When deciding what stories to intertwine and remove from future publications: Matilda were hesitant aboot releasing her life to the public for open scrutiny. She had been nothing more than an odd wide eyed girl that observed her captives as they continued on their miserable ways. She could care not what they said to her as she made them quality sandwiches since she were no longer a slave to the still moving horses that stood East of her now. She now focused on remedying the people that lay below Mt. Diablo with fresh pressed juice and oversized sandwiches. She loved this work and always made sure to sparkle the same way she had when working under the Blue Shield of Hope. She laughed that her new place of employment was named Sirens...after the Greek monsters Matilda had fought in her previous epic poems. This was her decoy: so she decided to gyrate with the irony and work tirelessly to continue to improve herself.
She reflected on her past and enjoyed her melodies that she often hymned to herself as she worked. Matilda has been taught the craft of opera and musical theater in University, and the obvious waste of time was relevant since she ended up with a degree in science and paying forty-five thousand out of pocket. She were always checking in with her Kind Hearted Hunters and smiled thinking of them traveling abroad as non-famous people. They always insisted she try her best, and knew it gave her pride to show them all her awards and recognitions. The couple always wished her wellness and safety, and in their absence they would bring forth their fellow pianist, Mel. Mel were like a mother figure to Matilda: in all her whimsical uniqueness. She had flaming red hair that swirled and twisted, and stood taller than most men whenever she entered a room. Such traits Matilda would ask for assistance in as she developed her peoplehood….things never meant for an orphan to know or learn evidently. Mel would hold Matilda to curb the psychosis brought by eighteen years of abuse and trauma: always reminding her that she were now finally allowed to choose what type of woman to be. She gifted Matilda with the knowledge of her spirit animal: a golden calf named Bessie that stood on her piano. Matilda would always listen to her kind words and acknowledge that they were familiar friends from lifetimes ago. These were the blessing she counted as cried softly as she avoided slumber: scared that someday her life and her ugly story would no longer belong to herself.
Matilda would confide in Mel only of the Viking and her Kness over the span of fifteen years: as she never asked Matilda why she were always single. Such odd demeanor for a decent looking woman working as an actress...yet not worth pressing the issue. Matilda wouldn’t ever waste her family’s time with such matters since they were famous and she were too bored to care. American men were literally the worst in her eyes and so Matilda continued on her task of changing the world instead of frivolously destroying her youth with stressors brought on by two men that had issues keeping their trousers on. Instead of being defined by these two men: she decided to rid her life of both and earned her degree in the process. Mel had always been such a strong female that Matilda held no shame in having feelings, and depended that Mel would always worry aboot her emotional health. Mel taught her the importance of self and womanhood and Matilda looked forward to becoming the woman Mel often believed she were. Unsure of why the songstress believed in her to the ends of the world... for whatever reason. Mel were warm like her papa: always informing her at random times that she were important to the world somehow. Such kind words meant so much coming from another female, and so Matilda trusted Mel with her life. Mel knew that she deserved better but always listened to her bitch aboot these two men: informed enough to believe whatever choice she made...would be more than ok.Matilda knew she were in her prime emotionally, and so she finally turned to fitness and only worried aboot herself.
In an obscure and demented dream: she returned to the hallway lined with doors. As she became lucid to the situation: Matilda demanded to know which door her Kness stood behind. Some enigmatic person reportedly insisted she didn’t want to know: until she interrupted their stammering to inform them of her understanding. She knew why they were being sketchy: stating she didn’t care if Kness was fucking her best friend Krista again. To this ugly heartedness they told her directions and left her to her mission: voiding themselves of whatever she did next as they left. Matilda walked up to the door: feeling his presence on the other side and allowed herself to enter unannounced as she softly turned the handle. Matilda thought it were always funny how people assumed her stupid, and so she simply took a seat and waited for Kness to finish rearing Krista. She made a small clearing in her throat and watched as he turned in rage to see her bemused by the situation. He told her to get out as he thrust his dick harder into Krista who appeared to be putting on an over- the-top spectacle for him, and ignored Matilda all-together. Matilda could care less, as she knew Kness would fuck each of the craters on moon if he could. Such meanness she had always kept to herself.
