Part III: The End of the Trail
Author’s Note: due to the high emotions and intensity of the situation, my notes at this point became slightly fractured, and, oddly enough, highly stylized. I have done my best to recreate them in their entirety.
And Lo, ‘twas the Eve before the convention, and thus Bernie didst gather to him all his dear aides, who he arranged betwixt his person at a long table ‘til yea, there were but twelve persons seated amongst us, and it was good.
And then, Bernie didst call forth food to the table, and it was Domino’s, and it was also good.
And yet, as we didst dine on the becheese’d bread and slake our thirst upon’st the 7-Up, Bernie did raise his hands above his head, yea, and the table did fall into a profound silence, broken only by a scattered chew, and he spake thus:
“My friends, my brothers, many thanks for joining me on this eve of the Holiest of days, the National Convention of Democrats. Please, eat your fill of the becheese’d bread, for it is my body, and drink deeply from the seventh Up, for it is the new covenant in my blood. Sup, for this is our last meal as a campaign. One of you has betrayed me, and tomorrow, on my day of reckoning, you shalt all desert me.”
"Sup," spake Sanders, "for this is our last meal as a campaign. One of you has betrayed me, and tomorrow, on my day of reckoning, you shalt all desert me.”
With this, a great uproar went up around the table, which didst allow me to take an extra slice of Domino’s without reprimand.
Despite the protests of those assembled, Bernie did smile, and dismissed us from his table.
And in the morning, the Clinton campaign came for him.
An intern and loved aide, Jonas from the college of Syracuse, had promised Bernie’s concession of defeat to Hillary, in exchange for thirty college credits, a price he, in his shame, did deeply despise himself for.
They took him, asked him questions, and demanded his cooperation. And as Bernie did walk to the convention, the people met him in the streets, asking how he could give in so easily, how he could have failed them. His aides turned away, ashamed of their betrayal.
That afternoon, as Bernie took the stage to face the sea of people waiting to hear of his defeat, he wore not his robes, but a suit, pressed clean and screaming of defeat. But as he began to speak, Bernie did stray from the teleprompter, raising his hands heavenward stretched outright, and spoke thus:
“My brothers and sisters, today my campaign ends, as it was always destined to be. But do not forget my teachings! Do not forget my message! While I concede my defeat, I do so with the hope that, as I always hoped, you will become better for what I have done. Goodbye, and thank you.”
And thus ended the life of Bernie’s Campaign. Yet his teachings live on, in all of us. Amen.
That Sunday, a knock rang out on Bernie’s door. He opened it, woken from what was, for the first time in months, a very peaceful sleep. It was Hillary, alone.
“Bernie,” she said, “have you considered a vice presidency?”
And thus, he was reborn.