friday fiction – the story of felicity washington

the girl was so full of life before it was beaten and choked out of her; the parents she adored were not her biological parents; they were murdered by two seemingly upstanding members of the locale, though secretly part of the underground polyamorous and polysexual satanist community, they handed round homemade cakes to the congregation but all the while masturbated in their church, defiled the holy water with their seminars, he the proprietor of ‘satan’s sex store’ and all the while a member of a number of philanthropic boards; she the keeper of an indefineably gruesome whorehouse; beams as naked and splintered as its inhabitants; recruiting wife and mother, sister and daughter; a collector of lost souls extraordinaire, and the baker of the tastiest cherry pie this side of the tallahassee bridge; she adored her brothers, though neither of whom excelled at college, too busy burying bodies and setting traps around the homestead, but they always found time for a wholesome game of football; and of course her horse ‘persephone’, ridden daily to the giant oak on old slothrop’s farm, under which she now lies silent, and would but the single visitor’s weekly replenishment of fresh, vibrant flowers halt the once beautiful decomposing body; no matter what joy and vitality music gives you, we all just dance our way to a morgue drawer