Suspended

There’s something about being high in the cold night air that just blends together. All I could do was smile as she was pulling my arm to follow her. I had no idea where the fuck we were, but I loved every moment I was spending with her. She was just what I needed with this high, she kept it going. She stopped and turned to me to hold me tightly in her arms.

"Just before anything..." she whispered in my ear "I just... I really like you and this is something that... I just hope you understand about me when you see it."

I took a step back and her emerald-colored eyes were staring back at me. I could see the worry wash over her eyes, as her wall of vulnerability begins to fall.

"Look I told you at dinner... fuck it... you promised not to hold back your love then neither will I." she hugged me as the words left my lips something told me she never wants to let me go.

"Ok, Ok..." I comfort her as I look up at the fogged lights and damped warehouse buildings "... so apparently this part of LA means a lot to you, so go ahead, show me why! Remember I'm up for anything as long as I'm able to smoke a bit more when I'm in there."

She laughs and kept pulling me to follow her down the alley till we reached this rusted sliding door on the side of an abandoned building. She turned to me and gave me one last kiss on my cheek before turning back around and inserting this key into a hole in the wall.

Just as I hear the lock turn my heart skips a beat with it. I took another hit just before walking across the rail, and she slid the door closed right behind me. I took a deep breath as the darkness surrounded me, and just like that, as soon as I exhaled this glowing black light appeared above a white door. She began to walk quickly with excitement, she was overjoyed. I just couldn't understand what it all was exactly, but I was drawn with fear… and lust. Yet, I undoubtedly trusted her. I took another hit, and she laughed, "You'll be fine I promise!" she said happily as she squeezed my arm tighter.

The door was like an entrance to another world. It led down this hallway with multiple doors on both sides, lights wrapped around each of the frames, each one with a different color. The most beautiful rainbow anyone has been able to capture below the clouds, trapped down in a hallway in some warehouse somewhere in shit filled LA.

She began to spin and twirl her way down the hall. Her fingertips gliding across each door. She stops and looks at me.

"I figured since you told me about yourself over dinner and were open about a lot, that you might enjoy this." My heart began to skip a beat with every step I took. My hands shook as I reached down my pocket to find my pen to calm my nerves. She was standing in front of a pink door. "Close your eyes." she told me, but I was frozen and couldn't move.

"Close them." She whispered to me, and like a stage curtain they fell. I felt her hands on my shoulders and she began to move me in front of the door. I felt her lips against mine one last time and heard the door open.

Even with my eyes closed, I felt her hands wrap around to cover them. She was behind me pushing me forward. All I could hear was the background noise, some sort of low beats mixed with people's whispers. My hands were shaking, sweating, and she kept pushing me forward, each step becoming shorter than the last. Then she turned me around with my eyes still closed.

"Don't worry you can open them. You're only going to see me." She whispered as I felt the warmness of her touch leave my face. My eyelids felt like a ton each, slowly, one after the other, they opened, and she was standing right in front of me. The wall behind her lit up with the same pink lights as the door frame outside.

"Just trust me." She told me as she began turning me around. Instantly the pen falls out of my hand. There were a few groups of people sitting, just hanging around having a few drinks, some on their phones talking about their day at work. Almost purposefully ignoring what I was seeing.

"This is what I wanted to show you." she said as she wrapped her arms around my body. Her hands felt the heart attack beating inside my chest.

In the middle of the room was this brunette. She was suspended in the air. Hands tied behind her back, and her legs wrapped in beautiful white scarfs keeping her thighs open. Another scarf hiding the rest of her beauty below her eyes. Some artistic form of Shibari.

She was staring at me without making a sound, but I feel her talking to me through her scarf. I looked underneath and couldn't believe what I saw, a "Caution When Wet" sign. My body was frozen. I couldn't register what it was I was seeing, yet I couldn’t look away. I began to feel her arms leave my body as she walked towards the woman floating in the middle of the room.

"I just wanted to show you... I am into things too." And her hands began to move between both their thighs. Her fingers began to move back and forth, and the brunette's eyes began to close.

