Excellent Only one can remain, who will it be? Presidents Gone Wild by marilyn quillen      Battle of the Presidents #2 Contest Winner

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence. In a flash of blinding light and thunder that shook the very earth, an unprecedented electrical storm descended upon Washington D.C. on January 1, 2025. Above the White House, arcs of unnatural lightning crackled and twisted, forming a halo of danger over the nation's most sacred building. But what happened next was even more unimaginable. All 45 former U.S. presidents materialized in the Rose Garden, their forms flickering momentarily before solidifying into breathing, living men once again. The air was thick with tension as decades of political grudges and ambitions reignited within each man. Chaos erupted as each president declared themselves the rightful leader of the country, their voices echoing in a deafening cacophony. In response to this historic turmoil, Congress declared a private war to determine the true ruler of the United States. The once serene Rose Garden was now a battlefield where history clashed with itself. Swords clashed against pistols, and books became deadly weapons in the hands of desperate leaders fighting for supremacy. The urgency of battle filled the air as these former leaders fought for power and control over the nation they had all once governed. The Skirmishes John F Kennedy vs. Bill Clinton The Rose Garden erupted with the clash of metal and determination as John F. Kennedy and Bill Clinton faced off, their eyes burning with a fierce determination to win. JFK made the first move, his fencing foil slicing through the air in rapid, precise thrusts. But Clinton was quick on his feet, sidestepping each attack with ease, the blade of his saxophone sword, the carcano, singing as it sliced through the air. "Nice try, John," Clinton taunted, swinging his weapon in a wide arc that caught JFK's foil mid-thrust and twisted it away. With a smirk, Kennedy pivoted and landed a swift kick to Clinton's midsection. But the former president wasn't down for long, retaliating with a series of sharp jabs that rang out like musical notes against JFK's defenses. The metallic clang of weapons meeting filled the garden, each strike fueled by the unyielding determination of two men who never accepted defeat - not in love, not in politics, not on dresses and certainly not now. George Washington vs. Richard Nixon In another corner of the garden, George Washington faced off against Richard Nixon. Washington stood tall and resolute, his saber gleaming in the sunlight as he stepped forward with an unrelenting stare. Nixon, his hands slick with sweat, clutched onto his cane with desperation. "You're cornered now, Richard," Washington declared, launching into a series of precise and sweeping strikes. Nixon desperately tried to deflect each blow, but his cane splintered under the force of Washington's attacks. "Honesty won't save you this time," Nixon spat as he attempted a desperate feint to sweep Washington's legs out from under him. But Washington was too agile and quickly leapt back, his eyes narrowing as he pressed on with the attack. With a swift twist of his blade, he disarmed Nixon and sent the cane skidding across the stone path. As Nixon stumbled back and fell into a thorny bush, Washington loomed over him with a victorious glint in his eyes, the fight spilling crimson into Nixon's face. With all the pride he could muster, Nixon retorted, “Well, You won’t have Richard M Nixon to push around anymore.” Abraham Lincoln vs. Joe Biden Lincoln's towering frame loomed over the battlefield, his strength and determination palpable as he swung his ax with deadly precision. Biden, nimble on his feet, narrowly dodged the first strike, the blade slicing through the air with a haunting whistle. With a swift swipe of his staff, he aimed for Lincoln's knees, but the Great Emancipator was one step ahead, twisting his body to redirect the force and send Biden stumbling backwards. "You say you fight for unity, yet you cause division," Lincoln's voice boomed with conviction, eyes blazing with righteous anger. Biden met his stare head on, chest heaving with exertion. "Not on purpose, Abe," he grunted, their weapons clashing in a symphony of metal and wood. As Lincoln swung again, even faster this time, Biden struggled to keep up, sweat dripping down his face as he parried each blow with all his might. But then came a swing that was too powerful to deflect - the impact shattering Biden's staff into two jagged halves. With adrenaline pumping through his veins, Biden barely managed to sidestep as Lincoln lunged towards him once more. But in a moment of desperation, he stumbled and fell to the floor, before he could arise he fell asleep. George H.W. Bush vs. George W. Bush George W. ducked and weaved as his father's cane whooshed dangerously close to his head, the elder Bush displaying surprising speed and agility for someone of his age. "You never listen, son," George H.W.'s deep voice resounded across the clearing as he continued to strike out with unforgiving force. In response, W. countered with a quick jab of his bat, trying to push his father back and gain some ground. "I learned from the best, Dad!" W. cried out, his own determination matching that of his father's. But as the two exchanged blows, it became clear that they were evenly matched - both displaying incredible skill and prowess in their chosen weapons. With a sharp pivot, George H.W. delivered a swift hook that sent W.'s bat flying out of reach. Before George W. could recover, George H.W. seized the opportunity and caught his son's arm, swiftly flipping him over his knee. With a stern yet playful glint in his eye, he brought the cane down on W.'s backside with precision and force, eliciting a sharp yelp