Donald Trump: The Wounded Golden Beast.
The Golden Beast
In the days of old, upon the vast and arid savannah, there dwelt a mighty beast, a creature of formidable strength and unmatched dominion. This Beast, known among all as the Golden Beast, held sway over every living thing that moved upon the earth. The air was dry and heavy with the scent of dust and sunbaked earth, and the sky stretched out in a relentless expanse of blue, offering no respite from the searing heat. His roar was as the thunder, and his stride as the tempest. All animals, great and small, did tremble at his presence and bowed before his might.
The Tyrant's Reign
From the rise of the all-seeing, all-wise Sister Sun to the ascent of the all-knowing, all-forgiving Brother Moon, the Golden Beast ruled with craven ambition unfettered. His every gluttonous movement was steeped in arrogance, the avaricious greed in his lustful eyes outshone only by the blinding intensity of his tyrannical wrath. His mighty shoulders were draped in golden attire; his fur dyed the same hue as the shimmering metal he coveted above all else. He commanded his subjects to bring him only gifts, honours, trinkets, and prizes forged from the purest gold. His hunger for wealth and splendour knew no bounds. The air around him seemed to crackle with an oppressive energy, a palpable sense of his dominance. His pack lived in perpetual fear, kept in line by his fierce glares and sudden outbursts. Even his most loyal followers felt the sting of his temper and the weight of his expectations.
The Whispered Rebellion
Yet, in the hidden places of the land, there conspired a company of lesser creatures, the meek and the humble, whom the Golden Beast had long oppressed. These were the fox and the jackal, the meerkat and the mongoose, small in stature but wise in their cunning. They saw the injustice of the Beast's tyranny. They whispered about deliverance, their breath carrying the scent of dry grass and desperation.
The Fall of the Golden Beast
One fateful day, as the Golden Beast lay in his lair, basking in his supremacy and the scent of his own power, the small creatures hatched a plan to end his evil reign. They did not confront him in the open field, where his strength was at its peak, but under the cover of night, where shadows offered refuge. United by a shared purpose, they encircled him, and with swift and coordinated strikes, they wounded his mighty form. Thirty and two scars they left, symbols of their rebellion and his vulnerability.
The Golden Beast, now wounded and weakened, roared in pain and confusion. The smell of his blood mingled with the dust of the savannah, a potent reminder of his fallibility. No longer did he seem invincible. The scars upon his flesh were a sign to all the beasts of the field: the Beast could be harmed. The fear that had once held them in bondage began to melt away, replaced by a newfound courage.
The Dawn of Freedom
Seeing their sovereign in such a state, the other animals, emboldened by the sight of his suffering, rose to smite him. The lion roared in defiance, the elephant trumpeted rebellion, and even the smallest creatures, the mouse and the sparrow, darted to challenge his authority.
And so, the Golden Beast's reign came to an end. The savannah, once his kingdom, was now free from his tyrannical rule. The great and small animals rejoiced in their newfound liberty, for they had learned that even the mightiest can fall and that unity and resolve can overcome even the greatest oppressors. The once glittering lustre of his golden tyranny faded, giving way to the bright, honest light of freedom and hope.