Lo Siento, Wilson

"The dove was no longer sad and lonely. It was happy."

Wilson looked at me for a long, quiet moment.

"What did they do to you?" he asked, eventually.

"They took me to places."

"Those maids?"

"No, the books. That's what literature does to you. It takes you to places your feet couldn't reach."

"And what will you do to them?"

"I'll burn them all."

"Those books?"

"No, the maids. They look like cabbages, and they're driving me insane."

Having nothing else to say, Wilson nodded meaninglessly as he began to rub the petal of my white rose with the back of his hand. She was no longer shaking, but was still very silent. I got up and watched Wilson prepare the cleaning tools. There weren't many. He began to fondle my white rose and cleaned her thoroughly.

She was so obedient that I felt my heart sink.

Next, he brought in some food for her that I could not recognize.

"She loves ramen," he said, but I knew exactly what ramen was.

"Raa-men," he repeated. Still, I looked at the jumbled pink mound on the plate in puzzlement until she ate it all clean.

"That should be enough," said Wilson as he got up. "And now..." He eyed me for a moment, and I responded with a nod.

My beautiful white rose was defenseless under the grasp of Wilson's hands. She squirmed and shook, and all I could do was watch her lose a piece of herself for Wilson. I shut my eyes tight. A low-pitched cry began to fill the space with agony and despair. I shut my eyes tighter.

In the void behind my eyelids, I saw my white rose turning red.

We climbed out of the chamber once the ritual was over and were greeted by a line of feet all around the table. They were all the serving men and women, which was normal except for the fact that sunrise hadn't arrived yet and the moonlight was still glittering on the floor. They weren't supposed to be here before sunrise. I looked at Wilson, and he looked at me. I grabbed his hand and tried to pull him back into the chamber, but we made a fatal fuss.

When I looked up, hundreds of empty eyes stared right at me, piercing my soul like cold rain on a gloomy Sunday morning. I turned to look at Wilson. His eyes and mouth were but a space of void, and he… an empty shell of the person he once was.