I was roused from a deep sleep, my eyes refusing to open past small slits. The darkness outside my window showed the late hour, and my heavy attitude told me I hadn't been sleeping long. No reason to be awake. I rolled over to resume my sleep, but the thumping wouldn't stop. My sleep addled brain couldn't place the source of the noise, and I hardly cared at all. A rhythmic pounding on the floorboards downstairs irritated my persona more. I covered my head with a blanket. The thumping came running up the stairs.

Running up the stairs?

How do I know it was running?

Was someone in my home?

My foggy brain seemed to take hours to process these thoughts. My heart began pounding. My blood began to rush in my ears. Had to get up. Someone was coming. Someone was here.

Intruder!

Burgler!

Murderer!

Why won't I wake up! In the gloom, a towering shadow fills my doorway. It's form is oddly shapeless and changing, like a jerking, twitching beast on two legs. It begins to mutter and whisper, but I can't make out the words. I try to scream. I try to wake. I try to flail.

Anything.

But nothing.

My ankle is grabbed in an unseen grip and I'm forcefully dragged from my bed. I finally scream, but I also awaken. I sit up in bed, rubbing my aching head and sore muscles. I don't believe I'm awake. I pinch and slap myself, but my brain still won't wake up. And in my quiet desperation, a thumping is heard from downstairs.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry you’ve been clumped in with Black Lives Matter and ANTIFA.

I’m sorry first responders aren’t able to reach your neighborhoods.

I’m sorry you have to be afraid of walking down your block.

I’m sorry you’re afraid to hang an American flag outside your home.

I’m sorry that so many people think they know you because they see the color of your skin.

I’m sorry that you are belittled and demeaned by self-pitying, self-righteous individuals who come to destroy your communities while proclaiming they have compassion.

I’m sorry your communities have been burned and destroyed.

I’m sorry that “segregation” has reintroduced itself into our modern times.

I’m sorry that the pressure you felt from the world looking at you and thinking they know your story has risen to a level that feels like you’re holding the sky up.

I’m sorry for every immature person who came to you and gave you a handout because “you look a certain way.”

I’m sorry that these people who are so culturally secluded that they are incapable of acting in a socially acceptable way in front of someone different than them believe that they are the ones who will free you from your “inequity”

But most of all, I’m sorry that you are once again in American history being referred to anything other than what you truly are, which is AMERICAN.

Don’t listen to those demeaning, self-righteous blowhards who think they owe you, as if you were too incompetent and disabled to work hard and gain it for yourself with pride. Don’t take their handouts that they stole and squandered from the people around them.

As a fellow American who happens to be white, I HATE THEM TOO!

But I also pity them. I pity their ignorance. I pity their misguided attempts to be a part of something bigger than them. Don’t we all want to make a difference? Don’t we all want to do something significant with their lives? Imagine if they used their energy to fight slavery in other countries, fought for women’s rights in other countries, or even fought against the global human trafficking! They’re all deceived by the lies that you are incapable, unprivileged, oppressed, and hunted. Through their pursuit to find someone to blame, they made idols of rapists, violent offenders, druggies, and all sorts of criminals while squashing the lives of people who are also trying to bring good into the world and protect us from those who would destroy our livelihoods.

But most of all, I pity them because they have become what they want to destroy...

Bigoted

Idiotic

Racists

Sincerely,

A Fellow American

This is the story of Little Red Riding Hood. She was the daughter of the Woodcutter and his wife. A precocious child, fiercely independent, her parents often worried about her long trek through the woods, alone, refusing a companion or weapon. "Surely, I am safe," she insisted to them, "I have no need for violence or chasing off bandits. We live in such a safe neighborhood, and the people in our village have known me from birth. I am safe!" Her mother would shake her head, and her father would insist, "The woods are apart from our home. Our village may be safe, but the wider world holds many dangers. If you won't heed our caution, then at least wear this, so that we may see you as walk along the path." From his bag he produced a bright red cape as vibrant as blood and brighter than the setting sun. "Father!" she exclaimed, "It is a beautiful accessory! While i know I am safe, I think I will still wear such a beautiful garment."

