Member-only story
American Salome
What now‽
inspired by Chris Coolsma’s Veiled prompt
Alone upon the grassy plaza, she leapt and swayed before the would-be king.
Seven Veils she danced while his falcons roared across the poisoned sky.
Courtiers cooed and clapped, seated mid-high upon the dais. They were unctuous of course, but avarice and wanton ignorance were the chief and common virtues present. Irony alone filled their neo-Phrygian caps.
A harsh sumer sun beat down upon the plain truth: Columbia’s once vibrant silks (crimson, cream and azure) were now shredded and stained, the residue of repeated ravishing. Rape actually— consent no more a part of the process.
While priests turned a blind eye, the sycophants and counselors argued — jus primae noctis.
Delusion or deception?
He cared not either way.
Elitist hair-splitting.
“Grab her by the pussy.”
Yeah, that’s more like it.
“When you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything.”
Piercing and shrill, the musicians piped the old songs.
Her kicks and spins kept perfect time with the relentless punches of the war drum.
The final veil she tossed far higher than the others. It hung in…
