Daughter of the house

It’s a bad day. In this house, it is always bad. Relatives think we make money just by not sleeping.

"Is there nothing there for me to hold on to?"

In the lap of luxury, there is nothing to melt me, and then the thoughts keep on racing, why did it not happen, and why does nothing but bad happen to the likes of me and the house?

Nothing remains from the past, nothing at all. Look, this is nothing, and Sears is seeking the right to die alone. Where is the sea, there is no one but I. I did not make it right with them.

Not much has changed over me; my circumstances have not made themselves better; we denied the rites, the rites were over before they were done.

"We all around the family have paid to be so rich and wealthy. They have given their sons and daughters to feed the mouths of those rich aristocrats.

"Lovely to meet you all."

"Lovely penis."

"Someone has fallen behind."

"His life is now straight?"

"He got a lot of money."

"For dating his Mrs?"

"And him."

"He is young, he will get over it."

"He was a virgin?"

"Of course."

"That is the number one rule to be pure".

I did not stand a chance; they were willing and better, so I let them do what the rich demanded. "

"We need virgins to smooth us and our pride we gave ourselves, so now they should be demands on the virtuous because tick tock and then what does it matter to me or you if they drown?"

"For what they give, they must have one hat that fits them all?"

"Our virgins give them their virginity, and then if lucky, they take the ring and mate with them forever."

"Nothing doing."

"What else does a shameless girl or boy want?"

"I wanted free time to do this, but it's wrong."

"My nephew is now the current virgin."

"More virgins the better, a pity that school kids lose theirs so very young."

"I got one of your nephews."

"This is a witchnight."

"Nobody knows why she is with my nephew."

"The woman who had so many sexual partners."

"What did it mean?"

"Many people assume we are disliked, and the group of aristocrats says the same thing that I am odd, and so is my family."

"It is just you are so odd."

"Sex objects."

"But odd."

"Useful for one thing."

"I am not into girls?"

"My family is a guninna pig."

"Some sort of feeder for the warrior queen."

Loving arms of the vampires as they dismember and make it odd. Love is odd.

"A virgin is such a lot to do with a lot of things."

"A virgin, young and naive."

The vampires are nothing like that; they are cosmopolitans and dine on drinking, and drink is their way of copulating and mating and being alive. I think that is harsh. Okay, they are also creative. They find ways out of doing stuff and make money for others, too.

"Out of order."

I am always at a loss to see them making fun of the ordinary artist or writer because they say they know best how it is done.

Sleek and well-mannered, and then in hey heyday they are well and able. The balancing act is what they say and where they are with the whole pivot of existence. It is all about their lusts and them.

"When people ask them why they know so much?"

"They went to their courses and did the whole lot."

"Stuff the monkey."

"I am not an ape."

"We know this is not right to be so critical of us."

"I am so ill-tempered because of the whole group."

"And they always have to socialise as if they can't stay away from each other."

Drink in one hand and so happy and cheepie.

"Cheerio."

"Nice to have seen you. Where are you going next?"

"To somewhere warm and exciting."

I am not saying it.

" It is not hell, is it?"

People do not speak well of poor relatives. Why should a poor relation have an opinion, poor one at that, on the rich?

Because the undeserving poor denied the right embrace of the damned, the poor melt when the rich speak about the thing that makes it spotless.

My mother killed her husband because she did not have the cab fare. She did it so ruthlessly because she had to, because her consequence would have been harmed if she required help.

She who had been rich knew what happened to the poor by the rich. The crazed look returned to her eyes. She being in love did help; she just had to be free of him, her husband, her former love.

"You are too poor."

"We used to be rich, and now we are poor, so we do what the poor do: kill to survive."

"Kill to survive, ma?" said Zeks, sheer idiocy writ on her face as she realized what her mother wanted from her.

"I can't do it?"

"You must because there are all those bad social feelings, you must get wed because you are going off."

"But mother?"

"You must marry, marriage means not letting me down, see?"

"Yes, you must kill your grandpa in order to ask for nice things."

"But ma, he is my pa?"

"So what, I killed my pa?"

"Huseyin was a man who was cruel and mistook his wife for a mistress and did everything bad."