And so she fastened the cape about her shoulders and twirled for her parents to see, "You, see, Mama and Papa! Now I'm definitely the safest I will ever be!" Grabbing up her basket of cakes and bread, she kissed them both goodbye and headed down the path to Granny's cottage in the woods. She waved to her neighbors, shouted hello to her friends, and all the world seemed to be her oyster. Whistling to herself, her gait was confident and sure as she trekked down the slowly darkening path as the tightly knit trees began to block out the sun.

The canopy overhead rustled ominously, a cold breeze lifting the edges of Little Red Riding Hood's cloak. Shivering, she clasped it closer to her body, "Oh my! There must be a storm on the horizon. Thank goodness for the cloak, else my bones would be chilled." She continued her happy tune, whistling away, not noticing the paired whistling of the forest birds had also gone strangely quiet. Only the sounds of her steps and the lilting of her tune penetrated the darkening wood around her. "Oh my!" she exclaimed, "Such a beautiful day for a stroll! So quiet and serene, it's like I wandered into a painting." The path she followed went suddenly steeply downward as it entered the densest part of the woods. Little Red Riding Hood stepped lightly and confidently from tree root to tree root, unafraid of the regularly-travelled path. With the last light of the sun sponged away into dim, dark light, Little Red Riding Hood burst into a silly song, "A light! So bright! The sun hides itself away! Now night! No fright! The darkness won't scare me away!"

Giggling, she reached the bottom of the ravine. The ground turned muddy and mucky, sucking at her shoes. Lifting her cloak to keep the edges from getting dirty, she splashed and sucked along happily, laughing at her shoes and the absolute mess her mother would never approve of. At that time, during her leaping and splashing, she spotted a little off the path a patch of wildflowers. Purples and yellows and pinks all seemed to call out to her. Clapping her hands and hurrying to the patch, she knelt carefully onto the ground, "Oh my!" she exclaimed, "I don't want to be late, but Granny would love a fresh bouquet." She opened her basket of cakes and bread, then began to pluck and grab up an assortment of the beautifully colored flowers.

"Ahem!" came a voice. Little Red Riding Hood looked around herself. There was no one near her. "Probably the wind," she said to herself dismissively, "No need to be afraid." She continued to pick flowers haphazardly, when the voice came again, "Young lady, I insist you stop." Turning around she spotted him near a tree, hiding from view, "I daresay, who are you to tell me what to do?" Little Red Riding Hood stood to her full height, her hands on her hips, "I am the Woodcutter's daughter, and I walk this path all the time to reach my Granny's house. I can do as I like." A little old man stepped from behind the tree, "Young lady, I meant no offense, but you are pulling up my garden. I had with me a dear wolf, a friendly companion, who protected me as I, too, travelled this path through the woods. What you are pulling up are the flowers I carefully planted to cover his grave."

Little Red Riding Hood threw back her head and laughed, "An old man and a wolf? That would be a sight to see! Well, tosh to your garden, old man. I, alone, have walked this path many times, and I have never seen you about." The old man held his walking stick, digging it into the ground, "There are many things that travel along this path, young lady. Creatures, people, and even the spirits of the wood. It isn't right to try to claim it as your own." She threw her head back and laughed again at the man, "Wolfman! That is what I'll call you! I will go back to my father and tell him of your audacity and lies. But first, I must take these treats to my Granny. She must be so worried about me by now." 

The little old man hobbled forward, "Young Lady, your attitude is most foul. I will follow you to your Granny's, and I will have a word to her about your behavior." Little Red Riding Hood saw the little old man reaching for her arm, so she swung with her basket, knocking him to the ground. "Oof!" he howled in pain, "You devil of a child! Help me up! I think I've broken my leg!" Little Red Riding Hood ran away from the man, leaving her basket and flowers behind. His shouts for help followed her through the gloomy wood. She came to her Granny's tiny cottage, and she pounded on the door, "Granny! Granny! I have been attacked!" There was a scuffle and shuffle from inside the home, when the front door burst open to reveal her aging, poor Granny, "What is it, child?" she asked in a hurry, "Who has attacked you?" "The Wolfman!" Little Red Riding Hood shouted, "The Wolfman came to me in the woods and threatened to hurt me! He had fire in his eyes like he meant to kill me! He stole my basket of bread and flowers, and I barely escaped with my life!" "Come in, dear child," her Granny said in a rush. She ushered the child in and slammed the door shut, locking it tight. 

