She showers for the seventh time that morning. She can’t seem to wash away the filth, the blood, the semen.
Christmas music fills the air. The elf frolics and dances to happy applause, but she’s not happy. The men drool, and the metal pole is cold.
When her arm touched his as she walked past him at the service, her heart beat faster than it did in two decades of her marriage.
She rocked on the porch. “Back when I ran for mayor, some of the men’s feelings were hurt.” Long pause. “But you know, I think that was OK.”
Pink dawn and jingling sleigh bells wake her. She sits in bed and waits for footsteps on the stairs. Her gift doesn’t fit under the tree.
“She must have been pretty. Don’t you think?” He considered it while the developer stained his hands yellow. “Looks like it.”