CohabitationPosted: July 19, 2015
It was unsightly, but not so much that people thought the Host deformed. “His hair looks funny” they would say and leave it at that. A curious comb-over. A consistently bad coif. Nothing more.
But it was more. Much more.
He was alive. He was conscious. He had a purpose, a mission.
For decades he had maneuvered the Host through business deals. Raising the puppet’s profile – their profile – to the world stage. There had been books, television appearances and, for the last decade, television shows. He had done his job well.
He enjoyed the notoriety.
Now his mission was almost complete. Soon his brothers would join him. Soon this tiny planet with its low gravity would be colonized. Soon its inhabitants would be thinned to a reasonable number – enough hosts to maintain the keratin farms and no more. Those would mostly be the females, they would only keep enough males for breeding. Males ate too much and their taste was consistently unpleasant.
As he sat now, perched atop the puffy head and paunchy body, he was satisfied. Just another rotation around this planet’s star and his task would be complete. There, behind the curtain, he made the Host smile the satisfied smile he could only mentally imagine. He amped up the Host’s adrenaline in anticipation of the crowd. The speaker was finishing his introduction.
“…and now, I am honored to present to you the next president of the United States, Donald J. Trump!”