The Tragic Tale of Olivia Moss

“The anomaly is destroying everything we’ve worked towards since I was elected. We can’t keep undercutting her in the polls. Someone’s going to notice... they probably already have.” Democratic National Committee (DNC) President Seema Nanda spoke with terror in her voice. The power of the establishment had never been in such jeopardy before.

“How is this even possible? One ​fucking​ video, four years ago, nonethless, and she’s unstoppable!” She took a long dramatic pause. Interns looked at each other in confusion as they wondered what they should do. Advisors kept their mouths shut.
Her voice reemerged angrily, “I... said... I... want... a... fucking COFFEE! Get me. A. fucking. COFFEE!!!!”
The intern she had directed this at was trembling, as if struggling to maintain control of his bladder. “Uh...” *gulp* “President Nanda ma’am, you never... you never asked for... ok I’m on it, I’ll get you a coffee.”

Olivia Moss never saw herself running for President, but once she had decided she was, she definitely never saw herself getting this far. It all started with a bang. Well, actually it started with thirteen. Thirteen limp, lifeless bodies on the floor. Twelve of them were her students. The other her husband. The elementary school principal of nine years had had enough.

In 2006 when Olivia was promoted to Principal, school shootings were nothing more than a freak event that happened to a few unlucky victims. So much had changed since then. Since Sandy Hook, she kept telling herself it would never happen ​here​. But then it did.

A few minutes later, Seema Nanda had calmed herself down. Several extremely unsubtle rips of a Hillary Clinton-embroidered JUUL had helped in this process. “Interns are dumb. I want him fired. Anyway... we just spent $125 million dollars advertising Joe Biden. $23 million advertising the anamoly’s DUI from 2004. All she spent was $500,000 on facebook ads in March, BEFORE SHE EVEN OFFICIALLY ANNOUNCED. She gets more likes on Twitter than Mayor Pete, godspeed him and his complacent self, and she has half the followers! She keeps climbing, even with us rigging them! Guys, we​need t​o settle this issue.” The DNC President’s eyes were bloodshot. It looked like she hadn’t slept in days.

Tears swam down Olivia’s face like fish fleeing it’s predator. The media had not respected her repeated requests for privacy. The cameras were all pointed at her. She felt like a watermelon had exploded in her stomach. ​How could this have happened. She spoke from the heart, loud and dignified. She talked about the grieving mothers who’d hysterically entered her office after the event had occurred, demanding answers. She spoke like an accidental politician, “we can’t keep dancing around this issue. I got used to seeing 329 bright smiling faces every morning as I greeted them off the bus every morning.” Deep breath in. More tears. “Now I have to get used to seeing I’ll see twelve less. And tonight there’ll be nobody sleeping next to me.” Her tear ducts continued to precipitate rain to envy a hurricane. “We. need. Gun control. NOW.”

Four years later, Olivia Moss is running for president, and she is polling nationally at 11%.

“I think it’s time to call in the big guns. We need Anderson at CNN to stop letting her on, all it does is hurt us. And for fucks sake, what if she makes it to the debate stage? It’s sure looking like she will hit Tom’s qualifications... which he wrote specifically​ to keep her of the fuck away! If she’s there, not to mention, there is absolutely ​no​ chance she doesn’t find out... serious measures are going to have to be taken!” The roomful of interns and advisors sat quietly with scrunched up faces. About a year ago, they’d all met in the same chrome-walled room discussing this very possibility. The idea that a ​real person​ could stand a chance in the 2020 Democratic Presidential Primacy. At the time it had seemed like such a longshot, it only justified the occurrence of one meeting. Now it was the only thing they could think about.

Olivia Moss was a widow, a person with an agenda that was based in the values of the people. All she wanted was to help the world swing on from the funk it had been in since the century commenced. It didn’t hurt that she was essentially a perfect combination of your “Jackie” and your “Marilyn”. Beautiful, composed, classy, smart, relatable. A respectable mother and feminist yet a brilliant elusive mistress all in one. Men and women alike placed their faith in her, and the reason why was obvious. Charisma, intelligence, a real person, not a bureaucrat, the ladder being arguably the most important. And so by the time June 2019 had rolled around, the idea of her being an underdog was old news. A debate was the perfect setting to show the potential voters how different she was from the calculated empty suits pitted against her.

The Arsht Center in Miami Florida was hot and humid, even inside. Olivia tried to keep her nerves complacently numb. She’d done anything and everything to try to keep her breathing in check. Four long seconds in the nose... five longer out the mouth. The world stopped but her heart kept racing. She was terrified. Of course, there was nothing to be nervous about. The only thing she had to worry about was countering attacks from her opponents on her lack of experience.

