Donald Trump led a secret life.
And in his secret life he encountered loss, hate, and above all, love. Join Donald in this exhilarating journey of acceptance.
Or where I had to write a creative story following the Hero Archetypal for English and le...
It was a bright and sunny day in San Francisco when we decided to go public. We were walking at a comfortable pace, our hands clasped together, swinging back and forth, smiles on our faces. Vladimir kept complaining of the sun beating down on us and I laughed.
"Let it wash over your skin, my dear," I said tugging him to a nearby ice cream shop, "You need it." He scowled at me and stuck out his tongue.
"Unlike you, you Cheeto," I heard him mumble beside me. I gasped and let out a boisterous laugh. I brought my free hand over to give a playful whack to his shoulder.
"I cannot believe you just said that. The absolute disrespect I receive from you," I tsked while shaking my head disappointingly. I held open the door to the ice cream shop, gesturing for Vladimir to walk in front of me. "Beautiful men first," I said sweetly.
"Ugh!" Groaned Vladimir. "I asked for ice cream, not corn."
The next day as we were eating breakfast, I was brought the newspaper. Front page was an article under a picture of both Vladimir and me smiling lovingly at one another while holding hands. It was titled, "Presidential Affairs". I laughed and slid the paper to my counterpart .
"Look at this!" I said with a chuckle. He read over the article and a light blush sprinkled his cheeks.
"We're cute," he said smugly before taking a drink of his coffee.