Silence started to creep around the crowd. Soon all we could hear was the breathing and moaning coming from the middle of the room where we stood. Both their eyes were focused on me while everyone was looking at them. The scarf around her mouth began to move in and out with every breath. Then with one loud gasp, drops began to flow down the brunette’s thighs, dripping on the floor, next to the sign.

Just like that she started walking back towards me, licking her fingers. "Come!" she waves at me, and again she is pulling my arm to follow her back out the room. The people in the back murmuring with approval as they were lowering their decoration suspended in the room. She laid on the ground curled, legs shaking.

I opened the door and again it was like stepping into another world. She started walking down the hall to a different shade of color. I already knew to follow her.

As we walk down the hall, she opened another door. Red

"This is my favorite color." She says to me as she walks inside the room.

I walk in after her and close the door. It was just the two of us. We walk into the middle, and she starts taking off her clothes.

"This is what I like, and I thought… I could show you." she said as she began unbuttoning her jeans. They hit the floor, and the door opens behind me. It was the brunette from the pink room. She walked towards me and laid me down on the floor, wrapping her scarf over my face. She got on top of me holding my arms together above my head, tying them together so I wouldn’t fight back. Another female walked through the door, this one I had no idea who she was. She was wearing a white masquerade mask, and her silk robe matched.

The brunette slowly turns my head back towards her till I’m staring in her eyes again. Her hips began to move faster, back and forth as she leaned in close to me, biting my lips. The woman in the mask slowly stepping closer behind my Deity who brought me into her reality, her world.

I watched as my savior got on her knees, one hand between her thighs. Again, the brunette turns my head towards her, and leans in once more,

"See me." She whispered as she moves her hips quicker.

Then a loud gasp comes from the side, but the scarf held my gaze,

"Look at me." She says again as her hips move faster.

Another loud gasp, and the brunette reaches down and puts her hands around my neck.

Another, but I can't stop staring at the angel in front of me.

Then she turns my head towards the middle of the room.

The woman in the mask standing with blood on her hands.

My goddess, naked, licking the blood from her lips as she forces one hand deeper between her thighs, moaning with each punch she is given. The girl in the mask kicks her back against the ground, watching me as she moaned. Suspended no more, the brunette squeezes her thighs tighter.

Her hands never letting go from my throat.

She loved the feeling of walking away. Everyone exited the train, masses herd to the left, following the siren sound of success. She turned right. To her street. To her home. She still works. But it doesn’t look like it used to. No pantyhose and heels. No bumping elbows or bruised egos that punch harder than a heavyweight boxer. She was so happy about this new world, answering to herself on her own timeline, she never noticed the shadow figure in her periphery. He masked the malice of his intent. Method over mania, he repeated to himself. Method over mania.

You can sit next me, but I must forewarn you. I’m not like anyone you’ve ever met. If you find yourself intrigued, the further from me you should get. If you say I love you first, I will never love you like that. If you seem like you might hurt me, I will follow you to the moon and back. I’m forty-seven degrees of insanity, in seventy-four shades of play. If you marry your favorite dream and worst nightmare, I am their love child. Either way, I’ll leave you screaming in the dark. Could be my name, could be exquisite pain, could be the freeze frame of ecstasy before terror, or terror before ecstasy. What is it you want to explore? My mind, my body, my misplaced sense of humanity? Or yours? We can open all the doors, but - disclaimer, there is one which will shut you all the way out.

Lieutenant Young stepped aboard the ship, looking back at her fiancee, Rei. He smiled, and nodded, as she took her final steps on the I.S.S Yamamoto. A single tear ran down her cheek, as the doors slowly sealed, along with her fate. They were on a voyage to the Andromeda galaxy, millions of light years away. Everyone knew what to do; step inside the cryo pods, and count to thirteen. That's about the amount of time it takes to fall asleep and go into metabolic stasis, and then they'd awake a hundred years from then, when they are close enough to their destination. Sumara did just that, and began to count.

"An, be, kho, śen, jo, sei...ka...te...nùr...lei...leán...lebé...lekkò." She said, getting sleepier and sleepier after each number. "Sláre, Rei. Goodbye..." Sumara said weakly, as she drifted off to sleep, hoping this would all be over soon.