Dupree would assume she left, and so Matilda finally stood up slowly and elegantly as she fixed her robes...glad she had worn a nice-fitting sundress and heels only to impress herself. She felt her heels click with decisiveness and picked up speed in boredom. She said strictly to the two “you promised to help me find my husband Kness…” as he grunted like a sow and mumbled “not now” to her: she knew what had to be done ...simply from his tone. Matilda had wore this dress only because of its pockets, scrunched sleeves and trickling flowers that fell down the lavender silk....but mostly for the pockets. She gently placed a black metal band beside him on a small table: feeling her heart drop as it clicked in bluntness and captured both of their attention at last. She looked at him as he avoided her gaze: his remarkably handsome features...no longer glowing in her eyes. She only said softly to the couple: “for when you’re done embarrassing yourself”. Placing her own small silver ring next to it and informing the both of them: “This was obviously a mistake, and an error in my personal judgment...I don’t believe I will be needing these anymore Kness.” She watched as he finally stopped thrusting and saw her standing there smiling at the situation. She knew why he always avoided looking at her: in all her feminine splendor, as he often had habit of kissing her whenever she were in fine threads or heels. He now heard what she had said: saw she were indifferent and felt her bored gaze as she stared at him and his flavor of the week: proving she were finally done. Matilda had proudly never doubted Kness and and his many twisted choices in the past, and so it appeared he were finally meeting her for the first time...in this moment. Matilda had inevitably ran out of tears, and knew that at the end of the day... he were only an immature boy, and she alone were accountable for what she allowed him to do to her mentally. She said with one final goodbye: “All I’ve ever done is believe in you unconditionally, and I’m sorry that was never going to be enough for you Kness. You finally got your way and pushed away me and my love once and for all, and that’s ok because I obviously deserve better”. She left the room and ignored him as he finally removed his penis from within Krista and attempted to follow her to the door. Matilda were ready: turning to lock the pair away for eternity: knowing Krista were an Indigenous Warrior until her jealous and unpredictable American side came out whenever she drank or were insecure. The two were both adults and placed in her same shoes for their own actions. Matilda finally gave the key away and ask they hid it from her: knowing the two would no doubt destroy one another emotionally: with their rage directed only at Matilda until they despised one another. She laughed maniacally to herself, as she finally walked away from the nightmare she had endured in and out of her dreams until she questioned reality. Matilda were free at last to laugh and smile with other men, and know that she were doing nothing wrong since she were single and worked so hard every fucking day to be kindhearted. She were finally whole: a woman living and smiling only for herself.
She watched silently during the day, as the white men intentionally began hunting down pregnant women: tackling them down to the ground in packs: marking their foreheads with the word “CUNT” in red as they cried in their unarmed and hormonal rage. The Boar had ordered that women and Doctors be tried as terrorist to the Nation when they refused to bring him new life: only worried aboot the capital the hypothetical persons held. Evidently these idiots had used their citizens to ask for capital and defer the massive debt they owed the world. The Boar were bankrupting the Nation with his sex slaves and their urine drenched depravity, and he had every right to since he were elected. Matilda had nothing to say on the issue: she herself had executed a bundle of cells when her partner began punching her three month pregnant stomach in her sleep, as a fun drink habit. She felt great embarrassment when the Doctor informed her that her growing difficulties breathing were due to outside trauma, and specified that she held bruises on her neck from being choked and large fist size markings on her abdomen. Such shame is only felt by those who live in fear of their captor and so she needn’t trigger her readers with this self-hatred. Matilda were no longer a captive to Vantino Peaches, and so she finally decided it were time to share her story. Matilda had accepted that her soul would never reach “white people heaven” for making that final choice to abort a child: potentially born a monster. Either way: the Doctor had informed her that one or both her and the baby were in fatal danger when she seems delighted by the ultrasound. She would make the choice over and over again if she had to... since there would be no hypothetical baby if there wasn’t a living incubator to carry the monster child to term. She had left this at the end of her rally and war cries... in gift for her readers: lined with her honesty and unending shame. Matilda had been raped, abused, and neglected by Americans as a child, but this Indigenous American man had been the only one to almost destroy her from existence: enraged that he could never break her spirit. A fear she still lived in: since he had informed her the court systems and their restraining orders meant nothing to him.
