This is a short story, I haven’t written anything in a while, just wanted to drop this here, it’s fictional so I’ll appreciate your comments. Thank you.
I’ve always been there, a statue, never changing, never moving, the ever-reliable Jo-Lynn, the last child of my parents, why am I like this, why was I born calm? There’s no fire in me, no anger, no passion, no desire to react, no zeal to be more why am I Jo-Lynn?
He hit me for the first time when I was six years old; a belt buckle is harder than it looks y’know? It can split your skin; you can feel the pain in your bones, why would she let him hit me like this? Did she hate me? Does she hate me still? I don’t know, I’ve never known, hate is such a strong word but appropriate, she watched him hit me, again and again and again with no plea from her, she said I deserved it, I was to be seen but not heard, why does he hate me so ? My brothers and sisters? They look at me with scorn and anger, with spiteful tears in their eyes, wishing me death, a fate even worse than death.
I am a product of rape, a mistake they said, a failed abortion, bad-blood runs through my veins, blood from a criminal, I think he has bad taste and was un-naturally horny, I mean my mother is no beauty, I look too good to be hers, apparently she doesn’t hide the details from me, he was fine I suppose, dashing even, my father I mean. They told me who I was or still am when I was ten, the real me, who my father was, I guess I don’t deserve love or kindness, I’m a mud-blood; dirty.
I got sent to school, very beautiful experience, I was a loner, be seen and not heard, I did just that, “never speak to anyone unless spoken to”, that was my motto. Valedictorian, Best graduating student, beautiful job, the hatred still from my family, the anger at my success, the pain at my joy,” keep moving, never stop”. My other motto.
It hurt to look at him, he was so handsome, so beautiful, I have no mama, and so no one warned me about his type, I was a virgin for lack of opportunity, who would want to do the class freak? He said the right words at the right time, did the right things at the right time, it was too good to be true, I don’t deserve this, this happiness, I’m a mud-blood, I bring anger, pain, sorrow, why does he love me? We would wait till my wedding night he said, sent from heaven, my husband now.
Ice-Lynn, he called me, “cold as ice”, he said. “So cool, so reserved, no passion, no fire, no response, even in our bedroom”, he said to his friends. “A bore to me really”. Ice melts, the dam broke, my ice turned to tears, his words kindled a fire in me, an unquenchable fire, I tried to learn, to please him, how does ice turn to fire in such a short time, no more numb, no more composed.
I got home early today, his car was parked outside, these shoes, they look familiar, so familiar… They were having sex in our bed, the whore, the whore who begot me, the whore who made me into ice, who killed all feelings I have ever had, she looked at me in the eyes and smiled, he hadn’t seen me yet, kept on going at her, like his life depended on it.
A belt buckle is harder than it looks y’know? It will crack a skull if hit with anger and rage, the blood, so red, beautiful color, someone said it shows confidence when worn, I was wearing red now, my husband kept looking at me, so quiet now, he was in shock I suppose, I started taking off my clothes slowly, wiping the blood from my hands on my cheeks, smearing the blood on my skin, now he can see the fire in me, the passion, we made love in her blood, smeared all over us, slowly, building up, then fast, then slow again, so much fulfillment, so much joy.
Death gives me fire, I need fire to keep my husband, have you offended me? Have you made me sad? If yes, then you’re on my list, might not be the next but you’re on my list still.