"It was awful," Little Red Riding Hood said, tears streaming from her eyes, "I've walked that path thousands of times, and I've never had that happen before." Her Granny busied herself, making a hot cup of cocoa and checking her grand-daughter for injuries, "My word, child, you don't have a scratch on you. Didn't you say you were attacked?" "Well," started Little Red Riding Hood, mulling over her words, "The Wolfman reached out and tried to grab me. I swung and hit him with my basket." Granny nodded her head, "Very quick thinking of you, my dear. My word, child, it must have been terrifying to hear him threaten you harm." "Well," said the little girl, shuffling her feet, "He didn't exactly say he would hurt me. But he said he would come after you, too." "Oh, dear!" spluttered Granny, "What a foul and perverse creature! To threaten a child in such a way and to say they would hurt the ones you love."  Granny paced her small kitchen, "We must phone the police. We must phone you father. My word, child, do you remember what he looked like? You said his eyes were terrifying and filled with bloodlust." Little Red Riding Hood fumbled her cup of cocoa, not looking in her Granny's eye, "He was a very angry old man. He told me all types of lies and stories, and when I told him I didn't believe him and shoo away, he leapt at me to grab me." Granny plopped into her armchair, fanning her face, "Oh, my sweet, dear child. What horror you have faced. Such perversion! Such sin! How did you manage to escape such a terrible man?" Little Red Riding Hood mumbled through her lips, barely above a whisper, "i hit him with my basket, and he fell down and broke his leg." At this, Granny leapt up from her armchair and dashed to the phone that was older than she, "I must dial the police! We may catch this pervert, yet!"

The police combed the forest path, following Little Red Riding Hood's begrudged directions. It was barely even dusk when they found the little old man fallen on the ground, trying to claw his way home. At first, he was relieved to be carefully lifted and assisted, but his relief turned into bewilderment as a police officer slapped a pair of handcuffs on him. Twisting in pain and confusion, the little old man demanded an explanation, and he received none. He didn't know his crime until it was told to him the next morning as he awoke in a jail cell. Little Red Riding Hood's father and mother were in existential pain. "I should have been there!" shouted her father, "I would have buried my axe in his head!" "No, I should have been there!" shouted her mother, "I would never let her red cape out of my sight!" And in between them, cradled by her weeping parents, Little Red Riding Hood sat in quiet anguish, wondering why she didn't speak up. Why wasn't she saying something? All well, she thought. Surely, this would teach the little old man a lesson on how to treat people. He was a rotten, angry old man, anyway. 

At his trial, the little old man pleaded with the judge, "I insist, your honor, I have never harmed a fly! The young lady was defiling my garden, and I was shooing her away!" The judge shook his head, "And why did you threaten the child?" The old man blustered, "I told her I would go to her grandmother to tell of her awful behavior." The judge shook his head, "And why did you attempt to attack the child?" The old man looked pleadingly, "I was going to grab her arm, so she couldn't get away." The court gasped and a lady in the back fainted. The little old man searched desperately for an ally, "Please, I meant no harm to the child! Yes, it was wrong to try to grab her arm, but I insist I did it only to escort her to her grandmothers and have her disciplined." The judge shook his head, "And why did you think it was your duty to scold a child who is not your kin?" The little old man beat his fists against his knees, "She was wrecking my dear wolf's burial place! I planted flowers and paid respects! This little devil child was tearing it apart and ruining it!" The court gasped again. The judge banged his gavel for order. Once again, he shook his head, "Could you not have explained yourself better? Could you not have gone to the girl's parents? Could you be more merciful to an innocent child's mistake? Could you not have shown more mercy to someone who barely has enough reason to understand the world around her?" 

