[Media prompt] Trump: calling Sen Warren 'Pocahontas’ is ‘an insult to Pocahontas'.
The Pocahontas Gambit
For some time now, the building had been deserted, black and cold, though summer was coming. He sat at a desk on the top floor, his eyes darting back and forth like an animal looking for predators as he watched the banks of screens on the wall in front of him. He focused on one in particular. From far away data streamed into his vision as through a frosted glass, formless and ungainly but taking shape slowly until like a shimmering mirage he saw its final form.
He chewed on a ragged thumbnail. A draft trickled in through the boarded up window and chilled him.
“Something big coming your way,” he typed onto another screen. In seconds notifications ticked over to hundreds and then thousands. He turned his head to the screen on the desk in front of him. The water pumps cooling his towers gurgled quietly, but there was no sound outside the building, not even the wind moaning or the crack of canvas over a window on the floor below.
“Who’s been a silly senator, then?” he asked, running his fingers though his hair.
When he was finished he made himself a cup of tea and smoked his last cigar. He saw daylight fading away on the security monitor. The streetlight opposite came on as he was watching. A mouldering poster with RESIST in faded red hung limply from the pole.
“Idiots,” he said.
“1/9:,” appeared silently on the screen. “Stung by @realDonaldTrump rebuke, @SenWarren goes ahead with DNA test for Indian heritage.”
“2/9: No, I repeat NO, NADA, ZERO evidence of Native Amer/Cherokee heritage. Not a single drop. Not even Mexican. LOL.”
Notification numbers started climbing like the SpaceX altimeter.
“3/9: BUT, and yes, there’s a big BUT. @SenWarren is not pure white. Repeat: Not PURE white. What is she, then?”
“4/9: She not white, becuz she BLACK. She FOUR parts BLACK. Don’t blame me. I dindu nuffin. But she not #fauxcahontas.”
He looked up at the banks of screens. At least two of the three-letter agencies were trying to trace him. They disappeared into a tangle of dead-ends he set, red embers expiring from hubris.
“Morons,” he said.
“5/9: Test results attached for unbelievers. But NOT finished here. Oh, no. Not by a long shot. Better to come.”
He relit his cigar, the bitterness in his mouth making him dizzy and its orange tip crackling over the keyboard. He started typing again.
“6/9: For unbelievers. @SenWarren password – halfbreed49. “Half-breed, that's all I ever heard.” @cher.”
Another trace attempt lit up from DC, following the other three-letters into the quagmire.
“7/9: @SenWarren emails @Blklivesmatter: “As 4% African American feminist, I stand by you and share your pain & suffering.”
“8/9: @Blklivesmatter replies: “Appropriating Black culture is not intersectional feminism. Drop this issue now. You are not Black.”
“9/9: @SenWarren to @Blklivesmatter: “Deleted email. No intention to appropriate. Am committed to platform of racial justice. Need feedback.”
He posted screenshots of the email chain, watching social media feeds light up like Dresden on a clear night, a lifetime ago. The tea was cold but he drained the mug, tipping his head so far back his neck hurt. He heard rain starting to smatter against the boards covering the windows. Perhaps Senator Warren’s re-election campaign would like to make a small donation.