Shawn Vanity #2

Shawn Vanity’s Surreal Night

As the dinner commenced, Shawn returned to the Faux News group, entertaining them with his commentary on the event. The guests were well into their meals when the mushrooms hidden in the sauces began to take effect. At first, Shawn felt a slight buzzing in his head, which he dismissed as the excitement of the evening. But soon, his wit turned sharper, and his observations became surreal, tinged with a strange, otherworldly clarity.

The room seemed to glow with an unnatural vibrancy, the chandeliers shimmering like giant crystal flowers blooming under the ceiling. The air seemed to pulse, and Shawn found himself oddly fascinated by the sound of his own voice, which echoed as though he were speaking in a grand cathedral.

“Did you see Stevie Boot-Liquor sniffing Pam’s shoes earlier?” Shawn quipped, his laughter infectious. “He looked like a bloodhound on a case.”

“I’m pretty sure he sniffed Kash’s, too,” Laura Ding-Dong added, giggling. “What did he say? Something about ambition?”

“Ambition and leather polish,” Shawn replied, earning a round of laughter. But even as he basked in the group’s attention, his vision began to blur. The chandeliers above morphed into glowing orbs that pulsed with an unnatural rhythm. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus, but the room seemed to ripple like a mirage.

Suddenly, Shawn found himself standing in front of a full-length mirror in the ballroom, the crowd around him fading into a dim haze. His reflection began to distort, the once-perfect tan turning a sickly pallor. His signature blonde hair thinned and grayed before his eyes, revealing a bald spot and a pathetic comb-over. Wrinkles carved deep lines into his face, age spots dotted his skin, and his lips thinned into an unfamiliar grimace. His hands, once youthful, now appeared frail and mottled with veins.

“No! No!” Shawn screamed, backing away from the mirror, but it followed him relentlessly, always in front of him no matter where he turned. He stumbled, nearly knocking over a server carrying a tray of drinks, but the mirror stayed fixed in his path, an unyielding specter of his worst fears.

Then, his reflection shifted again. Now, he stood tall and dignified, his hair silver but thick, his skin aged yet glowing with vitality. He was dressed in a tailored suit with a lapel pin of the U.S. flag. It was President Joe Biden, exuding strength and compassion.

Shawn’s breath caught. Tears welled in his eyes as he stood at attention and saluted. “Thank you, Mr. President,” he choked out, his voice trembling with emotion. “Thank you for your service. You were… you are… an inspiration to us all.”

The reflection smiled back at him warmly, nodding in approval. Shawn’s tears flowed freely now, soaking the collar of his pristine suit. “You were the greatest president we’ve ever had,” he sobbed. “So strong, so… so wise.”

But as quickly as it had appeared, the image of President Biden began to morph again. Now, Shawn looked like George Washington, crossing the Delaware in a powdered wig and regal attire. He straightened his posture instinctively, one hand raised in a commanding gesture. The reflection shifted to Abraham Lincoln, sporting a stovepipe hat and addressing an unseen crowd with a sense of gravity and purpose.

“Four score and seven years ago,” Shawn began, his voice quivering with emotion, but before he could finish, the reflection changed again. He now appeared as Theodore Roosevelt, dressed in a Rough Rider uniform, charging into battle on horseback, his mustache bristling with determination.

Each transformation left Shawn more confused and terrified. He turned away from the mirror, but the visions followed him, searing into his mind. He clutched his head, stumbling as the pandemonium around him grew louder.

He heard other guests succumbing to their hallucinations. Stevie Boot-Liquor ran by him, nearly knocking him over, calling out frantically, “Here bunny bunny! Come to Stevie!”

Greg Gutless was huddled on the floor nearby, clutching his knees and wailing, “Please, Mommy! I promise I’ll be a good boy!”, while ducking as if dodging imaginary blows. Maria Bizzarra-Rama stumbled drunkenly, clutching a half-empty bottle of wine and raising it triumphantly. “It comes in bottles!” she slurred with glee. “Who knew?”

Shawn’s gaze darted around the room, desperate for something to ground him. Instead, he saw Kash Kartel running past, his eyes wide with terror. Shawn’s delusional mind saw Kash as his lost horse. Without hesitation, Shawn leaped onto Kash’s back, grabbing him tightly. “Ride like the wind to save the damsel in distress!” Shawn commanded, his voice filled with manic determination.

Kash, lost in his own hallucinations, screamed as he saw Shawn as a giant spider clinging to him. “Get it off! Get it off!” Kash shrieked, flailing wildly as he bolted for the ballroom doors.

The two became an unstoppable spectacle, careening through the room as tables overturned and glasses shattered in their wake. Guests screamed, diving out of their path, adding to the chaos. The last sight of them was Kash, sprinting out into the night with Shawn clinging to his back, both screaming incoherently—Kash for his mother and Shawn for his imaginary damsel.

Meanwhile, the remaining guests descended further into their own surreal nightmares. Stevie Boot-Liquor had cornered a potted plant, stroking its leaves and murmuring, “Such a good bunny… such soft ears.” Greg Gutless was now crawling under tables, crying out for his lost teddy bear, while Maria danced in circles, clutching her wine bottle like a trophy.

Through the haze, Shawn’s disjointed thoughts began to settle, albeit in the most vain way possible. “Even in madness,” he thought, “I’m the star of the show.” He grinned to himself, clinging tighter to Kash as they vanished into the chaos of the night.