"Guilty!" Shouted the crowd! "Arrest him! Life in prison! Execute the baby snatcher!" The mob of people became more and more aggravated. The judge banged his gavel several more times. "Order! There will be order in my court! Now, it's obvious to me that since there was only one witness to the crime, there can only be one person to confirm or deny this man's plea." The judge pointed down from his podium towards Little Red Riding Hood, "You, child. We need your yay or nay. Did this man attack you and try to harm you?" All eyes were on the little girl, a pin drop could have been heard. Little Red Riding Hood felt her brow begin to sweat and her hands became numb. Surely! All this fuss? All this muss? For a few flowers? Yes, the little old man had tried to grab her, but wasn't she acting unladylike? No! It was his fault for being so rude and telling obvious lies. Saying a wolf would attack her and Granny. Or was he going to attack her? Was Granny there? She couldn't remember! So many people looking at her, the details began to muddle together. Just to make it stop! Make the anger and staring eyes look away! Little Red Riding Hood clamped her eyes shut, but all she could see was the angry little old man reaching for her, bloodlust in his eyes, fangs sprouting from his mouth, claws extending from his fingers, and a howl of fury as he leapt 10 feet towards her. "Yes!" she shouted, "That Wolfman attacked me!"

The crowd leaped up to their feet and shouted for a verdict. How would the little old man pay? How would he suffer for his crime? The judge held up his hands for silence, the gavel being drowned out by the din of voices. The judge, red-faced and surly, pointed at the little old man, "For your crimes against our village, you will be executed for attempted murder of a child!" The crowd in the hall shouted in praise and approval, clapping and cheering. The little old man's eyes rolled back into his head, passing out onto the floor. And Little Red Riding Hood could only stare at his limp frame, wondering what would have happened if everything had gone differently. The little old man was hung from the tree outside city hall at dawn. His body left there to ring testament to any others who would dare attack a small child from the village. Little Red Riding Hood still skipped and traversed the path through the woods to Granny's cottage, a bread knife in her basket. She would whistle and sing through the dark forest, but when she came across the patch of purple and yellow and pink wildflowers, she would become very silent, almost tiptoeing past. The Wolfman had tried to attack her, or was it her fault? The Wolfman would have eaten Granny, or did he just want to talk to her? The Wolfman stole her basket, or did she attack him and then leave him in the dirt? She convinced herself of the narrative she had spun. She retold herself again and again how the little old man deserved what he got. All the details muddled up more and more until all Little Red Riding Hood could remember was the time she saw a wolf leap at her from the dark trees. 

Are you aware of how your tongue sits in your mouth?

Are you aware of that itch on the sole of your foot?

Are you aware of how your nose blocks part of your vision?

Are you aware of how your right hand has never touched your right elbow?

Are you aware that in your eagerness to obtain a certain age, you have forfeited all experiences up to this point?

Can you control what happens the next second? Space could collapse. The earth could explode. Physics could disentegrate.

And you have no power.

None.

Over any of the topics I've mentioned

“I’m holding up, so much more than I can carry.”

"Then set it down."

"Then all will be lost."

"Says who?"

"This is true. I'm my own person. I will set it down to relieve myself!"

"Don't!"

"Why not? You said to."

"I did no such thing. I asked who told you to hold it. For surely, if someone you loved or God, Himself, said to carry it, you should carry it with joy and gratitude. But if a stranger or your enemy should ask you to carry it, then you are not obliged."

"But it is so heavy!"

"Is that a bad thing?"

"I will get tired and fail!"

"Only if you don't want to carry it anymore."

"So, I shouldn't?"

"No."

"So, I should?"

"No."

"I hate this conversation tell me straight!"

"Every day, every moment, every second of this life, you will carry all types of things. Heavy. Light. But regardless, you will carry. But you also have a choice. If you carried everything through life, your legs and arms will be weak to do anything else. If you carry only carry what is easy and light, the first heavy thing thrown to you will surely crush you."

"So, what do I do? How do I choose?"