When Sumara woke up, she opened her pod, expecting to see people bustling around, preparing for the landing on Idèle, their target destination. But what she saw terrified her more than anything; She saw nobody. Everyone else was still in their pods, unmoving, still in metabolic stasis. She got up from her pod, and frantically began to look around the large room, desperate to find someone, anyone who was awake. Perhaps it was an elaborate prank? She laughed. They must have been planning this since they left.

"Haha, very funny guys. You can come out now, jokes over. I said the jokes over, and as your Lieutenant, I'm ordering you to come out now." She said, now upset. The joke had gone too far. But when nobody but the silence drowning the room responded, she began to worry. What if...what if she was the only crew member awake?

'Wait,' She thought, 'There's a computer system aboard. I can just ask how much longer we have until we land. Hopefully they wake up soon.' Sumara thought.

"Atlas!" She said, speaking the computer's name. It responded.

"Yes, Lieutenant Young?" It asked. She nodded. At least the computer was active.

"How much longer until we land on Idèle?" Sumara asked.

"At our current velocity, the landing on Idèle is approximately...ninety-seven years from now." Atlas answered. Sumara couldn't believe it. They weren't even halfway to the planet. She fell to her knees, and sobbed. She sobbed because she realized that she would probably die on that ship. That she would never see Rei again. Never get married to him. She'd be stranded in space...forever. Through her sobs, she somehow found the strength to ask Atlas another question.

"Atlas, h-how long ha-has it been s-since t-takeoff?" She said, her voice catching.

"Two and a half years, Lieutenant." It replied. When he said that, she could feel herself slipping, and she fell to the ground, as everything around her began to fade to black.

My dad was mentally ill.

He beat my mom to a pulp. He psychologically tortured everyone he ever loved. He started hitting me, too, because I was a woman- and he thought that was just what men did. He thought that's what women deserved.

But.

I haven't the slightest doubt that he loved me. He loved his children. He loved so hard it destroyed him. He held so tight. He couldn't let us live. He was a monster, clutching a bouquet of flowers he loved to look at, squeezing so hard that he crushed them.

When I was little, he told me stories of his childhood.

I don't think he ever imagined that I would remember.

He'd grown up in a kind of poverty one doesn't even imagine possible in the United States. He was one of six children.

He never owned a pair of shoes.

He never owned a clothing item that fit. His long limbs outgrew the length of his pants, but starvation made even the smallest sizes fall off of his boney hips.

He used to talk about sharing a bed with two younger siblings who would pee all night. His parents never helped. The children would lie in the urine all night and go to school with sores on their small bodies, smelling of piss and rot. It got so bad that the springs of their shared mattress started poking through. The sores became wounds, dug by rusty springs. If they tried to get out of bed, their mother would beat them. She made them lie in the urine all night. Every night.

Dad used to tell a story about falling into the outhouse- they didn't have indoor plumbing.

He was six years old. It was stormy out, but he snuck out of bed, trekked outside and went into the little wooden shack to use the bathroom. He hadn't wanted to soil his dry corner of the bed. The outhouse had a latch on the outside to hold the door shut in case of a wind storm. Well, he pulled the door shut and he went about his business, only to find himself locked inside. He was six. He panicked. He somehow ended up down the hole, sinking into feces. He sunk up to his neck in sewage before his feet hit solid ground. He couldn't get out of the hole, crushed under the weight around him. He stood in there all night. No one knew he was gone- or nobody cared. His older brother found him in the morning when he went in to relieve himself. He peed on dad's head... and dad screamed... and eventually, they got him out. It's a miracle he didn't die that night. It's a miracle he didn't drown in shit.

His mom beat him for going outside.

These are but two of the stories he told. These are the milder of those which I heard. And they were true. There were photos to prove it.

There is no excuse for what he became, but when I look at his upbringing, it isn't hard to imagine why he ended up that way.

When I was little, he was actually a wonderful father. He made many mistakes, but he never meant to be cruel. He doted on us. He took us on vacations. He played with us for endless hours. He took me on special dad and daughter times. He gave me nicknames and told excellent dad-jokes and braided my hair before bed. He drove hundreds of miles every week so that I could go horseback riding. He did the best he could. I know that in the core of my being. His insanity was mild then, only rearing its ugly head on rare occasions, easily dismissed as someone who perhaps needed a little therapy, but wasn't at all a bad person. But then, I got older.

