msfrances

[msfrances]

Death At My Door

My ass tingled and ached from sitting immobile on the wooden floor. Mommy was making noises with the man, as she always did. My stomach growled. I dried my tears, and when I heard them giggling, I thought that was my cue to call out to her. 

“Mommy! I’m hungry! I’ll stop crying! I promise! Please!” The silent darkness overwhelmed me. I slept. 

“Come out, Johnny, you bastard!” She yelled when she opened the door in the morning. 

As the light flooded my eyes, I jumped at her. “Mommy!” 

“Stop that! Don’t cling, you piece of shit!” 

I smiled, turned, and ran to the table where the burnt toast and overcooked eggs waited. I gobbled it, and too short, too soon, she grabbed my plate and stacked it with the others in the sink. I ran to her and embraced her, happy to have her to myself. She pushed me away and scurried to the man. They kissed, he patted her on her ass, and he left.  

I waited for her by the kitchen door, and she tossed her head and hummed a tune, slamming and locking her bedroom door. I turned to the TV. Tears rolled down my cheeks. Why doesn’t she love me? 

*** 

I loaded the handgun and laid it on the table. I heard her coming with her boyfriend. 

“Get rid of him!” I said.  

“Come on, Johnny! Don’t start again!” 

“Get rid of him!” I said again. 

“You bastard kid!” Said the boyfriend, stomping toward me. 

I rested my hand on the gun, and he stopped. “I’ll see you later, babe!” 

“Why the hell did you do that? Shit! You think you are big shit just because of your gang friends. You’re nothing but a...” 

“Why don’t you wash the dishes?” I said. “Or would you rather spend the night in the closet again?” 

“Shit, Johnny! You can’t do that to me again!” 

I played with the gun, pointing it at her, pretending to fire. “Shoot!” 

“Ok, ok, you piece of shit!” 

She turned away banging the dishes, and I pointed the gun at her head. My hand gripped it with cold determination, aware of what would come. I pressed the trigger. She dropped like a lump of nothingness. 

*** 

I’m 18 years old and waiting on death row. I killed my mom who didn’t love me. Preachers came and told me that I was the victim, too young to die. They can help me appeal, they said. “What for?” I said. “Give me a good reason to live.” 

[msfrances]

Melanie

Melanie sings unintelligible sounds, dancing, as she feeds the swine to some corn husks. She seduces the pigs with her chants and gleeful laughter. They snort and grunt in rhythm to her melody. She does not remember that the woman told her to bring her water. The woman screams, “Idiot, where is my water? I told you to bring it to me! Idiot girl! Get it now!” 

Melanie drops the bucket of corn and grabs an empty one. Her grunts are like the pigs, as her tongue swirls, unable to tell the woman that she is sorry… she forgot! The woman beats her when she forgets. So she rushes back, swinging the bucket and spilling some water on the woman’s feet. 

“Imbecile!” she slaps her. 

Does Melanie grasp language? She understands the glare and anger of the woman’s eyes. The cruel woman hates her, but she does not know why. 

The woman knows that Melanie is slow. She is the manifestation of her sinful past… the curse that left her unwed. Fourteen years ago, a man promised her marriage. He lied and left her with a baby in her womb. Back then, she rocked the newborn, who she named Melanie, but as the infant’s growth retarded, the woman pushed Melanie away. Now, she called her “Idiot,” never calling her name. She loathed the grimy, unkempt idiot that she had borne. 

Later, in the evening, fearless and daunting, Melanie walks the paths of the village passing by the Tavern, which was filled with people. The music and laughter entice her to peep in, and the sensual music mesmerized her. She does not know why. The men are gleeful, and some women, dressed in shiny low-necked blue, red, and black gowns, reveal plump breasts and their sensual cleavage. The sound of Melanie’s glee and clapping hands attracts the man. He turns, looks, and winks at her. She feels her heart throb, and she claps her innocent hands again. The man pushes through the crowd and emerges from the back door. Shy, Melanie looks down, rocking back and forth, embracing herself. The man caresses her face and tucked-in chin. His voice is gentle, but she does not understand. She only feels the mutual attraction. The man presses his lips and then his teeth on hers. He caresses her body, and she feels the bond. She knows he will not hurt her. She likes what he is doing, and in a surge of primal passion, responds to his advance. After the peak of his intensity, he rises, straightens his trousers, and walks away. He never looks at her. She takes a moment to relieve herself after the culmination of her experience. Then, she follows his path, but does not find him. She is certain he will be there after the next sunset, but she does not see him again. 

Three months from the first moment of the end of her virginity, Melanie is with her mother. The woman looks at her as she lifts the wood. No, she cannot be, thinks the woman. Melanie is slightly heavier. Then the woman touches her abdomen and feels its growth. She slaps the young woman, beats her, and kicks her. Melanie does not remember or know what she forgot. She cries without control. The woman screams, “Get out of here, you slut!” 