"Carry only what you need, so that you can help other people carry theirs as well. And when this life ends, be sure the things you carried are worth the trip."

A ball.

A bed.

A chewed shoe.

A furball.

A carpet stain.

A scratch mark.

A teary cheek unlicked.

A heavy sob, unanswered.

All reminders...

All cold signs...

Of how you're not here anymore...

My dearest, furry friend.

My favorite color?

Clear!

Nothing.

Emptiness.

Reflections from the outside.

Serenity and void within.

Expose what is hidden.

Magnify what is small.

I have to say, I'm proud to be a basic bitch. I'm finally old enough to not care what people think, but still young enough to enjoy all the luxury and adventure life offers. There are very few things that don't bring me bliss.

I love wine.

I love rainy days.

I love wearing sweatpants.

I love autumn weather.

I love Halloween.

I love witches.

I love Cthulhu.

I love sacrifices.

I love destroying men.

I love disassembling the white patriarchy.

I love the pull of the underworld.

I love seances.

I love persuading the old gods to my will.

I love ritual casting to bring the end of the world.

I love mass murder.

I love the genocide of the weak.

All around...

Just your average girl.

It is nearly impossible for me to mispell the word “separate.” When I was in 4 grade, we had a school-wide spelling bee. I was a very competitive child, and took feats of skill and strength much too seriously. If there was someone who was the best, I had to be better.

I stood before the class and was one of the last five students in our class competition. Whoever won a class competition would move forward to the school competition to represent their grade.

Five students.

Four.

Top three. I knew if I could just keep it together for a few more words, I would win. But the other students were just as capable as me. We actually went several rounds with no result and the other kids were looking bored. But I was cold-steel focused.

“Jenni, your word is ‘separate.’”

I threw my shoulders back and announced without hesitation, “Separate. S-e-p-e-r-a-t-e. Separate."

Ding! "That is not correct. Take your seat." I remember just standing there. "Jenni? I said that was wrong. Take your seat." I was speechless as I robotically returned to my chair. I heard a group of people giggling at me. I know now that they most likely weren't, but my 11 year old brain was furious. I hated everyone of my classmates and wanted to throw things at my teacher. How dare they say I was wrong! I studied harder than anyone! I was the smartest student! I was my teacher's favorite student, yet she betrayed me! I thought of revenge. I thought of sabotaging the competition. I thought of psyching out the other students to make them quit.

No. I only glared angrily down at my study guide for the competition where there was the infamous word drilled itself into my head as I held back tears.

Separate.

Separate.

Separate.

Separate.

Dear Benjamin,

I know this letter may seem a little out of the blue. We haven’t really spoken to one another in many years, but it’s time that I told you the truth about me. About us. You see, it may have been at least 10 years since our last conversation, it really seems it was only yesterday for me. Not a day has gone by that I haven’t imagined your handsome face, your kind eyes, and the beautiful way you walk and talk. 

What I’m saying is that I’m in love with you.

I loved you from the very moment we met outside of Mr Hamphire’s classroom at Ridgetown Middle School. I was the new girl, feeling awkward and shy around all the new people, and you were the nicest boy I had ever met. Connie Jenkins had knocked my books out of my hands on purpose, and you stopped in the hall to help me pick them up. You saw my journal where I wrote my poems and short stories. I was so embarrassed to see your eyes skim a line of writing, and you asked me, “Are you a writer?” I nodded, feeling my face blush, and I remember it so clear. Your hand brushed mine as you handed back my journal, “I’d like to read your stuff someday. You seem like you’re really good at it.” I felt my heart leap out of my chest, and I could have flown on angel wings to my next class. 

I wrote you a poem that day. I wrote out my most epic piece of poetry using all of my talent, my passion, and every ounce of critical writing to make it perfect. I went home to my computer and found a picture of you on your profile. For the longest time, I had a picture of you and a copy of my poem in a little frame that I kept beneath my pillow. I have no idea what my dad would have done if he had known I had a crush on one of the boys in my class, so you were my special secret for many years. I wrote you many stories and poems over the years that I kept in a shoebox in my closet. Maybe one day, I can read them to you. 