I started wanting to go over to my friend's house instead. I started getting angry at the endless list of chores I was given during each visitation, while my brothers were allowed to play. I started seeing things I hadn't before. I started hearing words about women that made my stomach churn. He started to hate me, for what I was becoming: a woman. I wasn't dad's little girl anymore.

He wanted her back.

The abuse escalated. He became deranged.

My brothers were the last to admit it, but finally, one fateful afternoon, after he'd threatened to kill my older brother with true intent, given him a black eye and thrown me into the wall as I'd stepped between them, clung to his shirt, begged him not to murder my brother.... They finally admitted the truth.

We severed all ties.

His madness grew.

I would lie awake every night and wonder if this was the night he'd break in and kill my whole family. I didn't sleep for a decade.

I got a call one night, eight years after I'd last seen dad. It was my sister.

"He's really sick, Pearl..." she'd said.

I hadn't spoken to my sister in ten years. She'd clung to our father, refusing to see what he had become. She'd shunned me for leaving him alone.

"Shan, It's not my problem. I'm really sorry you're going through this. I have to take care of my family now," I'd said.

"No-wait-- Pearl--" I could hear her trying to stifle the tears on the other end of the line, "Pearly, he will die soon if you don't help."

The words had hung heavy for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, I whispered, "I can't." She was angry.

"He can hardly walk! It's ridiculous to think he could hurt you now. Please. PLEASE. . I need your help. I live too far away and you're still in town. I just need you to feed him. He is on a special diet..." When I just stayed silent she continued, "Pearly sue. Please. I-- He's different now. He told me what he did to you kids. He told me he's sorry-- His disease...." She'd paused, giving weight to the bombshell she was about to drop, "his disease... it affects the brain. He has been being poisoned for the last ten years... by his own body." I'd started shaking then, and I'd ultimately decided that I had to help. If there was even a slight chance at redemption, I'd offer it. I knew I would hate myself if I didn't.

I went and saw him.

And he had changed. He was on medication. His blood had been cleaned. He was on biweekly dialysis to keep his system from overloading with toxins. He was reasonable. He was kind. He let me bumble about his kitchen and dutifully ate the nasty kidney diet food he needed to survive. He told me how sorry he was.

My heart was mending.

I was going to introduce him to his grandson.

He'd met my husband and told him how lucky he was to be married to me. He'd gone on and on about what a wonderful woman I was. How proud he was. How sorry he was. He was getting better.

He was going to live.

He was going to have all of the love he'd deserved as a child.

I was going to forgive it all.

He wanted to write a letter to my mother.

He wanted to tell her how sorry he was.

I wept.

I had a father. His mind was clear. It wasn't toxic.

And then.

A week later he missed a dialysis appointment.

My sister was supposed to pick him up but she didn't.

The poison in his brain took root again. We got reports of him wandering around town, assaulting people. He was placed in the psychiatric ward of the hospital.

They got him back on track.

They forced him to go to dialysis.

But the damage was done. His brain was ruined.

He'd started hearing voices and they were telling him that the hospital staff were poisoning him. He begged us all to sign release forms.

I refused.

He needed more time. He needed the toxins flushed from his system. He needed to get back on his medication.

My sister went in and signed his release.

He only got worse from there.

I fought with my sister. We severed ties. And I never did see my dad again.

He went back to insanity. She let him.

I stopped being updated on his condition.

I didn't know how bad it had gotten. I got a text one January morning: hey. Dad is not doing well. He's in the ICU at OHSU. Today is the day to see him.

I didn't go.

My phone rang at 3am.

"Sis. Dad died," my brother- the one who'd almost been murdered- said.

"...We knew it was coming... are you okay?"

"Yeah. I will be."

I said bye and hung up the phone. I was not okay.

__________

And right there, 8 lines back, is where I would have re-written.

_________

I got a text one January morning: hey. Dad is not doing well. He's in the ICU at OHSU. Today is the day to see him.

