Sylvia

She’s got this orange hair, a kind of bold, lightning orange I’ve never seen before, or if I were to describe it : think of the end of a particularly mild-weathered day, the dark, but near silk-thin orange of the sky, illuminated by a resigning sun, a receding light, and next the color of a young, virgin mandarin-freshly picked, mostly untouched and beaming with an irresistible sweetness. So that would be her hair, the first thing anyone notices, a shameless distraction though, observe the face: naked and clean as it is without the loud hair, it is shy but unforgiving, a child with a terrible secret, the tips of her mouth ascending to an almost heinous, filthy glee!

Moments later the face falls prey to a telling frown, animated and alive as it is, it is a theater of cheap tricks – concealing, I know this, some essential truth. I may not be able to rival her beauty, gusto or charm – see the way those men falter, wilt and soften around her – but what I have is pure intuition, it is inherent to me this feeling, a voice luminous and beyond : this girl is acid, I see it, I feel it, hear it, know it, her very touch is pregnant with lies, do you not see it, my love?

I know that she is, by nature, a consequence of our intimacy, expelled from my own unsuspecting womb – as a mother, I have doubt. And sometimes, that is all I feel I have left. I am constantly questioning myself, if forsaking my own child is an act of rebellion towards Him, but that’s it, my love – it is my faith that has lead me here, given me clarity – what happens next, right or wrong, must be done together. Together, we can banish this darkness from our home and our lives, undo this miscalculation – our path of redemption, is not an easy one. We have two nights before she leaves, it will decisive and it will be efficient. There will be no blood, stains, marks, cuts, traces – we shall void her vessel of its corruption, defeat this wickedness! There will be no time to guess ourselves, turn back, stray from the plan. OK. You feel sure about this, so do I, my love. I’ll prepare dinner, you make sure she comes, coax the bitch with a few compliments, she is susceptible to feeling like a damn queen – and have her come in anything but white.

We must hack her by the neck – a fast, firm cut and plant the head away from the rest -shave it first of course, dispel her orange hair into a large, yes, deviously large, fire. This will be the plan my love – act,believe and do not overthink – if at any point a force compels you back, say a prayer and His strength will come. Soon it will all be fine again, like it once was for us. Enough talk, my love, its almost seven.

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