The space between her toes bothered her. She could not make them even. Even in the stretching and strain they could only go so far. You could train your other muscles to stretch further and further until you could bend like taffy. Yet toes capabilities were finite. 

She dipped her feet into the creek and kept the gaps between her wee sausages closed, then released. As the cool water touched her, she closed her eyes. She focused on the pressure, the flow sending all kinds of microscopic life forms between her toes. As she clenched them again she thought, “I have the power to kill many". No one liked to imagine themselves as a killer unless they were sick. What kind of individual purposely maims others? But when it came down to Lynn, to her power, she sure liked to imagine herself capable. The whole walk home she imagined when the situation would arise when she'd have to kill. Cornered in a bar or on a walk like this one, she’d grab the nearest object and go right for the temple. The soft part of the skull, she learned. Again and again she’d strike until there were bones in her hands and blood on her face. Maybe she’d go for the eyes instead, where he least expects it, take two fingers and gouge them out. Blindness in an instant. 

She only imagined herself killing men. The only people she felt held a lick of power over her, and any amount of superiority. She felt men were sour and sick, a disease trickled down from human conception itself: Men. When they spit or picked their noses it drove her wild. How, how can they be so entitled? So free to shove it in women's faces as if no one is watching them. If a woman is present, who cares of her revolt if not trying to court her? What is she beyond her sexual functions and maternal uses? 

This thought loop made her seethe. Not a man in sight and still unrest bubbled over. She let out a frustrated yelp, then a tired sigh. Though it could’ve been louder, with no one around to hear her scream, but then again maybe she would attract someone who would. She lived in fear of the next man and felt it would never change. Letting her feet get rough on the dirt road was her protest, her armpits unshaven and her hair unkempt. Who would desire her? Yet she knew just by her pulse that she was prey. At times she liked it, the attention, the eyes and practical drool falling from men's mouths. For moments she’d mistaken it for power. But it was her they were hunting. They wanted to bite her breast and abuse her body so they could feel big, no-- larger than life. The more attractive the girl, the bigger the boast.  As she washed up for dinner that night, she’d stare in the mirror and ogle her body trying to see it from the others perspective. There were few guys who’d seen her post-pubescent body even in a bikini and even less in pubescence. Only one. Her hand halfheartedly traveled down, down her body until she felt the now long healed scar tissue that adorned her thigh, spreading her entire hands width. 

Wincing in remembrance, she thought about her sister Mary instead, how easily she subscribed to it all. Mary wanted to get married in an orchard to a man of her race, raise two kids and never have to work a day after 40. It was only a matter of time before she’d marry her high school sweetheart Job. She promised herself she wouldn’t be the bride fighting with a baby bump for the spotlight on the aisle. Rest assured though, a child would be conceived on the night of the wedding. Hopefully he’d let the husband's stitch heal before he started pushing to try again. 

“Do you really think you’ll marry him?”, She asked as they stood in the kitchen after another dinner their mother had worked through. 

“Won’t you get tired of being miserable Lynn?”, Mary shot back over her shoulder, tired of her sister's attempts to change her life plan, the same one every girl in their town wanted to follow. She stood over the sink cleaning dishes, a shining star of domesticity meant to guide her sister— not instill doubt. 

Mary's retort gave her a lot to think of. Sure she was the only one out of her university friends who hadn’t had any romantic prospects, but was her freedom worth sacrificing in exchange for a lover? Surely not. She’d rather stroll alone than have a man trailing behind her asking all sorts of sorry questions like ‘what are you thinking about’. She would tell the truth, she wanted to kill him. Then and there she’d drive a wedge between them, she’d expose a world of thought he had no idea how to enter. And from that moment he would fear her and her unpredictability. She was a neurotic woman who wanted to kill him. Never would he understand that she was afraid. 

“Men are different now, they're just hungry. They want it all! You have to rely on yourself or else you’ll be left alone! Even rich people can’t keep each other happy. Look at Bill and Melinda Gates!”, She was getting defensive, though there was all the proof that things could go sour for two people at any moment. That their dad not being around wasn't fault of his own. “Men can do whatever they please and no one could stop them”. Lynn’s face glowed red and glistened with a layer of sweat though she hadn’t been shouting. Gripping the island counter, she tried to compose herself. It was the strain of holding back tears as she tried to speak confidently that had physically exhausted her. She could be thankful for her abundantly present mother but still she mourned the father which she felt she knew so briefly. Her mother never cheated on their father but she wouldn’t let her hold him back either. It was unspoken but he couldn’t bear to exist as a burden anymore. Slowly her mom stopped laughing at his jokes and started responding with cold practicality, she began to flinch in the face of affection and dedicated herself to becoming chillingly beautiful. Despite the rings and vows and children, it was very clear he couldn’t touch her. How had 15 years of marriage devolved so rapidly? Lynn was only eight when he left and tore herself up constantly for her clearest memories of him being of his sorriest state. 

