She hangs in shackles for all to see. Look at her, displayed in the center of town for all to blame, all to shame her with their speculation. They never ask why, they don’t care; if she is on display she must be guilty wherever their imagination takes them. She must have done something shocking, very ghastly and for that she must pay dearly.
She fell in love once, her mistake perhaps, but her heart was solely to blame. He swept her off her feet and she went willingly head first floating like an angel towards the heavens. His smile was a cure-all and his compliments often and original.
They married and lived life to the fullest. Every second was precious and like they were living in a dream. One night he came walking in and she can sense something was bothering him. “What’s the matter dear?” she would ask placing her hand on his shoulder. He had made a mistake at work and had troubles on top of troubles piling up. He looked around and started to yell at her making up some lame excuse. He started to complain that the dinner was cold, and that the house was messy, but it was not. He screamed at her for an hour or so, as if she was a child that ran into a street. He made her feel so small.
She walks barefoot now, as a symbol of her faults. He makes her stay indoors so that others can’t see that she how she wronged him. Her white dress hung down flowing gracefully as she sat in front of the mirror waiting, as she strokes her long brown hair.
She has his dinner waiting for him. He is over three hours late. He walks in with the stench of whiskey on his breath and the look of guilt on his face. Before she can say anything, he sees a broken cup on the counter. He walks up to her and said, “You have no idea how hard I have to work to buy cups, or anything for that matter. You are nothing, and you deserve nothing.” He then takes his arm and throws everything on the table to the floor in one swift motion, gives her a dirty look and staggers up to bed.
Her dress which was once a symbol of grace was now gone exposing her nakedness. Like she does every night, she would sit and brush her hair trying not to think about what was happening around her. The calming strokes soothe her as she tries to keep her eyes open but she knows she cannot. She walks over to the bed and lies down beside him.
She makes sure she does everything perfect. She has breakfast ready on the table. She knows how much he loves his ham and eggs, over easy. He likes his coffee black with one sugar and she waits. He walks down and sees what she has done. There was a time when he would praise her for going through all the trouble but he stops, looks at the table, then walks out the door without saying a word. When he arrived home that evening she smiles and runs over to him. She hands him his pipe and takes his jacket. She looks at him with loving eyes and asks him again if something was bothering him. He raises his hand and slaps her across the face and she falls to the floor sobbing. He walks back out the door and doesn’t come home until after midnight. She lies in the bed pretending to be asleep. She knows he has been drinking as the scent of whiskey and women filled the room. A single tear runs out from the corner of her eye. Everyone in town knew what he was up to but it was she and only she that would remain clueless. The next morning she awoke to see no one, he was gone. The whispers were all over the town.
It has been months since she stopped brushing her hair. She hangs in shackles for all to see. Look at her, displayed in the center of town for all to blame, all to shame her with their speculation. They never ask why, they don’t care; if she is on display she must be guilty wherever their imagination takes them. She must have done something shocking, very ghastly and for that she must pay dearly.