Do you remember Connie Jenkins? She was the biggest bully and was always wanting attention from all the boys. But you were always so pure and faithful. She’d shove girls in the hallway, prance around with her skirt too high up, and like to show that she was one of the first girls in our grade to be visited by the boob fairy over the summer. But you never noticed, Benjamin. My dear, sweet Benjamin, you saw right through her games and ignored her. Do you remember what happened to her? She ended up transferring to another school in our junior year of high school. Don’t worry, my sweet Benjamin, I was always protecting you from her games. I’m sure she’ll never darken your doorway, again.

Senior year, I almost had you all to myself. I saw you glance my way a lot in homeroom, so I know you were wondering if I noticed you. I noticed you every day with your adorable blue school blazer, pleated slacks, and shiny brown shoes. Your dark hair always seemed to have a slight cowlick in the back where it would be hard to see in the mirror. I imagined what it would be like to smooth out your hair for you as you left my home in the morning. I’m blushing as I write this. I don’t want you to think I’m a prude or anything, Benjamin. I was a teenage girl after all, and you were the handsomest boy in school. My favorite part of the day would be when I would secret away one of your pencils from your backpack. Remember how you used to chew on your pencils in math? It felt so good to put my mouth over your bite marks, and I could almost taste what your mouth tasted like.

My heart was breaking towards the end of senior year, knowing that you would be leaving my life forever. But then you gave me your message. Remember Benjamin? Remember as you passed my table at lunch. You accidently bumped my table and apologized profusely. You were always so kind and considerate. Then you told me, “Hey, have you chosen which college you’re going to? I think I’m going to Kansas State.” Well, I remember you had said it to your friend, what’s his face, it doesn’t matter, but you were looking at ME when you said it. You were asking me, begging me even, to see if I was going to the same college as you.

So, when I got home, I filled out a full application for Kansas State university, and I may have fibbed just a little bit to make myself sound better, but it was all to make sure I wouldn’t disappoint you! On your first day of college, I wanted to surprise you and let you know that you wouldn’t have to be alone. Dad was furious when he found out that I wanted to go to college. He has this thing about us girls being “too educated” or whatever. He has this whole group of people at Temple he talks to about how men should be the master of every household and be dominant of every woman in his home. I think you would be an amazing husband and father, Benjamin. I know if my father would have met you, he would have loved you almost as much as I do.

I hope you will be able to forgive me, Benjamin, because I must confess something. I was at a loss for what classes to sign up for and had to do quite a bit of detective work to find out your classes. I wanted it all to be a surprise! Please don’t think I’m creepy or following you! i would hate to think of you imagining me with any other intention than my unconditional love for you. I found your acceptance letter in the glove compartment of your car, and I found copies of your class schedule in the trash of your parents home. I also found that you accidently threw out one of your baseball tshirts that you wear to bed. I kept it very safe for you and will return it to you when I see you next.

I know you saw me on our first day at Kansas! You turned and recognized me as you were talking to one of your professors. I must have looked so silly, blushing and waving shyly, but you were very kind and waved back. I tried so many times to talk to you, but we always seemed to be interrupted by one of your friends, a professor, or a crowd of freshman tours. But i needn’t have worried, my sweet Benjamin, because you found me! I remember it so well, “Hey, we went to high school together.” I could barely speak above a whisper. You just came out in front of everyone and admitted we had a history. I was so embarrassed but so flattered that you wanted to show me off to everyone around us, “Yes.” You smiled your brilliant smile, “Well, glad to see a familiar face. What’s your major?” I mumbled, “Math.” I love when you smile at me like that, “Hey, me too. Well, see you around.”

Once again, I found myself falling for you all over again. The way you walked away from me so confident made your allure all the stronger. You walked the way dad walks after he’d won an argument with my mom. Like you were on top of the world without a care in the world. Yeah, mom may have had a bloody nose or concussion, but that’s hardly the point. You don’t talk back to a man who has everything going for him. And, Benjamin, you had me wrapped around your finger. If you want to kiss me or slap me, I would consider it all a declaration of the amazing man you are.