I packed up the car, put my 6-month-old in the backseat, and drove for 6 hours. We had a hard time finding parking at the giant hospital, but finally caught a shuttle and rode over to the entrance. My feet echoed down the hallway, my gait strange as I lugged along the infant car seat. I found the ICU and they escorted me to his room. He was still awake when I arrived.

He loved his grandson. I laid my son next to him and he stroked his fuzzy head.

Dad looked at me and smiled, "I love you, Pearl girl."

"I love you, Dad," I said. He closed his eyes. I sat in the uncomfortable chair and nursed my son to sleep. Then I put my baby in his car seat and held dad's hand. I prayed over him. I forgave him. I asked God to let him come to heaven anyway. He squeezed my hand one last time before his soul left. I said goodbye and I took my baby and I cried, but I wasn't broken anymore.

There was peace.

__________

But that isn't what happened.

Dad died alone.

No one was in the room.

The nurses kept going in and comforting, because....he was aware until the very last... and he cried for his children. He cried for me.

And then they left his side.

And he died alone.

Utterly alone.

With no one to hold his hand.

__________

I hate the part of me that let that happen.

I didn't just rob him of a good death.

I robbed myself of healing.

I took my suffering and I spread it around.

Just like he'd always done.

I did not have mercy.

And that is my greatest regret.

Daniel Meringer used one of his rare waking hours to reflect on his life and what it had become. I will leave this life with far less than I entered. It would not be long now – hours, perhaps days. Meringer’s life hadn’t been an exceptionally long one, but, despite the depletion of his wealth over the past few decades, he had no regrets.

Though he had to admit, if he had managed to hold on to even a fraction of his wealth, he could have extended his life significantly. Ah well. What’s done is done. No use trying to wish away what can’t be changed. Indeed, it was far too late now.

Meringer had no family. He had chosen a life of adventure. As he’d grown older, his friends from his youth turned from their old ways, settling down and having families. He’d lost touch with all of them, save one, his dear friend, Jack Sewalt.

Jack had been with him through everything – (list adventures). He had even been with him when they found the gemstone that Meringer still kept on the table next to his bed. Its beauty never ceased to amaze him – the way the sunlight reflected through it made colorful lights dance around his tiny room. Even after all these years, Daniel couldn’t bear to part with it. The thing itself was practically worthless. He and Jack had taken it because, in their youthful arrogance, they had believed it to be valuable. Daniel took it home with him, assuring Jack that they would split the profits when he found a buyer.

The day he returned home, he had taken it to a jeweler. After studying it for nearly an hour, the man told Daniel the bad news. “I can take it off your hands,” the jeweler had told him. “Even if it’s a common and inexpensive gemstone, people often buy jewelry using quartz instead of more precious gemstones. It’s less expensive, and it still looks pretty. Will you sell it?”

He offered Daniel a price, but Daniel refused to accept. Even if it wasn’t worth what he thought it was, he liked the look of it enough to keep it. At the very least, it was a fantastic conversation piece.

As Meringer’s health began to deteriorate, he sent a message to Jack, asking him to come. After losing his wealth, Daniel never bothered to create a will, but he wanted Jack to have the quartz as a keepsake. He wasn’t sure if Jack would make it before his time came, so when his old friend strolled through the door, Daniel was pleasantly surprised.

“Jack!” he said, weakly attempting to push himself up from his pillows. “I’m glad you came!”

Jack came and stood by Daniel’s bed, taking his hand and squeezing it. “I wish you’d told me sooner how sick you really were.”

Daniel shook his head. “No point in worrying you.” He pointed to the gemstone next to him. “Remember this?”

Jack’s eyes grew wide for a moment, and then he laughed. “How could I forget? I can’t believe you kept it all these years! I always wondered why I never saw a penny of that money. I thought you’d stiffed me, but then you didn’t have money either, so I figured something else had happened.”

Jack glanced around the room and then took a long look at the pale, weak version of the man he once knew so well. “Daniel, why didn’t you sell it? You could have gotten doctors – good ones! Medicine!”

Daniel only shook his head. “It’s practically worthless, Jack. A jeweler told me it’s only quartz, barely worth a few hundred.”