"Sorry? But Suleiman, my father, is not bad; he is good to me."

"Suleiman was your first?"

"Okay, now I am in trouble because I look like a plucked rose?"

"Exactly, nobody marries a plucked rose."

"Sorry was the word because he was destroying the family like Suleiman is."

Gold knew what was right.

Everyone juggles, and then what does it matter? When everyone is matter-of-fact about cruelty.

I am this daughter now left obscured, and have seen nothing but bad. People mill in and out of my life as if without a care. Only their cruel eyes tell me I am nothing.

"We are all of us daughters of this house."

Why did it matter where I came from when I lived in this land for several decades?

What does it matter because the songster still thinks of me, just arrived with the boat people, and she dares to call me an exile from thought and common decency.

"I am saving this chapter of my life when I give all to this man, called a husband."

She was on the warpath, and she wanted to tell us how to beget one man.

"Hook him with the fulsomes and then get him into the bed, and then when it is overrated, tell him you love him and are having his baby."

"Would they fall for that?"

"It is tried and proven."

"What about true love?"

"Don't even think about it, won't pay for the bills."

"All of us are the same," said a good teacher, and she smiled and hummed as if everything hung in her skirts. She skittishly walked about with such ease and then tightly buttoned her skirt up. That was laced and tighter than ever.

We did not fear because England had good people able to feel and do good. The best of everything, and we went bombarding for aid, what we found was something very like back home and worse. We had nothing to look forward to but only to give our vaginas.

"You were never young."

"No one likes you, doll, so why pretend you are one of us?"

That was so much worse than it had been before. Darkness roams in, and the light switch has gone. I am left standing, holding myself in and trying not to implode.

I am listening to thoughts, whispers, confessions, and confused boasting and little asides as if the huge headpieces have gone mad.

How could they think they would get away with it?

"I am wise."

My feet are not on the ground, and I am flopping all over. Please let us break and make this stick. There is nothing inside me now; I feel emptiness, and even that is leaving me. My sides ache from lifting and carrying, and the mess inside is huge. I am a mess.

The women-wives come and go as if begetting their main plan, sewing their many deeds that will add to their movement, the female movement.

The new flag is hung up, and there is nothing there but a fortress. The enemies are real, and they must be gotten rid of.

A man and a woman who become wives to men. This is their total thought—the doctrine writ in female blood.

So the new Boudecia wept, and the war commenced. But the males were not told about the war. The factions sent their military, the paint jobs were done, and the dolls were sent into action.

"I want drones."

"We will leave nothing unturned, no stone, nothing is sacred to deal with our wanton poverty, and the incompetence of generations shall be our victory."

Leave me to deal with things, and nothing is done. I am locked out of meetings about meetings.

"Kids, women, dead and buried because they are here."

"I am here to hope you do not get murdered. Hope to muddle through."

"We must rid ourselves of foreign matter."

"More virgins, anyone?"

"We have become vegans."

Clean this mess; it is massive. The duster never leaves my hands.

My fear grew.

Smattering with fear, they refuse.

They hung around us for twenty years, and then, totally with nothing to see, they tried to kick us out. We did not think a whore house was a good deal.

"No reason,"

"This is respectable," mother shouts to everyone who does not listen.

I don’t know. Should I tell someone that they are so agreeable, engaged, and even married to their male? Maybe imagined the whole thing? There is no hesitation; they respond and then ask me out. "Don't date females."

They take it personally.

"She thinks she is married," she laughs softly,

“The flouncy fool is so bad at time management that she is fobbed off.” Shouted Jazz at the massive woman.

“And does not realize it,” Shouts the woman's wife. Sheer pregnancy blues, I thought.

"Turkish blood means it is about to spill."

"We lost it a long time ago."

There is something I find amusing that I am unwilling to comprehend. Because I realized if I did, I would go mad.

"Turks do not have blood, they have metallic blood."

"Wind them up and they roll and roll and make themselves super metallic."

We ceased to talk, someone gave an order, and that is all there is to that.

"And more and more it is time we all dined on something."

“Sorry, only winners are allowed in my workshops,” added Jazz.

He and she were playing a prank.

"Cruelty to have you join with the grownups.”

