As I settle down in my heavy, cosy quilt this chilly winter night,

I picture Her again,

A unique, rare beauty…. Quaint.

She was a saxophone in a sea of trumpets

She had traveled to our land from the mystic deserts of Egypt,

And had an aura about her that was hard to decrypt.

She was the rhythm of her gait, the giggles of her anklets,

She had the power to charm people, and capture their attention for a while,

And those eyes, oh! Those twinkling gems that can beguile,

Anyone brave enough to meet her gaze,

Would surely be stunned for a few moments, struggling for composure in a daze.

Her perfectly smooth and shiny rare red hair,

That she would tend to several times a day with care,

Was surely a matter of envy,

Such was the beauty of our dear Ivy,

But well it was all the same,

Her arrogant nature was stubborn and sticky like her name.

“Maybe I am not a cat person afterall”, her master said.

And threw out poor Ivy and got a dog instead.


Read on

She turned round and round in front of the mirror, admiring the sequin dress that hugged her fragile frame,
she ignored him calling out to her, repeatedly saying her name.
she instead looked at the nightstand and smiled at the pendant he bought her last night,
he enjoyed his women sparkling, she mused, sparkling and bright.
she opened her wardrobe, and counted. 61, 61 different dresses for each time,
61 for the 3 months that they had been married. 61 times, she thought and chuckled.
From the corner of her eye, she spied his reflection, he called out to her again,
with a naughty smile, she looked away, he called out again, this time louder, but in vain.
she lightly touched the bruises from last night, the bruises and the bump on her head,
she recalled, “after a while, it stops hurting”, he had said.
every morning he would only recall it as light tapping, and accuse her of being too delicate,
she lightly touched her swollen lower lip, where her teeth dug, to keep herself from screaming, while she waited for him to be satiated.
“Scream, and I will really give you something to scream about”
she thought, shaking her head, must do that to keep the screams from going out.
she then turned her head to the cake, she counted, only 10 candles remained of the initial 15,
her name smudged in the pink and green cream,
she kept from smiling, her lips hurt. this time she looked right at him,
pudgy mush tub of lard of a man, she thought to herself. she tilted her head at an angle and gave him her innocent doll like look,
“are we almost done here?” a voice called from inside the house,
she twirled around in her pretty skirt with a flourish,
“I almost feel bad in doing this, the dresses he bought me are all so pretty!”
“He took the longest, and some of the damage he’s done may put us out of business for months”, came the reply. “Let’s please wrap up and get out?”
“Alright” she said and skipped over to his naked body on the floor, “I know you loved Lolita, your image preceded you, you were almost too easy.”
“Gia, please”, he called out again, “sh sh sh” she said, slowly shaking her head, and lightly touched his lips with her finger, ” after a while, it really will stop hurting” she said, and severed his head in a clean stroke.
“you done with the loot?” she called out to her sister. “yes.”

She looked down at Mr. Patel, and said, “We got a lot more than we had planned for, this time.”