Leviticus

'If anyone sins and does what is forbidden in any of the Lord's commands, even though they do not know it, they are guilty and will be held responsible.'- Leviticus 5:17

As Dahlia vigorously rubbed the steel wool into the silver of the soup pot, her mind wandered to the vivid and uncharacteristic dream she'd had last night. She ought to be a paragon of virtue and holiness so why was she envisioning herself in a situation that contradicted all that? It was as if the dream became a memory, projected onto her brain for her to replay in scandalous detail. She could feel every thrust, lick and bite as she watched the creature defile her body in the name of mutual satisfaction. And yet, she could not muster up an ounce of revulsion. Instead, she could feel the slick heat between her legs becoming more insistent with each reiteration of her fantastical sexual morass.

The big pot fell to the floor with an echoing clang as

a shiver passed through her being at the recollection of the creature's tail at her rear. It was a foreign feeling and for someone who'd never experienced it on the physical plane, it excited her to no end. With her mind still jumbled and her body achingly soggy, Dahlia completed her kitchen duty and moved on to the ironing.

It was Monday, which meant she had a week's worth of outfits to choose and iron for the Husband. He was an important man in the community. In charge of the finances, and revered as a glorious treasurer, she was lucky he chose her to be his wife. She was not the most attractive within their setting, but her mother always ensured that what she lacked in physical attributes, she made up for in her ability to please her Husband. From an early age, she could wash, cook and sew without guidance and when she matured in age, her own mother taught her the position a wife should assume while her husband took pleasure.

"A good woman submits, Dahlia. A good woman takes whatever her husband gives."

Which was why her actions in the dream puzzled her. Why did she get on top? Was it because whatever she'd mated with was not human? She had never seen nor experienced feelings like what transpired in the dream so how did it really come into conception within her subconscious?

The jarring clicks of dress shoes on expensive wood, brought her back from her reverie. Her Husband was home for lunch and she'd gotten so behind on her chores that there was no food prepared for him.

"Dahlia," the husband began, "are you ill?"

"No."

"Were you called on by God Himself?"

"No."

"Did Revelations come to pass?"

"No."

"Then why is the table empty of the risotto you are expected to make on Mondays?"

Dahlia's head hung in consternation. She had no response to his question since she could not very well tell him the truth behind her lagging. He always had this uncanny ability to trigger her shame whilst not even raising his voice at her. It was the same power dynamic she witnessed with her parents and she wondered if it was a skill that they were taught during their separate church gatherings on Sunday afternoons.

It really didn't matter at this point anyway, what mattered was that she was not being a good woman and as a result, she had failed as his wife. She'd been unfaithful to her Husband in her dreams and now she'd forgotten to make him lunch. She waited anxiously for the pronouncement of the appropriate punishment. She knew he would not hit her as was common among other marriages in the space. That affronted his delicate sensibilities and he prided himself on being the most civilized Husband in the community. It matched his importance to be better. To "always be closer to God than everybody else."

The other shoe dropped, and he issued his sentence.

"I shall lay with Ruye tonight. Do not wait for me this evening. I also expect breakfast in the morning." he states as his clicks rescind down the hall and through the door.

Dahlia's heart stuttered in horror. Ruye was an unattached widow in the community whose husband died of a heart attack. Many unmatched men went to her as a source of comfort until they were married and some even went to her while they were married, like Dahlia's Husband. As a result, the act itself was not as concerning as was the repercussion she would face in the community.

She was already an outcast of sorts with her thick lips, copious bosom and wide hips. These physical traits were not desirable in the community since they promoted sex and sin and the members of the community were vehemently anti-sin. The large, black, ankle length muslin dresses she wore all year round went a far way to conceal most of her curves but still failed her where it mattered most. Her defiant body always found a way to announce itself despite the measures she put in place in an attempt fit in.

This was only the foundation to the problem. Ruye's weeping willow and geometrical frame was in direct contrast to Dahlia and it seemed her husband preferred this difference. Thus, her social position was always threatened when he left her, since unattached women were no better than the slaves they used to keep in previous centuries.

With a tired sob, Dahlia slunk to the ground, ashamed of what she had become at twenty-five. Her mother must be scowling in her grave at her inability to just be good at something. Curled in a foetal position of the wooden floor, her tears marked the expensive wood with streaks she'd have to make disappear before her Husband returned tomorrow morning.

It was all her fault though. She was the one who could not perform to her Husband's standards. She was the one who went against the grain in her dreams. Therefore, it was just that reaped the punishment for her crimes.

Slowly, as if robotically reassembling herself, she rose from the embarrassing mess she had fallen into and wiped her tears. She was her Husband's wife. The very first. She had to act her station. She had to fake it till she made it like what the lady on the forbidden TV had said.

And thus, she did.

She removed the evidence of her waterworks, cleaned their house and ironed his shirts and suits and even entertained two more wives of the community who came, like vultures on carcass, to question her Husband's presence at Ruye's house.

At the end of it all, she was left to her guilty pleasure. She gathered the coals from the ostentatious fireplace and went to the attic where she hid her easel. Seated, on a stool she had gotten from a yard sale, she began her drawing. It was a light sketch, nothing too grand or realistic. She'd intended for it to be an abstract piece, like much of her sketches before, and yet among the sooty lines and shapes, she saw the beginnings of a face that has become all too familiar in the short space that she had known it.

As if commanded by unseen forces, her hand began to move with a specific aim that was unknown to her. The more the coals marked the white paper, the more she could see the erotic recreation of the creature from her dream. He was smirking and lay languorously on the bed her hands drew him in. It was the eyes that elicited a deviant strain of pleasure

within her. The dark orbs seemed to challenge her to replicate their actions from the night before. As she finished the piece, etching the last groove in the magnificent horns, a sultry heat settled on her skin. It was almost as if by drawing him, she'd conjured him out of her dreams and into her reality which was impossible since he was not real.

Despite this, she felt him.

And she also felt a low growling voice, and the breathy promises that shadowed it, at her ear that whispered,

"Is that supposed to be me?"