He leaves with a nod and a goodbye, and the atmosphere changes; all my friends are no longer my friends. Backs are turned in something like disdain.

This is a nightmare. I was making progress on something important. The wives were about to deal a hand that would make the worst possible sense.

"We will do a better job of it. The whole world will live happier, cleaner, more efficient lives."

"Too much spinach,"

"It depends." They shrug modestly.

Look, I swear it is not going to happen. But it almost did. I almost got gang raped.

"Who would want to rape you?"

"But I am not a kid?"

"Sorry, our mistake."

Sit up straight, don’t slouch, and then the tirades at me. How can anybody live a double life as if one were a kid when I am over the age of consent? He left me destitute in this café.

I am not looking at her, I am not talking to her, I am only mumbling to myself.

Now I am imagining all sorts. We have nothing to say. Look, stop talking, she hears us.

"What is the matter with me?”

"You have no one."

"Like who?"

"A friend or family member who loves you,"

"Do I need them?"

"Of course,"

Nothing, I don’t have any education, no money, and no real job.

To better oneself, it is wrong to have all you have is the virtue inside you. We do not want your head, we want your knickers off.

"Girls, why?"

"We can beat you on education and brains, but nothing is good enough for you, is it? We are better than some beaten-up man."

There was not much left for me as I scurried through the workplaces and came up with no answers.

The women worked their socks off and did a lot of it within the contracts. Then the group came, and they shared a moment or two and interlinked. And that is when evil grew and grew. Vampires flew away, and there were hawks and snakes to be beaten off; we all got confused.

I agreed to co-exist.

I am a shadow.

"We can drive the whole thing; we are the new tin soldiers."

"Let someone else be that."

“Someone who does the laundry, not in our class,

"Who does not do their own laundry? I wonder."

"The rich,"

“Why is that man winking at you?” Mother asked.

Dad almost stops the car and then drives, swearing.

What?

"We will run the world, we will be first again."

“Speak one more word,"

They dislike me so much.

I’ve known it for some time; it’s been a place without respite, always filled with disappointments. And being late home led to a thrashing with a piece of wood.

Despite this, I remained kind, choosing not to reveal what had happened to that child on that night. Her enjoyment of the cake and the brocade curtains mattered to me.

"It is a tough world."

"We can all relax now."

Even though it made me unwell to think that someone else was enjoying those delights while I was crying and being beaten.

So that everyone was happier, I ceased to care what became of me. I know I was stupid; I didn't mean to be.

My place is that of having nothing, living in a world of make-believe. I was always this thoughtful kid who made things better for other people.

"Worse example of what a human being is or should be. " My sisters agreed wholeheartedly.

"A human being who has nothing but good is allowed to die when the people use it," said Z.

I know when to lie. But sometimes I forget to.

No one is allowed to intervene because no one is at home.

Now I know what to do.

But what also mattered was me, forgotten for years, because I didn’t want to be part of her group.

Where is the truth, the meaning of a true being? Are we regressing into major animals that do not think of protecting the children?

"My IQ has dropped,"

"My will is pressing to another world."

"You are worse than you were."

"I want to live now."

"You are being treated for suicidal thoughts."

"Not true, it is homicidal."

"Vampires walking this earth as if they are all around here."

"Mine has increased,"

“Like a lamb left for the lions,” as Dad Abdul would say.

"Sex toys,"

"Madness,"

"Personality disorders,"

Left marks.

"Other people?"

"Not true,"

We sit down to discuss it.

This is not open for discussion.

"What is the matter with me?"

Today, when I nearly went insane, I found myself remarking on the heated arguments and the things that matter.

Then, I did not remember what mattered to me, did not fight, just gave in. Some feelings were there; someone had hypnotised me.

In order to compel me to work for free labor for the love of God, what does it matter?

Vampires know all the tricks.

If someone pays you, there is respectability; if no one pays, then one is sloppy as sin.

"What do you do?"

"Nothing."

Sham, this person is a sham.

This is not working because it is a shame.

It feeds on villains and thieves and scumbags and makes them seem sensible and nice.

"Who are you?"

"No one."

I will be a hollow inside soul. We tried but failed. Our hearts spent, we did what we did.

"Nothing did."

Then our souls screamed. We left it too late.