Michelle Obama is walking home alone, late at night. It is dark. The streets are empty. Michelle’s footsteps echo through lonely roads, and she sees reflections of ghosts in every window.
Behind her, crawling through bushes, is Melania Trump. Melania’s steely eyes remain fixed on Michelle’s slender figure in the distance. She is transfixed, hypnotised by Mrs. Obama’s walk, but remains stealthy. She makes no noise as she shuffles through the undergrowth.
Michelle finds her usual path mysteriously blocked. There is police tape covering the shortcut to her house. She thinks nothing of this, and decides instead to cut through the nearby park. If she had looked closer, she would have seen that the tape was woven from the dank hair of weasels.
It is dark in the park. Michelle sees nothing; she feels as if she is wading through a sea of blackness. As she approaches the abandoned, empty fountain, she hears a noise. It sounds like someone saying “There can only be one Michelle”.
Suddenly, she turns to see Melania Trump, grinning. Looking down, she notices that Melania has plunged a sword into her side. in her dying moments, she sees Melania’s shining teeth in the night, whispering… “Now I will be Michelle”.
In a few hours, Melania manages to remove the innards of Michelle Obama. Using the sword, she removes the skeleton, the organs, and pulls on the skin. It fits her snugly like a slimy wetsuit. She soulders the skin shut with a bar of melted gold, taken from Trump Towers. Checking that there are no witnesses, Melania walks on into the night.
For the rest of his life, Barrack Obama secretly suspects something to be different about his wife. Her movements are not the same… Michelle does not hold him in her arms the way she used to. She also has a thick Slovenian accent. But Barrack can never quite put his finger on what has changed. And Melania, each day, looks in the mirror, resplendent in her rotting Michelle Obama costume, and whispers “finally… I am Michelle. I am Michelle.”
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