlantic, two hours earlier, the sky had looked like brushed steel. The ocean below was unyielding, the stiffness of bureaucracy.
The “Presidential Flying Palace,” a gleaming Boeing 747 retrofitted with gold fixtures and a whiskey cabinet rumored to be haunted by the ghost of Steve Bannon’s dignity, was making steady progress toward Scotland. On board were Donald Trump, who insisted on personally choosing the aircraft's carpeting ("velvety, like a really great steak"), and his vice president, J.D. Vance, who was currently in the private cabin watching YouTube videos of himself on mute.
The aircraft’s fly-by-wire system went dark at 3:42 a.m. EST. The cockpit screens fizzled and blacked out. Radios died. The pilot, a man who had flown for four administrations and quietly voted for Liz Cheney in every primary just to feel something, said, “That’s not supposed to happen.”
Moments later, the jet lurched. The autopilot disengaged. Then the hydraulics.
Flight 747 did not spiral. It fell. There were no survivors.
The official statement would use words like "electromagnetic interference," "catastrophic systems failure," and "possibly linked to solar activity," though it would not escape conspiracy theory forums, where the leading explanation became “Yemenis in Qatar.”
---
By the time Jeffries was escorted into the Situation Room, still wondering whether he had enough sleep to be crediting this with reality, the room was already packed with Admirals, Generals, NSA senior staff, and white-faced White House cabinet members and close advisors to the former president, looking at him, disbelieving.
To one side, by a flag stand, the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court stood solemnly cradling a leather-bound Bible. Just beside him stood Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson, her expression unreadable but eyes sharp as a surgeon's scalpel.
The moment was brisk. No pomp, no Marine band, no tearful crowds. Just the whirr of AC, the scent of Pentagon-grade coffee, and the click of shoes on linoleum. Jeffries raised his right hand.
"Do you solemnly swear—"
He did.
"—to preserve, protect—"
He would.
"—and defend the Constitution—"
To the best of his ability, yes.
Then it was done. A president created not by campaign or coronation, but by catastrophe.
---
After the room cleared and when the military briefings paused, Justice Jackson touched Jeffries lightly on the elbow and gestured toward a private alcove, one of those nondescript federal spaces designed for secrets and cheap sandwiches.
She closed the door behind them.
"Mr. President," she said, evenly, "I wanted to tell you this before the rest do."
Jeffries sat down. His breath was steady. He suddenly noticed he had no idea where his phone was.
“You are now the first Black president since Barack Obama. The first to come from Congress instead of the campaign trail. The first by accident.” She paused. “History is paying attention. But it’s not interested in your excuses.”
He looked at her. “Are you giving me a pep talk, or a warning?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” she said. “But either way, it’s short. Because you have six minutes before the Joint Chiefs want to talk about continuity of government, and someone from Treasury is probably already screaming about cryptocurrency markets.”
He nodded.
She added, more softly, “The country needs more than survival right now. It needs clarity. Decency, maybe. Something that isn't a punchline or a power trip.”
He stood. Straightened his jacket. “I’ll do what I can.”
Justice Jackson opened the door. Within two weeks, she would become the new Chief Justice.
Image to video by Runway Gem4 turbo
---
The White House hallway was quiet as he stepped out of the elevator. Still too early for the morning staff. Still too late to go back to being a guy with a Spotify playlist for legislative moods.
The silence felt different now.
He walked forward, already listening.
___
This short story was AI-generated. It has been only lightly edited. ChatGPT provided not only the content requested but also excellent style and tone. Maybe an AI can give the Presidential Flying Palace a good going-over.
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| A young boy receives food from a community kitchen in the southern Gaza Strip. © Abdel Kareem Hana/AP |
And speaking of resettling refugees, did you know? A study by Poland’s National Development Bank found that the influx of Ukrainians added between 0.5% and 2.5% to GDP growth and paid more in taxes than they received in benefits.
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#RestorationGeneration.
When humans are locked in a cage, the Earth continues to be beautiful. Therefore, the lesson for us is that human beings are not necessary. The air, soil, sky and water are still beautiful without you. So, when you step out of the cage, please remember that you are guests of the Earth, not its hosts.
We have a complete solution. We can restore whales to the ocean and bison to the plains. We can recover all the tremendous old-growth forests. We possess the knowledge and tools to rebuild savannah and wetland ecosystems. Coral reefs rebuilt with biorock build beaches faster than the seas are rising. It is not too late. All of these great works of nature are recoverable. We can have a human population sized to harmonize, not destabilize. We can have an atmosphere that heats and cools just the right amount, is easy on our lungs and sweet to our nostrils with the scent of ten thousand flowers. All of that beckons. All of that is within reach.
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