"Demon's Throat"

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"Demon's Throat"

By

Gregory V. Boulware

11.17.11

...As he began to cut her smooth and tender throat, blood began to flow. Then it gushed and dripped like a geyser, only it pumped from one of her capillaries with violent intentions.

"If I can't have you, then nobody can!" He said.

Her violations...she dared to make love with another...someone other than he – whom she has never known or loved.

"Hold it...hold it! Now, just wait a minute! Whatever the fuck was just said...that mutha's full of shit! No one can tell this story any better than me! Shit, I was there! It happened to me...

A home. A normal home that very well could be your next-door neighbor, your cousin, aunt, uncle, and friends and yes...your parents or any other closely related relationships.

"When this guy is finished talking, hopefully, he'll shut the fuck up and let me talk!"

"It all started on one Friday evening when he came in from work. He, the motherfucker – mister big shit was getting ready to take his ass out – without me – on the town with his boys.

He said, "I'm going out on the town with the boys tonight!"

He had the nerve to laugh; you know...one of them big belly laughs like you'd hear in a bar full of drunks and whores. It sounded like this, "hee, hee, hee, huh, huh, huh." And he gave me one of those great big 'Cheshire-cat' grins. Ya know, like the cat that got the mouse that ate the cheese, like the fat cat in 'Alice in Wonderland.'

I said to him, "Walter – what about the bills? What about Lil-Rocky's coat for school?

Me and Walter had five kids, ya know."

"I remember this familiar feeling, for about the third time in three months; of falling – falling down. The falling only came to an end for one reason – maybe two. The point is...I was able to grab onto something in order to break my fall. The primary reason is coming to a complete and utter dead end stop – at the bottom of the stairway, which began at the second floor landing. It didn't necessarily matter to what position your body was in when this complete and utter stop completed the descent. Albeit, stair-steps and bottom of the stairway landings come into play, the stop is at the bottom of the stairs."

This tri-epoch flight had a dizzying effect upon the woman.

"What the hell do you mean, 'the woman...?'? My eyeballs, most of the time, could see the damn fall...I could see the entire trip, all the bumpy-fuckin way down!" Exclaimed the woman.

"Oh...wait a minute. Excuse me my manners...I forgot you was tellin somebody about me...my name is Wynetta Octavia Henderson,' ya'll don't need to know the names of my kids...just remember that devil, Walter!"

Wynetta felt like she was a thing as opposed to being a human being...a woman. The abusive, excuse me - the physically abusive relationship wasn't always such. Oh, yes...it started out like many (homogenous) serene relationships. What makes these happy couplings take such evil and drastic directions" Who can answer this question? Can it be you?

Walter got, as some would describe, the seven-year itch – in less than five years. Walter felt trapped in this relationship. Walter felt smothered. Walter wanted out.

Wynetta and Walter were young lovers when they met. The couple was then, eighteen and nineteen when they stumbled across one another. They were lucky. They were allowed into an establishment that served alcoholic beverages...an upscale nightclub. They considered themselves luckier than their peers because they had access to things that weren't allowed at their age level. They felt privileged. The traditional after-wedding soiree'- the reception, if you will, allowed the young Wynetta to attend because of her first cousin, 'Bev,' had just tied the knot. Young Mister Walter Henry Henderson was the buddy of the groom. Well...I need not tell you, the caterer or any other adult, of course, did not card them. And for that matter, neither was any other young person under the age of twenty-one years of age. The wine, liquor, and beer flowed – for hours upon hours. More than half the party attendees were found to be drunk or pretty near drunk. The wedding party, for the most part was a success – it was a good time for all.

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