from his son. "Consider that payback for every time you didn't listen," George H.W. said with a hint of amusement. "Okay, okay! I get it, Dad!" W. exclaimed, rubbing his now sore backside with a sheepish grin. But as he turned to face his father once more, disaster struck - his foot caught on a protruding root and he went down hard, twisting his ankle in the process. A sharp gasp escaped him and he winced in pain, unable to stand. With genuine concern etched on his face, George H.W. stepped forward and offered a hand to help his son up. "Enough, son. You did well," he said with a note of pride in his voice despite their playful sparring match turning into a slightly more serious injury for W. Donald Trump vs, Barack Obama Donald Trump and Barack Obama stood facing each other, their chosen weapons in hand. Trump's golden golf club gleamed in the sunlight as he swung it with surprising speed, the metallic swish cutting through the air. Obama, armed with a fencing saber, sidestepped with ease, his eyes calculating and focused. Their duel was intense, filled with quick movements and parries that sent sparks flying. Trump snarled as he lunged forward, determined to strike Obama's ribs. But Obama was ready for him, parrying with a flick of his wrist that caught the club mid-swing. The impact jolted Trump's arm, but he held firm, pulling the club free and spinning to aim a retaliatory strike at Obama. With precise thrusts, Obama pushed Trump back towards a trellis covered in blooming roses. The scent of the flowers mixed with sweat and determination filled the air as they continued to clash. In a moment of desperation, Trump kicked over a nearby garden bench to create space between them. But Obama was relentless, his focus unbroken even as his footing slipped on scattered rose petals. He dropped to one knee just as Trump's club came down, grazing his ribs and drawing blood. Ignoring the pain, Obama surged upward with renewed vigor, deflecting Trump's next strike. As they paused for a moment, Trump gloated at drawing first blood, Barack, he retorted, “You’re Fired!” Obama smirked in response, determined not to let the wound slow him down as he parried with a forceful swing that pushed Trump back. The duel was far from over yet. The Thunderous Arrival The battlefield was alive with the sounds of exertion and desperation, each gasp for breath and anguished cry filling the air. Suddenly, a gleaming armored truck rumbled into view, its imposing presence commanding attention. Atop the vehicle sat the Liberty Bell, its cracked form a symbol of patriotism amidst the chaos of war. As the truck came to a halt, a loud clang echoed through the air as the Liberty Bell rang out, silencing the battlefield. The presidents, their once sharp suits now tattered and dirtied from battle, froze in surprise. A loudspeaker crackled to life, breaking the stillness. "Attention all Mr. Presidents," a voice boomed. "May I have your attention, please. There will be a 45-minute refreshment break in the Rotunda. Nancy Pelosi and Hillary Clinton will be serving liquid refreshments and finger sandwiches there in 10 minutes. Please halt all battles and make your way to the Rotunda now, gentlemen. Thank you!" The presidents exchanged wary glances before slowly making their way towards the promised respite of the Rotunda. It was like a beacon of hope amidst the chaos of war, drawing them in with the promise of rest and nourishment for their weary bodies and souls. The Real Plan The plan was in motion. As the previous president disappeared into the building, the rear doors of the armored truck creaked open. Out stepped Benjamin Franklin, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and Mike Johnson, the current Speaker of the House, dressed in a suit that seemed oddly modern for the occasion. Franklin raised a customized radio, its glowing blue dials adding an otherworldly aura to the scene. "Okay, Elon," Franklin said with trembling excitement, "Remember, it takes 1.21 gigawatts of power to send it Back to the Future." A crackle came over the radio, followed by Elon Musk's confident voice. "OK, Doc," he replied. Above them, the sky darkened once more as clouds swirled like a brewing storm. Suddenly, a blinding lightning bolt struck the tip of the Capitol dome, casting it in an ethereal glow before disappearing from sight in an instant. The ground trembled with residual energy. Franklin couldn't contain his joy and began dancing wildly, his spectacles flashing in the light as he shouted, "Yes! I did it! I am the next president!" Mike Johnson raised an eyebrow, arms crossed as he watched the spectacle with a smirk. "Um, Benjamin," he said slowly, "you were never president." Franklin's face fell and his triumphant expression turned to confusion. He tilted his head at Mike as if trying to solve some ancient riddle. "I wasn't?" "Nope," Mike confirmed with a shake of his head. With a defeated sigh, Franklin pressed the button on his radio and whispered into it. "Uh, Elon?..." Writing Prompt All former US Presidents have come back to life. Congress has dictated that the next President will be the last man standing in a battle to the death amongst the 45 contenders. 300-3000 words. All contest entries must include some sort of combat. You may include other current and past political candidates regardless of seriousness, such as Hillary Clinton, Kamala Harris, Stephen Colbert, the Naked Cowboy, and Harambe. You may construct a sequel or prequel if you entered the previous Battle of the Presidents contest and you may refer or link to your previous work. This contest format could not be modified to be non-blind, but you may disregard that requirement in this contest and make it obvious who you are. Battle of the Presidents #2 Contest Winner

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