Mary sighed audibly before apologizing. She let her eyes run over the serrated knife in her hand, the black plastic handle warm from soaking in the basin. The metallic suds fled before her eyes leaving the knife bare and…questionable. She placed it back into the sinks murky water before turning off the tap and drying her hands on an oven towel. With each movement she willed strength to enter her bones. Since they were children Mary had prided herself on nothing but being strong for her sister. She fought hard to become the perfect role model. She had to fight regardless. Their mother never went after child support so while there was always food on the table and decent clothes on their backs, neither of them would be getting a financial head-start in life by any means. Mary began babysitting before she found herself locked into childcare, going all in on child development, getting her degree and a contract with the local elementary school soon after graduating. She considered her so-called ‘nurturing’ presence to be a fluke when conversations like this with Lynn brought this irritation out. And sure Lynn could make her mad, their mother could make her madder but Job, questions about Job could make her blind with rage. Her main point was that their relationship was no one else’s business. 

Mary only turned to face her, leaving the island between them. “I didn’t mean to be so short with you. Look, I know you have your ‘thing’ about men but I beg of you Lynn, leave me out of it. I support your ‘free thinking’ but it’s making you insufferable, I mean, am I not allowed to be happy because some statistics say most people aren’t? And why do you have to pick on my relationship? Job and I have never been anything but a good example of what a healthy relationship looks like”. Her voice faltered in the last sentence, unsure of her relationship's credibility. It was true, she had gone above and beyond to ensure she found someone who outwardly acted like an amazing partner in every way. She wanted to leave it at that. 

“Job…” the rest got stuck in Lynn's throat. Job had dined with them and had ducked out to the guest room once his plate was cleared. They only had the chance to be a perfect couple when he was forced to be around her. She hadn’t anticipated starting with Mary this way. The conversation she wanted to have was calm, where she could simply tell Mary what happened. 

Mary picked up Lynn’s sentence saying, “Job and I were brought together by the Lord. And the good Lord will show you the way too. You’re young Lynn. One day,”—

“How dare you bring the Lord into this”, Lynn practically spat at her sister. “The Lord bringing you together was his worst mistake, only second to making men at all! Your boyfriend thinks I’m a fucking demon Mary. Seriously, like demonically possessed. He always has. With being so young and going to church and reading all these dark stories after Mom and Dad divorced, I believed him! I seriously thought-- he seriously tried to convince me I’m possessed! Since starting university I’m beginning to understand I’m not the sick one. Please understand. I’m sorry”. Lynn choked on a sob before covering her mouth and finally putting her weight on a barstool. She used her other arm to hold her midsection as she was sure she was to be sick, confused as to why she both pleaded and apologized to her sister at this moment. She was fully running at the mouth, unable to stop herself. Her one hand moved from mouth to chest as she inhaled dramatically not realizing how comforting it felt to constrict her lungs. Then she tried starting again, urgently she tried to get out “H-h-he, oh my--” 

All the fat in Lynn's face sat betwixt Mary's thumb and index finger. Her mouth, caught midword, was now being filled with her own flesh. Her molars quickly burrowed into her cheeks like hypodermic needles.  The rest of Mary’s fingers cupped her chin and jutted her face up and outwards. Their eyes both flashed, communicating wildly different things. Lynn’s teary eyes came into focus, mortified to find her sister had come around the island and was now mere inches from her. And Mary, Mary was all wild in the face, clearly having her own qualms with the indirect accusation. 

She hissed, “Shut your mouth right now. He’s upstairs you fucking idiot, how dare you…”, before realizing Mary’s eyes had shifted to something just beyond her. Something past her ear, just over her shoulder. The two were statuesque, locked in the mocking embrace. Will flooded her mind, she willed like all hell for Mary to look back at her, to refocus her fear. Instead, her eyes pooled with tears until they slid over Mary’s fingers loosening grip. Slowly her grasp released until her hand fell limply at her side. She straightened herself, taking that same restricting hand to smoothen Lynn's mousey hair. Again and again she ran her hand over the auburn curls as she watched her sister cry. Mary was also silently shaking now, the sympathetic gesture was merely self-soothing. 

“I’m sorry”, she whispered. Lynn’s eyes and a weighty hand fell on Mary’s shoulder at the same time. The hand followed the length of Mary’s arm before catching it at the crook and bringing it down to her side. Job closed in, his arms slithering around both her arms and waist. He stood only a few inches over her but his presence felt monstrous. Since he began looming in the doorway his energy sent rods of heat through both the girls. The room was set to combust.

Job kissed the side of Mary’s head lightly and lovingly, relieved he didn’t have to fully restrain her. “Go ahead and pull down your pants Lynn". And without hesitation, Lynn stood putting her nearly nose to nose with her sister. This reanimated Mary. “Sorry?”, she managed. Job tightened his grip walking them a few steps backward. As per Mary’s earlier wish, Lynn’s eyes were now locked on her. The tears had ceased and she now stared on without a scrap of emotion on her face as she went for the button of her church forbade cargos. Mary scoffed, unable to believe how things were escalating. Will had left her body as soon as Job had made himself known. He instilled in her that it was not a woman’s place to interfere after all. So she let the scene play out. 

Lynn’s pants fell revealing deep brandishing, twin burns set layers within her olive thighs. Mary gasped. She couldn’t believe her eyes. The scars slightly warped from what she could only accredit to time, took on the shapes of the Latin crosses which were splattered unceremoniously throughout their church and were encircled in wildly risen scar tissue, individual splits in the skin creating these notches. Or rather, thorns. Crowns ran around the crosses weaving the skin into a cruel symbology.