It was the evening of a grand celebration at the Trump Tower, where President Donald Trump and his allies were gathered to celebrate their latest political victory of passing his Big Beautiful Bill.
The banquet hall gleamed with gold accents, and the air was thick with the scent of victory and opulence. Trump, now at the dawn of his second term, had managed to outmaneuver every challenger, securing his place at the center of American politics.
Among the guests were familiar faces—his closest allies and advisors, like JD Vance, Marco Rubio, Pete Hegseth, Pam Bondi, Kristi Noem, Linda McMahon, Rudy Giuliani and Ivanka Trump, all seated at the lavish banquet table. The champagne flowed freely as they toasted to their accomplishments. Trump, dressed in his usual manner—bold, confident, and unmistakable—sat at the head of the table, the golden décor reflecting off his hair.
"To Making America Great Again…Again!” Trump said, raising his glass, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"To greatness!" Giuliani chimed in, his voice thick with the conviction of a man who believed his own hyperbole.
Even with all the toadying up to Trump, some could not avoid a sense of weighty ominous guilt about how the Big Beautiful Bill was adding to the coffers of the rich as it gutted meager holdings of the most-in-need: tax cuts for the rich financed by cuts to Medicaid, reduction of government under the guise of eliminating fraud, waste and abuse, cutting grants to universities because they don’t kowtow to his agenda. And then there’s his executive order rewarding South Africans with refugee status while expelling allied Afghans who assisted U.S military, his mass deportation of “illegal immigrants” all of whom he considers “threats to public safety”—“killers, rapists gangbangers”, orderings deportation quotas to be fulfilled, even if it’s necessary for masked ICE agents invade spaces previously considered “off-limits” to their incursion. Many of those present were aware of how the rallies and protests proclaiming “Hands Off!” “No Kings!” and “Families First!”across the country were gaining exponential support.
So as the night wore on, an air of unease settled over the group. The music grew quieter, and the laughter less frequent. There was something in the air, something intangible, a feeling of impending change.
Suddenly, the lights flickered, and a cold gust of wind swept through the room, making the flags and banners tremble. In the midst of the revelry, the room fell silent. And there, on the wall above the golden throne where Trump sat, appeared strange letters—large, glowing characters, as though they had been written by a hand that wasn’t visible to anyone else in the room.
The letters were clear, but their meaning was indecipherable to all present.
"What's this?" Trump said, squinting at the wall. "Someone must be pulling a prank."
Vance, his face pale, looked at the letters with growing concern. "I... I don't know, sir. This... this is no ordinary writing."
Ivanka, looking perplexed, turned to Marco Rubio, "What does it mean?"
Rubio’s face was tense. He had seen this before—in the rise and fall of nations, in the stories of kings and empires. "It’s not a good omen, Mr. President."
Trump’s allies began to murmur among themselves. They were no strangers to controversy, but the sight of these mystical characters unsettled even the most seasoned political minds. The champagne that had been so freely poured seemed to sour in their mouths.
Just as confusion began to grip the room, the door to the hall opened, and a figure entered—the wise strategist, known for her cryptic wisdom. It was none other than Jonathan Cahn, a prophetic voice on YouTube who had spoken glowingly of the second inauguration. His biblically-based commentary has made his conservative messages admired by many who consider him reputed to have an ability to read the signs others overlooked.
"I’ve seen this before," he said softly, her voice carrying over the murmurs of the room. "The writing on the wall… it’s a warning."
"Jonathan, what does it mean?" Trump asked, leaning forward in his seat.
He studied the letters on the wall for a moment, his brow furrowed. "It’s as ancient as the message from the book of Daniel. It’s a message of judgment: the letters are 'M, T, P.’"
The room grew even quieter. Trump leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping against the armrest. "What do those letters mean?" he asked, though a part of him already knew that whatever it was wouldn’t be good.
“The letters represent," Jonathan continued, 'Minus, Truth, Perish.’ Minus means the MAGAverse is diminishing, T is for Truth which you have desecrated with your mendacity. P means that the “Competitive Sycophancy” you have created will come back on you and you will Perish. Your days are numbered, and the end is near."
Giuliani’s eyes widened. "So... you're saying the end of the Trump era of MAGA is coming?"
“Not just "coming" and perhaps an end," Jonathan clarified, "but certainly a reckoning. You’ve built a powerful empire, Sir, but you’ve ignored the signs, the warnings, the balance of power. There are consequences to every action."
Trump’s face hardened. "Are you saying I’ve failed? It's got to be fake news! My empire is strong, I’ve defeated the odds, and I’ve made America great again. The people love me."
Jonathan gave a small, sad smile. "It’s not just about the people, Mr. President. Your claim of a landslide vote that brought you to this office is based on some people liking you, not all if them. And that doesn’t have an impact on legacy. It’s about leadership. It's about knowing when to step back and when to move forward. You’re been riding on the estimation of a lot of “yes men and women” and they are not “the people” of “We, the People."
At that moment, as if on cue, the room seemed to vibrate with a deep, unsettling hum. Trump’s phone buzzed on the table. He looked down at it, and for a brief moment, he saw an image—a quick flash of his face superimposed over a map of the United States. And then, it was gone.
The room was silent as Trump’s allies looked to him for answers. Yet Trump, ever the showman, stood up with an exaggerated flourish.
"Well, it’s not over until it’s over!" he declared. "We’ll continue to make America great again. Again!"
But inside, a seed of doubt had been planted. The writing on the wall couldn’t be ignored.
As the evening went on, the party continued. Trump’s allies gathered in small groups, whispering among themselves. Some, like Vance and Giuliani, were determined to ride out the storm. Others, like Ivanka, knew that the walls were closing in.
And though the celebration continued late into the night, none of them could shake the feeling that something was coming—a reckoning, a shift, an end to the era they had built.
As the final guests left the tower, Trump stood alone in the grand hall, looking at the wall where the writing had appeared. His reflection stared back at him in the golden mirrors. The empire he had built, the political kingdom he had fought so fiercely to create, was now under judgment.
The writing on the wall was a message from the ages: Every empire, no matter how powerful, must one day face its end. And though Trump had defied the odds for years, the numbers, the lies, and the destiny of history was now finally beginning to catch up.
The end was near.
Editor’s Note
This fantasy grew out of a reflection on the Book of Daniel, Chapter 5. The consequences for Trump in this scenario are not as drastic as they were for Belshazzar who that very night “was slain.” Nor does Jonathan Cahn receive the reward Daniel did.
This modern tale weaves together Trump's leadership, his allies, and a biblical warning, highlighting the impermanence of power and the eventual reckoning that comes to all rulers. How would you add to any part of this and/or take it in a different direction?