Handwritten Letters to the Devil. Zin

“You’re awake . . .”

      She shot up in bed. Sweat streamed down her face. The rain was slamming against the window, the darkness was so thick outside. She swore she heard someone yelling but it was probably just the storm outside.

      A flash of lightning shows blackened eyes in her window.

      She screams and produces a pistol and runs to the window. Nobody there. She sighs relief. It was just the tree next to her window. Back to sleep.

      The moment sleep takes her back, the Eye of the Ghost returns . . .

       Picasso Understands

      She looked into my eyes, saw the blood on my face, and began to cry. She was 6 years old, and recently an orphan thanks to yours truly. There are so many places to hide in a hotel room. I would have never found her except for the sniffling. When I put the gun next to her face she stopped crying. I told her to look at her parents, who were answering role call naked and dead on the stained 1980’s carpet, and when she did I saw her eyes break. She would never be the same.

      There was an old movie playing on the TV when I came in disguised as room service. Apparently the villain and I were both feeling very cliché that day. He had a sinister mustache and had tied somebody to some train tracks. I just had a silencer and some chloroform. I made the parents breathe deep, then stripped them down, then shot them directly in the face. That is when I heard noises from the closet. She said the bad man from the TV had scared her. I said she didn’t know fear yet. I told her that I would teach her. I hit her as hard as I could over the head with the gun and she fell to the ground. Her bowels released and a mixture of bodily fluids started to pool around her in alphabetical order. I imagined her singing her ABC’s as the blood started to flood my feet.

      I quickly took her to the bathroom where I ran a hot bath. I placed her in the tub face up and went to the mirror, which was beginning to fog up. Her father’s straight razor was sitting by the sink and I instinctually picked it up and ran it over my chest. I had done this a thousand times before, and every time the same thing happened. I didn’t even feel the blade, but the blood was warm and familiar. When I looked down though, there wasn’t any blood. Just a big tear in my shirt. I took the razor to my forehead next. Not even a scratch. Had I finally done it? Was I invincible? She began to stir and sob like a lost puppy, and as I turned to her, my face cut to ribbons, her cries turned to screams and I knew that she shouldn’t have made me feel so insecure.

      I black out, and when I come to, her head as been shaved as well as part of one eyebrow. I was driving an unfamiliar car, and there were some crudely drawn plans on the dash. I couldn’t believe what I saw. These ideas were amazing! Did I really come up with them? I took a look in the rearview just to make sure that it was actually me in the reflection. The man staring back at me had glued the girl’s hair to my face in the shape of a mustache. I really kind of liked it. It made me feel dangerous. It made me feel secure.

      I worked all afternoon. Digging, sawing, and tying were the songs in my head, and I had an obsession. This was going to be my masterpiece, and I had that old movie to thank.

      I asked my lovely assistant if she was ready and she started whispering something I couldn’t quite make out. It turns out that when you strip a little girl naked and tie her to some railroad tracks in the hot sun for hours, she gets thirsty. I went back to the car and moved my copy of the train schedule to get to a juice box that had been in the car for god knows how long. As I strolled back to her, sipping on the fruit punch, I heard it. Faint at first, but getting louder. I felt a slight tremor in my boots and I knew that my hard work was going to come to fruition. I kneeled over her and gave her the rest of her juice. I asked her if she was scared and she just nodded. I said good and got into position. I had the perfect spot picked out, and it was all going according to plan. I wouldn’t miss a thing. Her body hovered 50 ft above the river, and the train was barreling towards us. I smiled and felt good in my decision to tie her to tracks on a bridge.

      The train horn made my heart race like locomotion itself. The black coal of my heart fueling my hate like a beautiful machine designed to do one thing and do it well. She began to scream as the train drew near, and I believed her fear. Even now it brings chills to my arms to remember how honest she was in those last moments, how terror really felt, what it feels like to have your worst fear come true.

      As the train made its way to its final stop at destination little girl, I pulled the rope, releasing the pin and hinges that I had installed to the tracks and a three ft. section broke free. There was an immeasurable amount of silence as she fell from the bridge. She was still tied to the section of free falling track, plus a very fashionable necklace of my own design, when it suddenly stopped twenty feet above the water. The noose did not break her neck so I stood there watching her silhouette hang naked beneath a train in the sunset. She kicked and squirmed, but it didn’t take long. I didn’t cut her down. Would you ask Picasso to not hang is artwork?

       True Love

      We have been together for eight months, twelve days, seven hours, and fifty-two minutes . . . but who’s counting!? We have a Special Date tonight and I’m beside myself I’m so excited. He is taking me out to a lovely steak and lobster dinner at Nikkita’s. Red wine, dim lighting, candle on the table to set the mood, jazz playing in the background as we stare into each other eyes. Of course I’ll have on my skinny black dress and heels to match, my hair curled in an updo with smokey eyes and ruby red lips to complete the ensemble. I know he will be dressed to the nine’s as well, slick pants, shiny belt and shoes, button down shirt and a suit jacket, smelling like only he can with a grin to die for. Supposedly after dinner there is a surprise for me having to do with stars and city lights in a romantic old fashioned way . . . of course he doesn’t know what a surprise I have in store for him tonight.