Jack bent down over the gemstone, squinting at it. “Did he offer to buy it?”

“He did, but I decided I’d rather keep it. And now, I’d like to give it to you.”

Jack shook his head and looked at his old friend with anguish. “You old fool. That jeweler lied. He wanted to give you a few hundred and make money off of you!”

“No,” Daniel whispered. “No, explained how he knew it was quartz. He studied it for an hour!”

“Did you ever get a second opinion?”

“No,” Daniel admitted, falling back into his pillows.

“Daniel, this gemstone is easily worth millions! You could have sold it, and-”

Daniel Meringer never heard Jack’s words. As he fell into Death’s arms, one thought filled his mind: It didn’t have to end like this.

So,

because I have made the choice

to allow space for my anger

and see bullshit for what it truly is,

I am of the devil.

Interesting.

Theirs was neither an uncommon nor a happy beginning. Irish twins, Hansel and Gretel were born addicted to the crack their mother ingested while pregnant. Their first few months of life were, fortunately, a blur to them, since the theme was constant pain. Sadly, this did not end upon leaving the hospital, since the courts endeavored to keep families together, they kept themselves willfully ignorant of the disinterested dealer who was their father and the “I’ve got myself together this time, I’m gonna take care of my babies” mother who always ended up selling her soul for another hit.

Until her soul was in tatters and she sold her children.

The last time they returned from foster care, she managed to work a whole month at the job the state had helped her find. Her boss was a tyrant and seemed intent on making her life miserable. He was not a fan of the rehabilitation job program. He felt, once an addict, always an addict and he wanted no part of them. He criticized every thing she did, Stood over her while she did the most menial tasks which made her nervous and mistake prone even though she could do anything he asked with her eyes closed. She graduated from Saint Catherine’s first in her class and made it through three years of college as a physics major. I’m not stupid she told herself repeatedly as she tried to ignore him and concentrate on doing and keeping her job.

There was an onsite day care for the children where they fed them breakfast and lunch. She only had to worry about dinner. The first week she tried her hand at making dinner. Fried chicken like her grandma used to make. Meatloaf. Fried whiting. Beef stew that lasted two days so she didn’t have to worry about cooking on Friday night. She burned a lot, but they didn't starve.

Saturday, she took them food shopping and bought more ground beef, powdered onion soup, stew beef, potatoes, carrots, bread, peanut butter and jelly as well as some cans of tuna. They had hot dogs from the food truck outside the supermarket as a special treat. She took them to the park and watched them play from a bench.

“So you got them back again?”

“Forever, this time. They’re my babies. Our babies, Jerome.”

“Not my problem. Listen, I got some good stuff. You working now, I hear. You buyin’?”

“Jerome, you need to leave me alone. If you’re not gonna help me raise them right, you need to go. I can’t anymore. They’ll take them away for good this time if I mess up again.”

“Don’t you think they’d be better off without a crackhead for a mother?”

“I’m not doing any more, Jerome. They need me. Please leave.”

“You keep singing that song, baby. I’ll be here when you ready.”

The conversation with Jerome drained her so she bought happy meals for the children on the way home.

Sunday, she asked the children what they wanted for breakfast. They’d developed a love of pancakes at their last foster home and so said in unison, “Pancakes, please!”

Lina was a mediocre cook when she knew what she was doing. Pancakes were not her thing. She tried. As she scraped the black disks onto plates. She burst into tears.

“Don’t cry, Mommy. We like them crispy,” said Hansel.

“Can I have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich instead, Mommy?” asked Gretel quietly.

Lina ran out of the room. Hansel threw the pancakes in the garbage and made them both sandwiches.

After they’d eaten, they went to find their mother. She was crying on the bed.

“Mommy, don’t cry. “

“I can’t even make pancakes right,” she wailed.

“We don’t need pancakes, Mommy.”

She dried her tears, hugged her babies and prayed to stay strong.

Monday, her boss screamed at her in front of her children.

“You’re late, Ms. Littleton. We frown upon tardiness here.”

“I’m sorry Mr. Charles. The bus broke down and we had to wait for another to come.”

“No excuses. Don’t linger at daycare. I expect you to be at your desk in two minutes.”

