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Black Widow

Posted on May 29, 2007
Filed Under The Stories |

The blonde was all sex and shanti, served on a platter of old skool hip-hop. Content in her discontent with the state of the world she was prompted to do little other than let it be the way it already was. Making the planet different was out of the question for her kind so there was no way she would ever do anything to make it better. She simply fell into the pattern of other women like herself who had the Om sign tattooed on some part of their bodies yet felt harmonious with nothing on Planet Earth. The lack of connection brought with it the need to do something extreme.

Her chosen path was to fuck her way out of the disconnection she felt with the world. In her tragic race for a connection she had given several races a taste of what the little white girl in the thong visible through her soft satin dresses was capable of. Lee from Jurong had been the right choice for a while before Kepler from Havelock had left her unbuttoned. Thomas Yen from Boon Lay believed that laying her was a boon for the few days that passed before the crabs she had got from Matthew made his unshaven pubes the most unfriendly area south of Burma.

She took them to heaven with her lips and her hips and helped join the dots from nearly-homo Harry to super straight Virgil. The chain that connected them came with the three little letters boys had come to dread more than the three little words most girls wanted to hear – HIV.

When Richie found out that he had contracted the dreaded virus he walked off the terrace of his building. It made the news and stayed there for an entire week. Everything from newspaper articles about why a seventeen-year-old would take his own life to television programs about the stress experienced by young students. Because he had taken the medical report with him to his grave few people figured out that the cause for his death was simply his reluctance to delay the inevitable.

Six days later Vasili received the news that he might be taking more than just the memories of her magic mouth back home to Georgia. The boy who had been a stellar student and a devoted boyfriend to his girlfriend of nine months (until his one slip with the petite Singaporean vixen) decided that life was unfair and that he would do something about it before he died.

He emptied his father’s German-made near-antique revolver into classmates taking a recess from studying. Arriving as it did in the immediate aftermath of Richard’s suicide, the article received all the front-page coverage and attendant hype that went with such a dastardly crime being committed on the largely peace-loving island.

Through all the turmoil, the girl n question, a Kiwi named Julie did not take the test herself. She was too terrified of having left no real mark on the world to confirm what should have been obvious by the information she was getting from her lovers past. One day, unable to bear the thought that she might be hosting a deadly virus, she went out and got the test.

In the aftermath she couldn’t bear to remain upright, sober or sapient to the fact that a doctor somewhere was going through the necessary motions to help confirm that she was going to die. So she popped every kind of pill she could find in her mother’s medicine cabinet without bothering to find out what it was for. She spent the intervening time between the hour she took the test and the hour she would receive the results feeling sleepy, feeling the need to shit, feeling wide awake and anxious and feeling anxious about when she would need to shit next. She was so exhausted by the time she actually picked up the test results that she would have been fine with being informed that she had already died.

The envelope was slid across the table but it was impossible for her to read the expression of the woman behind the counter. She needed it to be over, she needed to know one way or the other so she ripped he envelope open and started reading. To no one’s greater surprise than her own, Julie found out that she had tested negative.

At the bottom of the test results were the names and numbers of counselors she could talk to if she needed help understanding the repercussions of unprotected sex. Julie smiled, I’m the black widow bitches. That’s the repercussion of unprotected sex.

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