Melanie runs from the woman. Never has the woman beat her so. She runs to the river and the soothing rustling currents instantly calm her. They have always attracted her. She sits at the edge of the cliff, watching the currents. The melodious sound invites her to join in the dance and sing to the music she hears within her. She has always heard this melody. She grunts the tune. The music of the Tavern reaches the recesses of her memory, and she lifts her arms high to the clouds, dancing, loving, feeling, forgiving the woman. She hums… dances to the rhythm in her retarded mind… she seeks solace. At first, she does not understand, but then as she listens, a whisper in the river's current beneath the cliff beckons her. She understands and forgives. She flies from the cliff and lands on the protruding rocks within the murderous river. 

Who is Melanie? Does it matter? She is no more. 

[msfrances]

Violated

She limped like a wet wash rag stumbling through the pitch-black farm road. Intermittently, headlights flashed by her, but not often enough. She wished she had a flashlight. The moon peered through the cloudy sky, inching its way across the starless night. Her breath came hard like a runaway horse, snorting and struggling to be set free. Her harrowing legs wobbled; a feeble mind drifted into a psychotic reality. She had walked all day and most of the night. The breeze tossed her curly brown hair. Within her mind swam a sea of fear. The menacing voices prompted her to pray, 

“I believe in God...” 

And...” Our Father...” 

And...” The Lord is my shepherd...” 

And...” St. Michael the archangel...” 

So many prayers locked within her mental vault. Is this hell? Is this Purgatory? Am I dead? She was heading north away from the voices. God is guiding me. Are you there? 

In an instant, headlights shimmering from an oncoming car flashed by. The brakes squealed as the car came to a halt; it made a U-turn and followed her in the silent darkness. This is good, she thought. The angel of God is giving me light to see the road that leads to him! 

The car moved closer, then stopped. She tripped on a stone, falling on her knees on the pavement. The car door opened. Her frailty overwhelmed her, paralyzing her energy to stand up and face the driver. The door slammed shut. The footsteps of the man were hard. He is going to help me. He will take me to God! 

His breath was a sensuous pant. He grabbed her arms and, on her knees, dragged her to a nearby bush. He flipped her on her back and pinned her down. She did not struggle. He commanded her. 

“Pull your pants down!” 

“What? Who are you?” She cried out. 

“Shut up, bitch!” 

He pressed his forearm on her mouth and unzipped his pants with the other hand. Then she sensed him thrusting himself into her, but the penetration, the thrusts, was numb. She did not know if this was how it was supposed to be. Tears rolled forth from her eyes.  

“Pull up your pants, bitch!” 

No. He is in darkness. He is not of God. He did it! Was it real? Is this how it feels? 

He grabbed her by the arms, lifting her to her feet and slamming her body against the fender of his car. Suddenly, he pulled her down by her hair and crunched down beside her as another car sped by. Livid, she did not respond to his command. He tugged at her pants, as if pulling them up would cover up his act. 

He stood in the dark pissing into the bush. Now she saw his silhouette as he stood in the dark, waiting for the cars to pass. He was a big burly man; one she was no match for. His hair was shoulder length, but she could not see the color. His eyes appeared to flicker like fiery candlelight. Yes, he is of the devil, not of God. He forced her away from the car, strutted to the car door, jumped in, and the tires shrieked as he drove off. 

Abandoned in the chilly night air, she stood frozen, with her unzipped pants below her waist. Then she fell on her knees desperately gasping and whispering I belong in hell! I am not a virgin... I am not a virgin... 

[msfrances]

Single

Single 

I am the caricature of a woman living in an efficiency apartment. Time flows like the rapids of a murderous river, always pushing onward. Life began for me as a baby boomer. Was it a thrill or fear that prompted me to embrace solitude? Was it love of myself, or love of God? First, it was a selfish embrace of myself, unable and unwilling to experience the unity of two souls... souls that bond beyond all comprehension to procreate. I feared procreation. My immaturity spread through many decades of false hope and laughter, most of those belittling my love of them, or should I say what I thought was love.

Everything begins and ends. I have arrived at the end. Gradually I wilt like the rose that thirsts for moisture. Everything is old and dry, nearing death around the corner. My chosen fate, not to procreate, is my only regret. Children are a gift, a blessing. The arid existence which I live is meaningless except for a sliver of sunlight seeping through my heart. I love God because he created me. Somehow, the people that journey with me in the past, present, and future have received something from me, and that something is love. It is not sensual or blatant. It is an affable sensation. I am fulfilled with this experience. 

Yes, I am near the end, but I think with the mind of an 18-year-old. I never grew up! God blessed me with a childlike mind to shelter me from the dire emotions of a relationship. How great He is! Why did he protect me? Because he loves me, and I love Him! I always have. I always will.