Thursday, October 8, 2009

A LESBIAN STIR

Elisha walked for a while. She didn’t realize that she had passed the restaurant and the Gas Station. She came to a long bumpy log road at the edge of a steep hill. Dark haunting clouds started to drift into the wide sky. The threat of a storm lingered over the small town of Cowley, but Elisha was oblivious to everything but the road before her.
      She followed the road up to the top of a deserted place and found a rock three times the size of a watermelon. She looked out to the few lights at the bottom of the hill. An owl hooted.
      When she was a little girl, she had often dreamed of running to a place such as this: a place that was secluded and untouched. It was in this place that she would dig a hole and bury her nightmares of the prince of darkness. He always wore a black cape and chased her through the dark tunnels with a double-edged sword.
      Now she feared he chased her because she had evil thoughts. She thought about other women. She thought about caressing the fullness of their breasts and tasting the sweat on the roundness of their curves. She thought these thoughts often. And she knew God despised her for thinking these thoughts.
      Elisha sat on the hard rock. Even in a safe place such as this, she could feel the torment of her desires. And she could feel the spirit of restlessness bind her, choke her, and gag her. This was her silent secret. Her silent curse.

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