The sinister little girl shook her pigtails in disbelief. Time passed while she slept. Her victims walked and talked. The blood had dried the formidable foe of heartbreak and loss had not stopped them.
“Why do they not wallow and wait for time to fix all?”
“Because little speck,” came the master's whisper, “They are stronger than I made you.”
“Why could you not make me like them?”
“I did not make them.”
Boiling in the soles of her shoes to the black tears she shared with them. “I will make them like me. I will make them burn inside. They will join my murderous misery!”
She flung her whip around his head when he saw the grave stone and jerked so hard he fell to his knees, she raced to daddy’s girl and flicked the shared whip around her wrist pulling her to only reminders of her incomplete parentage. The father was drinking at a bar, waving in traffic, hiding on the street corner, partying in the back of the club, everywhere the whip led to more and more evidence of unworthiness. He’d left her and now she spilled on filthy tile trying all ways to forget. The man was tricky. He had gained love with another. Dot smiled wickedly at the challenge. She whispered softly and sweetly the name of his lost love. And when she was never far from his mind she was never far from his lips and soon he sought her himself. The fearsome little girl laced the whip around his chest and tightened it at every thought, every glance and his faith faltered and now he knew he was no better than Dot. His sin was their end and Dot’s revenge. Tired and breathing heavily, the little devil child rested smiling. She was to wake to suffering like her own and punishment would be equally shared in the split misery.