Almost instantly upon her arrival backstage, interns sent from the DNC came up to her, giddly introducing themselves as ​her ​interns (for the day). They brought her coffee and snacks, Advil, and repeatedly suggested to Olivia a strong drink to remedy her relentless nerves. In addition to that weirdly terrible advice, they also gave her terrible advice for the debate itself, which Olivia felt was a little strange. No harm no foul, she was too smart to take it.

At one point, the famous DNC President, Seema Nanda, entered Olivia’s dressing room backstage to introduce herself with a plastic grin and a reluctant hug. “You’re not going to need it,” said the committee President, “but good luck! Let your interns know if there’s anything you need that you can’t find in here!” And just like that, she treaded out of the room, as she flashed one last crocodile smile on her way out. “I hope I’ll be seeing more of you!” Olivia wondered if she would... also where was Chairman Tom Perez? The media talked about him like he owned the party.

Seema Nanda’s passive-aggressive behavior did not set off any alarms for Olivia, although she did find it a little odd how all of a sudden that she was the number three polling candidate, yet she had only just met the President of the DNC, right before the first debate. Come to think of it... she hadn’t even seen any of her fellow candidates. Backstage hadn’t seemed big enough to keep them all separate. And it’s not like people weren’t around. Olivia had noticed their respective teams were everywhere, checking everything and making sure every detail was perfect. But the candidates were all noticeably absent.

Olivia decided it was time to leave the nest of her dressing room. So she told her campaign manager she was taking a walk, and left the room. Interns, assistants, everyone but the candidates as far as the eye could see. Olivia felt a lot of eyes on her. However, she spotted Beto O’Rourke out of the corner of her eye. She walked towards him in an attempt to introduce herself. Olivia had always considered him relatively attractive, and she was actually quite excited to say hi. But as she got closer, she noticed that he wasn’t moving. He looked like a doll. A very lifelike doll. Figures, that handsome devil.

“Oh my, Miss Moss I’ve been ​dying​ to meet you!” Rachel Maddow appeared out of fucking nowhere, right into Olivia’s line of vision. Olivia tried to smile as she leaned around Maddow to see that Congressman O’Rourke had disappeared. ​Strange​, she thought.

Even weirder, Rachel Maddow had very little to say to Olivia. For all the shit she gives Olivia on her MSNBC program, Olivia figured at least a cryptic half-apology would be nice. Before she knew it, the discussion was over.

Olivia walked over to the corner where Beto had been standing, but realized as she approached it that he was behind her, moving at a rather brisk pace. She spun around to see that the former congressman wasn’t walking around backstage, no, the tall Texan appeared to be standing on a trolley, his expression completely still and neutral. Just like before. He didn’t blink. He didn’t cast his gaze any direction but forward. The trolley passed by quickly, and before any interaction could take place, he was gone. ​Damn, he must really be in the zone​, she thought. She was jealous because while Beto got pampered and transported around, she still hadn’t calmed down a nano-smidge.

But that feeling quickly transformed into confusion. It swam through her neurons. What the fuck was that?​ Beto O’Rourke, the guy who ran a 5k while running for Senate just a year ago... the guy who stood on tables to give speeches. Why couldn’t he just walk around by himself?

As Olivia was in deep contemplation, she noticed Amy Klobuchar maybe twenty feet away from her near the snack table. Olivia decided to shake off the weird altercation with Beto and introduce herself to the Minnesotan.

“Ms. Klobuchar, I’m Olivia it’s really nice to meet you.” Olivia stuck out a hand, receiving a cold, mechanic shake in return.

“Olivia, we don’t really do this before debates. I’ve gotta upload some new talking points, if you know what I mean!” Amy laughed loudly at her own joke and then stopped abruptly. “See you on stage, it was great to meet you!” The smile that should’ve been on her face, but wasn’t, made her tone sound incredibly fake. Amy looked right through Olivia and gazed blankly out into the edge of the universe. Then the smile came.

That was enough weirdness for now​, Olivia decided as she went back to her room for a cup of coffee. She was so stressed out she asked one of the interns if they’d give her a massage.
“I’ll do it,” said the only male intern almost instantly.

As the clock struck eight, Olivia stood upon a clean black stage with three people to her left and six to her right. The curtain had yet to reveal them to the crowd. Olivia still hadn’t even met most of her peers. From left to right; Julian Castro, Amy Klobuchar, Andrew Yang, Bernie Sanders, Joe Biden, Elizabeth Warren, Olivia Moss, Beto O’Rourke, Pete Buttigieg, and Marianne Williamson.

The stage room was completely silent. All the candidates stood completely still, not blinking, not moving. It’s also worth noting that from Marianne Williamson emminated a sound of synth-like psychedelic bliss. ​Very calming​ thought Olivia. Biden’s comatose state was occasionally broken by slurred statements like; “poor kids are just as smart and just as talented as white kids” or “we choose truth over facts.” ​Are these vocal warm ups or something​? Bernie Sanders coughed repeatedly, either clearing his throat, or banning his secret case of lung cancer to the air in the room.