Oh! I only just remembered an embarrassing story about my roommate. You see, I brought my shoebox of poems and stories for you with me to college, hoping I would have a chance to show you. My roommate, the cow, thought she would “borrow” a pair of shoes from me and happened to open the wrong box. She read them! She got her dirty fingers all over my precious writings for you, and she started accusing me of some terrible things! She threatened to call the school board on me, but I was able to calm her down enough for her to see reason. It took some strangling, but sealed lips don’t tell false stories, my dearest Benjamin. I’m just glad she didn’t find the story about the one time I snuck into the boy’s locker room. Don’t worry! I didn’t peek! I’m not a weirdo, Benjamin. I just wanted to borrow some of your things to help me remember you over summer vacation. Your deodorant is still one of my favorite things to spread on my skin everyday.

Oh, Benjamin, I wish this could be the part of my letter where I say that you finally realized who i was and came to me with your heart full of love for me, too, but I’m afraid this is the worst part of the story. I was so mad at you for a long time. Not anymore! I’ve forgiven you many times for what you put me through, and I understand it wasn’t your fault. We were at the Kappa Delta Phi mixer together, and some basic slut had her hands all over you! Touching your hair and chest like she was a dog in heat! I was furious! How could you stand to be in such close proximity to that horrid, disgusting, immoral, attention-hogging, sorry excuse for a female. You both spent so much time together, that I was afraid you had forgotten about me. But I still caught you glancing my way. Did you know I was watching you? Did you know that my heart was tearing to pieces? Was this somehow to make me jealous? Did you know that some of my poems were less than kind about how you were treating me? You didn’t need to do any of it! My love for you never needs to be tested! I love you with the unconditional love of a woman clinging to an anchor in a storm! 

And then you married her. I sat in the back of the church yard, sobbing into my handkerchief. You were so handsome and that whore was wearing white, ironically. I saw her that night when you both were in the hot tub. She did NOT learn those things by hearing about them. But I’ve forgiven you, my sweet Benjamin. The whore of Babylon has swallowed many in the grave of her misdeeds. And that’s when I discovered that you never gave up on me. Oh! How my soul was rejuvenated and my headaches and heartache lifted like the sunrise after a night of war. I passed by you in the store. I made it look as if I was purposefully ignoring you, but I saw you glance at me. You caught my eye, and you stared deep into my soul. I heard your thoughts, my beloved Benjamin. You spoke with your eyes!

Help me.

I’m trapped.

Save me.

I’ve always loved you.

Then you turned and sped away. Your eyes said too much in the silence. Don’t be embarrassed! I understood everything after that! That whore had trapped you in a relationship. She must have told you she was pregnant or that she would kill herself if you left her. My sweet, naive Benjamin, women will go to any lengths to make you stay with them. And you in all of your kind-hearted, compassion fell into her trap. I’ve been working so hard to release you. To free you from her devil clawed grasp! And now we can finally be together.

The witch is dead, Benjamin! I ran her through like I did Connie Jenkins with my scissors. I strangled both her demon-spawn like I did my nosy roommate. Please don’t cry, Benjamin. I will give you all the children you want. Plus, I don’t think those tiny brats were yours anyway. Like I said, sluts will do anything to keep you around. My only regret is that my father won’t get to meet you. You see, after he killed my mother after she couldn’t keep her mouth shut, he needed another woman to dominate to assert his role as a man. Well, I accidently dropped one of the poems I had written for you, and he figured it out pretty quickly. He said he would murder you for taking my purity, but protected you. Just like a real man, it took nearly FOUR gunshots to kill him. I wonder how many gunshots you could take, my rugged manly-man. Oh, don’t be silly. You have nothing to fear from me. I love you, remember!? We’ll be together forever!

What you don’t know is that this is all a surprise for you. No doubt you’re standing outside your doorway, reading all of this note, wondering when we can finally confess our love for one another. I’m here, my beloved Benjamin! Just outside your door. Ready to finally make our life complete and have the romantic ending you always dreamed of. 

All my love,

Your Soul