Matilda now gave the women of her sandwich shop copious amounts of love and affection: often gifting them with free stuff whenever she could and congratulating them for not living in Alabama. To this: women allowed themselves to show their anger, as Matilda made off-handed jokes about how the women were now... the only real men left in the Nation. Asking each other... how the world remained calm while the Boar prepared to execute women and Doctors. Matilda made observation of how the President would suck the dicks of all the men who raped and murdered women personally. Matilda were not a homophobe, so she would just simply use her words to describe the President and his goons as she orally painted pictures of him performing: very deep and soul-sucking fellatio on each and every...shriveled pale penis that stood within his reach. He only begged they vote for him as he allowed them to ejaculate in his thin orange-tinted hair. The white-men lined up around the block: were they waited eagerly to force the President to gently place their erect nub-like penises in his mouth as he had promised. They only sought the thrill of controlling others and now stood masochistic to this elderly President who licked their circumcised tips and gently tinkered with a red button as he sucked better than any Hoover could. He too were only aroused by his abilities to guzzle endless semen as he yelled out loud the codes to nuclear weaponry that held the world hostage as he ejaculated on the red button sitting in an ordinary suitcase. They stood with erect penises in their hands as they touched themselves: waiting and watching the President and his many sexual talents...their prized earning for having painted the word “CUNT” on the foreheads of pregnant women all across the land. Matilda had no way of stopping this madness, and to be honest she began to stop caring to an extent. The Americans had made it illegal for Indigenous Warriors to take up firearm and then they illegally sterilized the women when the men accepted defeat. This had been done up until a kind Catholic President made it illegal, and were executed for his ability to inspire action. He would be executed for attempting to observe the financial distribution of the Federal Reserve and had somehow stumbled across the thousands of illegal sterilizations in the process. The same kind man that had finally halted the Church from US tax dollars to commit Genocide via bounty/kidnapping/forced assimilation. The Americans now lived in their bliss of what their parents had done and now complained that the world owed them ten fold for having spared two out of every ten Indigenous Americans. She had no reason to defend America...YOU did this. Just like Kness: Matilda left these men to view the bed they had made and slowly said goodbye to the women who now called this fucked up situation normal. Matilda knew the US Government had finally gained enough power to impose their very CHRISTIAN laws unto their own citizens, and were left only to speculate how long it’d be until they began sterilizing random American women without consent...just like they had done to her family and those found up North. The Government: now unphased by what colour or religion the pregnant women are: a true face of what built this Nation... now worn proudly as a mask for the entire world to see. Matilda had her hands tied, as she were tired of this argument... tired of Americans telling her to “get over it” as they had done for over twenty years. She were tired of being fetishized and then mocked as a whore by all the women who now dressed up as Matilda... every fucking October: like clockwork. She left this contention at the door whenever she worked as she knew not all women were ugly in heart like Tami Lami Lorral and her endless hate filled rhetoric. The women of the land...now began to smile at Matilda as an equal when she spoke truthfully: despite her current lack of working for the Blue Shield of Hope and olive-hued skin. Matilda would use this time to embrace her inability to fight, and simply enjoy the good company of the intelligent women she gifted with sweet wheats and rye. It were nice, as an Indigenous woman: to have such horrific conversations to find a means to solution, and felt embraced: as the women now elevated themselves to protect each other with their words and knowledge on the topic. It were important to her as a woman “with a lot of passion”: to be eased in spirit, as the women found ways to forgive Matilda with their kindness and ensure her that she were indeed: not crazy. Those two magical words could render the most frantic woman into a confident man. Matilda now only worried aboot the few Indigenous Americans that held serial numbers: that proved they had only mated with “their own kind”. Matilda sighed: wondering how long until the Boar made blood quantum numbers mandatory for all Americans, and not just the Indigenous population. She had finally realized that she had wrote an entire book to set premise for this moment. History would repeat itself, but this time there would be no Indigenous Warriors to come when they called begging for help to defend the land and its citizens from the perverse Boar. Matilda were finally free from men: free to not fight battles that were not her own: free to be her angry self if it meant she didn’t have be uncomfortable anymore. Matilda would use this poem to finally ask the world for forgiveness for having aborted a bundle tissue: void of consciousness and unwanted by both young parents over ten years ago. Knowing it were meaningless as a gesture, but that the context were important for each party to acknowledge. It were now only Matilda taking sole accountability for her own actions: deciding that being called selfish proved that she were still alive. Knowing full and well that Vantino would hunt her down if he ever read this, and that her death to this domestically violent man: were a fate she accepted since she were now classified by the US Government...as a murder. This had been additive poem: to her now finalized book, as she now knew publishing the entirety of her trials would serve in helping her finally forgive herself.
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from Short Stories http://bit.ly/2VZI6hG
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