Final Project Part Two-Orange Skin: A Modern Retelling Of Bluebeard
Reflective Essay:
I’ll try and keep it brief since I think the story will speak for itself. I decided after looking at the options for part two of the final project that I wanted to retell one of the fairy tales we read in class. I decided to choose Bluebeard because there were a lot of ways I could retell that story and present a wide variety of outcomes and morals.
I decided to try and channel my frustration with the Trump administration’s treatment of immigrants into the story. It made perfect sense. Set the story in the present day, substitute a blue beard for orange skin, and the dead wives for immigrant children and you’ve got an effectively chilling and gut-wrenching reimagining with a startling amount of relevance.
For this story, you could say the devil is in the details. I tried to heighten the story’s impact with visuals like American flags covered in the blood of innocent immigrant children and the eventual and ironic demise of Trump with one of these flags, since he loves to wave them around and brag about how much of a patriot he is while instituting policies that are straight out of dystopian fiction.
Also, most of the things that Trump says in the story to justify his actions are based on actual things I’ve heard or seen family members and people I went to high school with say in defense of his administration's current actions and policy on immigrants in general. When you think about it, that adds a much more frightening edge to the story.
The heroine of the story is Senator Susan Collins, a real Republican Senator from Maine. Originally, I was going to make up a fictional female senator, but then an idea struck me: Why not find a real, Republican Senator that opposes the Trump Administration’s policy of family separation. After a bit of searching, I found exactly what I was looking for.
There’s plenty more I could say about the story, but I don’t want to spoil more than I already have. So, I’ll leave you with some wise lyrics from a song my Australian friends The Decline wrote called “Refujesus”:
“Everyone’s an immigrant and I’m tired of all your racist shit/There’s a fine line between national pride and racist bigotry/You’re ignorant if you deny we grew from the same seeds/Convicts, immigrants, Asylum seekers, refugees – We’re all the same”
I hope you enjoy the story, or it at least makes you think,
Charlie
Orange Skin: A Modern Retelling of Bluebeard
Once upon a time, there was a nasty, orange-skinned United States President named Donald Trump. He was disliked by many people across the country because he was a belligerent, racist, sexist, homophobic and transphobic human slug who was as ugly on the outside as he was on the inside.
He was very difficult to work with because he was either constantly firing his staff or they were resigning.
On this particular June day, Trump’s White House Chief of Staff, John Kelly, had just resigned after spending less than a year in his position. Republican Senator Susan Collins had been chosen to replace Kelly.
On her first day, Collins was called into the Oval Office, where she met with the president to discuss her duties and his schedule. While she was there she was given her key card which would allow her access to all areas of the White House.
“Now this key card will open any door in the White House,” Trump said, “But there is one room that you must never enter under any circumstances. That’s the last room on the bottom floor of the West Wing. The only one who’s allowed in that room is me. If I ever catch you in that room you will be severely punished.”
Collins nodded, signaling that she understood. She did think it was a little strange that there was a secret room in the White House, but she supposed every president probably had a room like that. Trump’s was just in the West Wing where there was always a lot of activity. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what was behind that door that was so secret that Trump wouldn’t allow anyone else to see it.
***
Collins’ first week went by fast. There was a lot to do. She completed all of her work carefully, making sure that she did everything well, otherwise Trump might throw a tantrum.
That weekend, Trump did what he did on many other weekends. He flew to Mar-a-Lago, Florida to play golf.
Meanwhile, Collins and the rest of the White House staff went about their duties as they normally would.
Collins spent her Saturday night organizing the president’s calendar and setting his meetings for the upcoming week. He was scheduled to give speeches on the construction of his beloved wall and his proposal for the United States Space Force.
When Collins had finished her work for the night it was late, but she was still wide awake.
She decided to go for a walk in the West Wing.
Since it was late the halls were empty. Eventually, she reached that forbidden door at the end of the hall. She stared at it inquisitively. It didn’t look any different than any other door in the West Wing. So, what made it so special?
After deliberating for a few moments, she pulled out her keycard and approached the door. The president was gone for the weekend and she was all alone, who would find out if she opened the door? All she would do was peek in and that was it, no one would be the wiser.
Collins swiped her keycard and the door unlocked with a click. She pushed it open and was immediately hit with a strong, horrible stench. It smelled vaguely familiar, but it was so overbearing that she couldn’t place it.
The room was dark and the light from the hallway wasn’t doing much to illuminate it.
Collins took a step inside the room and felt along the wall for a light switch. She finally found one and flicked it on. Then she turned around to finally see what was in the room.
What she saw was a sight so horrible she could barely process it.
The room was strewn with the corpses of dozens of dead immigrant children, the looks of sheer terror still frozen on their innocent faces. The floor of the room was covered with blood stains, some of them fresh. The walls were adorned with posters of Trump’s sneering face and the slogan, “Make America Great Again”.
In each corner of the room, there was an American flag, splattered with the blood of the children. The bloody flags were mounted on tall wooden flagpoles tipped with a bronze point. They stood there as if silently they were watching over the carnage.
Collins sank to her knees with tears in her eyes.
“They were so young, what kind of monster could do this to an innocent child?” she thought.
Just then she heard a voice behind her.
“This country will never be great if it’s full of filthy illegals exploiting the system, stealing jobs from real, hardworking Americans, and flooding our streets with crime,” Trump said, “If they won’t leave I’ll teach them a lesson, even if it means kidnapping, imprisoning, and murdering every immigrant child I can get my hands on.”
Collins struggled to her feet, slowly backing away from Trump in terror.
“You shouldn’t have opened the door,” he said, “Now I have to kill you too. I tried to warn you. It’s sad how no one wants to listen to me.”
He clamped one of his sweaty hands around her arm and started dragging her towards the door.
She struggled against his tight grip and finally broke free, running towards the back corner of the room.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said, licking his lips, and looking at her with a predatory grin.
He lunged toward her but tripped over one of the bodies in his path.
Collins reached for anything she could use to defend herself, her hand closed around one of the wooden flagpoles. She seized it, pulling it from its pedestal and holding it in front of her like a spear.
Trump had regained his footing and lunged toward her again with his arms out. She thrust the flagpole at him with all her strength, burying the tip of it deep in his chest.
He looked up at her in shock, then down at the bloodstain spreading rapidly across his white button-up shirt.
“Fuck you,” she said, twisting the flagpole, pushing it in deeper before letting go of it.
Trump sank to his knees, the tip of the flagpole now protruding from his back, his blood soaking the flag.
He gripped the flagpole, trying to pull it out, but his efforts were futile.
“I was only doing what was best for the country,” he sputtered, before finally slumping over, lifeless.
***
A lot happened in the weeks following Trump’s death. Vice President Mike Pence and several of the other members of Trump’s cabinet, including Jeff Sessions and Betsy DeVos were arrested for aiding Trump in the murders of hundreds of immigrant children during his presidency.
The nation was left reeling from the truth about what the President had been doing in that room. It wasn’t long before Congress appointed a new president, someone new who hadn’t been involved in the Trump Administration in any way.
Collins resigned. For years after the events in the West Wing, the faces of those dead children and their crying parents when White House officials informed them that their kids would never be coming home still haunted her dreams. But, she was glad that she had been able to help stop Trump before he was able to spread his evil any further.
The End
Moral: Any government policy that allows children (regardless of their citizenship status) to be ripped from the arms of their parents and imprisoned is wrong. There is no religious or moral justification for something that twisted. It doesn’t matter what your political party is, you can stand up for the people who don’t have a voice. If we don’t protect immigrants, legal or illegal, today who knows who the government will come for tomorrow. This injustice cannot be allowed to continue.
