❖ Blog post by lwflouisa

Chapter 12. The Marie-Tomatoes

Now you possibly wonder why it is I'm not killer, and yet seem to manage to avoid being murdered by one. Well I'll tell you a little story, I was riding on a electronic train going faster than sound. I was riding on a sleeper train, running away from my family back down in NashChat, Tennessee. I remembered the feeling of panic I had having attacked my father with a knife, and almost would have gotten him if my mom didn't put sense into me.

She wasn't exactly immune to being pushed into walls either by me, and I suppose in her mind she wasn't sure how far I would go. But keep in mind they were the ones belting me if I ran away from home, not the other way around. I wanted some other place to be, some place that was not home. Some place that wasn't there.

So me and Anna-Marie formed our own family.

The Marie-Tomatos.

At night I would have dreams of blood on Anna's face, I would here her crying faint tears. I would snuggle in her arms, and try to console her. After all it was the least I could do. It wasn't easy finding someone you thought was a man at first you could trust, and then only find out later that what you know about the relationship was a lie-insofar as what gender she thought I was. But eventually it became a normal family.

I could have a family again.

She could have a family again. And there was love to go around.

At nights we would go to the water parks, shoot at things at the fare, and eventually console her from time to time to assure her father wasn't there.

Because at the end of the day, she's just a bad girl.

She is a child at heart. A broken child, a girl who was never treated as a child, except insofar as being spared from execution by a single thread.

On some level she felt she already lost her head.

So give her this country song.

The thing about relationships, whether it's with French girls, American, Japanese, or the great nation of the beer brew festival. Sometimes you build an image in your head of someone you would like to know, though from time to time those images in your mind can turn out to be right. At other times they turn out differently in the real life and be ... dog ugly. And yet when you stand by trying to comfort someone as long as I have, there isn't anything turning back. Your heart is to invested in their well-being your needs being trumped by the desire for only them that you are willing to forgive a little bit of homeliness.

And yet there is a kind of inner beauty in masculine girls. One not often seen by more shallow suitors, there is a heart of gold not often given a chance. Sometimes they build trust issues with others, finding images in people they hate. I know I was there once myself, I would shamefully lump everyone who was blond under the same brush. Yet now whenever I see a blond girl be beheaded, it weighs down on my soul. It is this great indescribable feeling.

On some level I find myself scared to lose Anna-Marie, and yet I write my stories imagining some other kind of Anna-Marie. For a long time this was why I tended to avoid dates, as I didn't trust whatever girlfriend I would date that I still loved them no matter what, and no matter what version of them I created in story in a book I would love them more than the artificial life. And so I never chose to even entertain crushes.

I feared being alone.

And yet now as I join hands with her at the local cart stop, I simply think of all the thoughts I used to have imagining creepy men admiring me as a bearded lady when I forgot to shave, with that Irish red. And think...

I'd rather live my life with her instead.

It's my new life.

The thing about the nature of my sexuality, I've always tended to prefer girls from a long distance relationship.

This was part of the reason I was initially reluctant to befriend Anna-Marie. The thing about the word befriend, is all to often I tended to confuse the words behead and befriend. Do to to the nature of the relationship with my mother, and the fact that my illustrations tended to involve girls in captivity or with their necks on a headsman's block, the general association I made for friendship with other girls tended to also include sex.

I was beginning to draw those illustrations in a time I was beginning to sexually develop. It wasn't like I wanted to actually behead them, it was more a case of wanting to die with my beloved that was in a case of strong denial for the longest time. And so most of my fear for the longest time had been that they would assume I wanted to kill them. When that wasn't the case at all. No at all.

I wanted to die right beside them and never leave their side as I'm caught by dream-scanners who are able to spot our locations, finding out exactly where we live and our daily living habits. Things in the town would be tailored for our least convenience. So the fact that Anna-Marie would even consider giving me a chance was an idea I wasn't completely used to. So when we went to shooting matches, and then rode horses under flying cars, it made broaching any conversation about sex a difficult topic to approach. Especially knowing her parents were dead.

So whenever I have thoughts of a warm embrace by a bad girl, my mind immediately switches to them stabbing me with a knife, and then licking the blood off my corpse.

And for Anna-Marie, I wasn't sure if she'd die by my side.

And yet, she was just so cute.



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