The Venus Fix

Ten

Dearest,

In the dark, there is one candle lit and the smell of the wax is a promise. I have four more candles on the table, ready to light. One candle for each woman-if you can call that a woman. I call her a witch who dreams evil and shows it to any man who wants to see, who offers up her own blood to quench their addictions and watches as their eyes glaze over and their fat fingers itch and they give in and give up to the plastic fantastic sham. These who call themselves women take bites out of the people they pretend to please, leaving poison on the skin. The pollution of innocence and filth in the name of freedom. No more. No more. No more. Nomorenomore. Nomorenomorenomore.

Last week wasn’t the first time I watched your little friend. Did I tell you that? I’d watched her a half a dozen times before, but what choice did I have? I had to see what she did, what her “act”was, didn’t I? How else could I have approached her or known where her weak spot would be?

She peddled, and she lied, and she plied, and she seduced with a falsity that seemed so obvious to me it’s a wonder that anyone falls for it. Can’t men see she is just playing with them? Didn’t you realize the damage, the ravage, the travesty that is enacted, pulled off, executed by these women who are not women but are instead this other thing?

There was nothing innocent about the way she died except that she didn’t suspect it and that was my own sweet surprise. She just performed as usual, twisting her little toy up high into her vagina without guessing that there was anything different about it. Not an idea in her head that it would be her last night and that her minions, her army, her horde out there, alone in the dark, watching her, imagining that she was performing lust just for them, were seeing her for the last time. For the last time might be one of the saddest phrases I’ve ever written, don’t you think? For the last time…no, not there, I will not go there and not play that misery game where I try to remember the last time I felt your arms around me. You do not remember something you do not expect to lose. Lose. Life. Lost life. Her life lost. It wasn’t an easy end for her, you know, it wasn’t a sweet sleep death or a drifting but a jerking, painful sickening full of shit and stink and vomit and sweat death. Toward the end there was none of that vile purple lipstick left on her lips. And her hair wasn’t all wavy and soft and pretty anymore. She was not that lovely woman who was not a woman anymore, anyway. Not lovely. Lovely. Love.

You see how much I love you, don’t you? This worst thing I could do is the best thing I will ever do-prove to you what you are to me. I don’t feel any relief or happiness, but there is satisfaction and there is biblical justice and there is rightness. I don’t care if I am ever forgiven for this. Until you have lost someone you love you can’t understand how crippling emotional pain can be. And, oh, how I love you.

I didn’t think I was going to be able to watch her die, and certainly it wasn’t easy for me. It made me remember too much. But when the time came, I had to do it, because this I did for you.