“Yes, Mr. Charles.”

She made hot dogs for dinner. By Friday, it was peanut butter and jelly by Hansel.

Saturday, she did the food shopping: bread, milk, peanut butter, jelly, tuna, hot dogs.

Jerome showed up at the park and she gave him half her pay.

Hansel made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on Sunday.

She was able to get through another week and get another check. She skipped the tuna this week and gave Jerome a little bit more of her check.

After the fourth week, she woke up Sunday in one of Jerome’s flop houses, shaking. She went looking for him.

“I’ll give you my whole check, I just need a little more.”

“You gave me your whole check yesterday when you showed up, kids in tow. You don’t have anything else I want, Lina. Go home.”

“Please, Jerome, just a little something to tide me over till I get paid again.”

“Baby, I don’t mean to burst your bubble, but no one’s gonna be paying you to do nothing.”

“I have a job!”

“And you going there feeling like you are right now? You look like shit. Tomorrow will only be worse.”

Lina started crying.

“Stop your bawling. Tell you what. I can help you and get those kids off your hands so you don’t have to worry any more. You can’t take care of them. You can’t even take care of yourself. I know someone who will buy them off you. Take real good care of them.”

Lina knew it was wrong somewhere in the depths of her crack-hazed brain, but it was too much to recall why.

“How much do you think I can get for them?” she asked, eyes half-closed, hands trembling.

“Go see Miss Abby. She’ll take care of you. When you get the money, you can come see me. I got what you need.”

“Miss Abby? No one goes near her house. She’s cray-cray.”

“Up to you. I’m outta here.”

“But…”

“Get off me,” he said, throwing her off his arm. “Your best bet is to see Miss Abby. Then come back. I’ll hook you up real good.”

Jerome left. Lina sat crying and shivering on the floor.

“Mama? Can we come out now?”

Part of her was mortified she’d brought her children to a dirty, run down house and hid them in a closet so they wouldn’t watch her lose herself. The other part was glad she’d not left them home alone. And that she had kept them from watching what went on in the house.

Lina wiped her eyes and stood up. “Yes, baby. C’mon. We have somewhere to be.”

Miss Abby lived in a house on edge of town. It was the oldest house in town but it was in perfect condition. Everyone considered it a bit of an eyesore since it was painted the colors of the rainbow. Every few years she would hire a bunch of teenagers to paint it their favorite colors. Presently it was purple, yellow, green, orange, red, blue and fuchsia. There was always fuchsia. That was Miss Abby's favorite color.

Little children stayed far away. Unless dared. For as long as Lina could remember, no one under 16 ever went to her house without being dared first. Everyone said she was a witch that ate little children.

That was just ridiculous, of course. No one eats children.

Not finding a bell, she knocked on the door. Loud footsteps approached. A heavily made up face peeked through the curtain then opened the door. Lina, Hansel and Gretel all looked up, mouths gaping. It was the tallest woman they had ever seen.

“Now who do we have here?”

“Um, hello, Miss Abby. My, uh, friend, Jerome..."

“Say no more. Are these beautiful creatures yours?”

“Yes, ma’am. This is Hansel. He’s 5. This is Gretel. She’s 4. Say hello to Miss Abby children.”

“Hello Miss Abby,” they said in unison. Eyes huge in their small, hungry faces.

“And so polite, too. They’ll do just fine. I was just hankering for some little ones recently,” she said, smiling like the Cheshire cat. “Run to the kitchen children, it’s straight ahead down the hall. There are some cookies on the table. I just baked them. I’ll get you some milk when I get there.”

The children’s empty stomachs answered. Taking each other’s hands, they ran without looking back.

She reached behind the door. Lina could hear a drawer open and close. Miss Abby came back with money in her hand.

“Here’s $1000. Don’t return. You won’t be welcome.” Miss Abby closed the door in Lina’s face. But Lina didn’t notice. Stunned by her sudden wealth, she was already hastening back to Jerome and oblivion.

The garbage collectors found her a few days later in the alley behind her building, tossed between the trash cans. The Coroner’s report said her last hit was tainted with a deadly dose of fentanyl.

