Chapter Three: The Whore of Babylon
For this chapter, I'm going for a minimalistic approach. Two photos and more writing:
I’ll never forget following Nana around the house as she took every image of my mother off display, moving from room to room methodically, only pausing when she came across a photo of the runaway Mrs. Williams. She would pick the photo up and drop into the large, black bag she was dragging along behind her. I asked her what she was doing, I asked again and again, but she didn’t speak. I was never told why all the photos of my mother were thrown away; I had to puzzle out the truth out for myself.
“I viewed a woman astride a scarlet colored beast, full of blasphemy, having seven heads and ten horns. And the woman was arrayed in scarlet, and decked out with precious stones and pearls, having a golden chalice in her hand full of abominations.”
I think that’s right.
.
.
.
It was just that she always treated me with a small dose of apprehension. I think it was because my looks meant I reminded her of my mother. Nana made no secret of her opinion of her; Linda Williams was wicked, the great whore, the traitor whose hated name was not to be said aloud.
I’ll never forget following Nana around the house as she took every image of my mother off display, moving from room to room methodically, only pausing when she came across a photo of the runaway Mrs. Williams. She would pick the photo up and drop into the large, black bag she was dragging along behind her. I asked her what she was doing, I asked again and again, but she didn’t speak. I was never told why all the photos of my mother were thrown away; I had to puzzle out the truth out for myself.
“I viewed a woman astride a scarlet colored beast, full of blasphemy, having seven heads and ten horns. And the woman was arrayed in scarlet, and decked out with precious stones and pearls, having a golden chalice in her hand full of abominations.”
I think that’s right.
.
.
.
It was just that she always treated me with a small dose of apprehension. I think it was because my looks meant I reminded her of my mother. Nana made no secret of her opinion of her; Linda Williams was wicked, the great whore, the traitor whose hated name was not to be said aloud.