“Mr. Biden, why don’t you repeat statements you plan on saying instead of repeating your butchered comments?” Olivia didn’t expect the former Vice President to answer her, but she thought it valuable advice.

“He can’t hearrrr youuuuuu!” sang Marianne Williamson, “heeeeee’s brokennnn!”

A moment later, Seema Nanda jogged over to Biden and whispered a few indistinguishable statements into her walkie-talkie. Olivia was able to make out “Biden-bot is gaffing again.” ​Biden-bot?​ Just as President Nanda was finishing up whatever the hell she was doing to Joe Biden under the tarp she had thrown around him, she left with a sketchy glance toward Olivia. The clock above the curtain was counting down to the start of the debate. ​1 minute, 49 seconds​. This had already been a strange night for Olivia. It certainly had not gone the way she’d expected; Seema Nanda is weird, what the hell is a Biden-bot, Klobuchar told her “we don’t do this”, why was Beto O’Rourke being carried around on a trolley like a dead body?

Is everybody that runs for President a... robot?​ Floored by the revelation, she looked around at her contenders for the nomination. Biden wasn’t glitching anymore. Nothing was happening. It didn’t feel like she was in a room with fellow people, it felt like she was in a room with stuffed animals. She wondered if Marianne Williamson was the only other real person in there with her, as Marianne started cackling like a sick witch with a love potion on the cauldron. She couldn’t believe the level of deception Washington was taking on the American people, and yet she could. Donald Trump was president, after all. ​How many years has this been going on?​ She wondered what would happen when the DNC realized she knew, and then she realized they probably already did. ​This has to be why they’ve been treating me so weird!​ She knew, she was in serious danger.

Olivia looked to her right and then to her left. The formerly stolid robots surrounding her had come to life. They all grinned from cheek to cheek, started shaking each others hands, and waved to the crowd. The clock reached zero. The curtains opened. “Miami, please help me welcome the candidates of the Democratic nomination for the Presidential election of 2020!” Joe Scarborough grinned from the moderator desk ten meters away. ​I’m on a stage with nine (maybe eight) robots.​

The Aftermath

Three weeks after the debate, Olivia was awoken by her ringtone. It was 7:46AM. Her deputy campaign manager was on the other end, breathless, and horrified.
“Jesus Olivia we’re fucked. You need to look at the Washington Post. Call me in the morning or if you need anything. I need to... I need to figure out how to contain this.” Before she even had a chance to react, he hung up. She looked herself up and added “Washington Post”. There it was. ​Drugs, Lies, Scandal: Moss Meanders Meekly through Complete Mental Breakdown​. The damning headline was accompanied by a photograph of Moss in her dressing room before the debate, and it was very zoomed in so it looked like the viewer was there with her. Olivia remembered that horrible night very well.

“Miss Moss?” asked Scarborough, “what do you think makes a former elementary school principal with no experience in public service qualified to be POTUS?”

“Well... very few people know this, but before he became president, before he was even in the House, Abraham Lincoln was the principal of his local Elementary school.”

“Olivia, that is not true.” said Joe. For obvious reasons, Olivia did not get away with this pointless lie. Olivia’s mind was elsewhere.

In the photo, Olivia appeared to be sitting on the couch in her dressing room at the debate, nasally funneling some white poison into her sinuses. ​Damn, photoshop has gotten pretty fucking good​. Honestly, she wasn’t even that upset. After the debate, she had already gone through her options. The DNC was aware that she knew everything. Olivia was too busy fearing for her life to actually have a successful debate. She’d already fallen from 11% to 6% following the debate. Frankly, the article was more of a nail in her political coffin than it was a flat tire for her campaign bus. She’d already accepted it was over.

It read, as she skimmed briefly, “Moss, pictured above, snorts a vertical portion of what appears to be cocaine, taken the night preceding what was to be a rough debate performance.”
Olivia started laughing. There would be no coming back from this. It didn’t even matter that she’d never done cocaine, they were going to keep doing everything they could to stop her. The funniest part was, nobody would ​ever​ believe her. It was like that Balloon Boy story. Because even 10 years later, the police have never been able to prove that it was actually a hoax. But the whole family, despite their own proof, is still mercilessly ridiculed by the media. Olivia was a joke, but at least she could laugh at it.

So it was no surprise that her hard-earned 11% support that turned into 6% support had now fallen to 1% by the end of the week. And then time went by. And then she failed to qualify for the next debate. And then, truly, it was no surprise when a few months later, after the whole thing was over, when her former elementary school told her they were only looking for janitors. She laughed. “See you Monday.”