Meanwhile, Miss Abby was like the grandmother Hansel and Gretel never had.

After Lina left, Miss Abby made her way to the kitchen. Hansel and Gretel were each eating one cookie, slowly, trying to make it last. As Miss Abby got a couple of jelly jars from the cabinet, she said, “Don’t be shy, children. Go ahead and gobble them up. I know you want to.”

They looked at her then at each other then at the plate of cookies.

“Go on. We can make some more after lunch. Would you like tuna sandwiches or peanut butter and jelly?”

“Peanut butter and jelly, please,” said Gretel.

“Me, too. Please,” said Hansel. “I know how to make them. I make them for Gretel and me all the time.”

“Here’s your milk,” she said, placing the glasses in front of them. “Peanut butter and jelly is my favorite, too. “I’m partial to sweet things,” she said, smiling at Hansel.

She gave them a room to share with clean sheets. And in the closet were clothes that, oddly enough, fit perfectly.

For a month, she fed them, bathed them, told them stories. She taught Gretel how to bake cookies and cakes that Hansel in particular loved. She taught Hansel to wash the dishes and stoke the fire in the old-fashioned wood oven in her kitchen.

No, not big enough for a small boy or a big witch. This isn’t that Hansel and Gretel.

More’s the pity.

"I have a surprise for you two today!"

On their one month anniversary, Grandma Abby, for that is what Miss Abby asked them to call her, led them upstairs. She opened the door to a room they'd never entered before.

"This is Hansel's new room." It was a little boy’s dream with lots of toy cars and trucks, an erector set, as well as some stuffed animals and books about little boys on grand adventures. There was a slide, and a train set, too. Hansel ran straight to the books.

"Will you read to us, Grandma Abby? I can't read very well yet although when Mommy was well, she was teaching me…that was a long time ago though."

"Is Mommy coming back, Grandma Abby?"

"No, my dear."

"Will you take care of us?"

"It is my great pleasure to do so. Come give Grandma Abby a hug." Both children ran into her arms. She held them close, burying her nose in Hansel's neck and sighing.

"Come along. We mustn't leave Gretel out of the fun."

She led them up another set of stairs to the attic. She opened the door and it was the perfect room for a little girl. Pink and white with a frilly canopied bed. Princess costumes in a toy chest, baby dolls, a play house, a small table with chairs set up for tea, and myriad books about princesses that lived happily ever after. It lacked only windows.

And it locked from the outside.

That night, the door to Hansel's room slowly opened. The light from the hallway shone upon his face. He looked like an angel. Grandma Abby closed the door and approached the bed.

"Hansel?" she whispered, caressing his arm gently.

"Grandma Abby?"

"Yes, baby."

"Is Gretel okay?"

"Gretel is fine." She sat down. "You like it here, right baby."

"Yes." Suddenly wide awake, Hansel sat up. "Are they coming to take us away? We don't have to go, do we?"

"No, of course not, baby. You belong to me now." She took his hand. "Grandma Abby needs you to do something. It will be our secret. You can't tell Gretel."

"We tell each other everything."

"If you tell, I will have to make you both leave."

"Please don't make us go, Grandma Abby."

"There, there now, don't worry. Grandma Abby is going to take good care of you. Promise you won't tell?"

"I promise," Hansel quickly agreed.

"Good boy," said Grandma Abby, kissing him on the forehead and standing. Pulling the sash on her robe, it opened.

"Grandma Abby?” Hansel looked confused. “You're a Grandpa?"

"Hush, sugar. Grandma Abby is gonna take good care of you."

I am the wailing unclean spirit, born in a palace of corruption.

I am the wide mouth of the glutton, bearing the daggers of consumption.

I am the tension ever rising, in the wake of my regret.

I am the hopeful father's soul, on the long way to repent.

I am the hedonistic mercenary, flaying children with a smile.

I am Christ upon the cross, my disciples drowned in bile.

I am the sprawling army waiting, a vanguard of mistrust.

I am a kneeling God in exile, a tarnished icon of disgust.

Watch as I dissect myself.

Watch as I destroy myself.

For I am the omnipresent ghost of lust, in a world of black and red.

For I am the bane of self-acceptance, seething among the dead.