Letter to God

Dear God,

He was drenched. In blood. In red. Soaked and dipped. Like a chicken getting fried. A pretty weird comparison. To be honest, I got this quirkiness from him. From that dead body. My father's father. The man who became a nuisance in my peaceful life of being a rapist. I loved admiring other girls. Their bodies. A piece of art that intoxicates me. The clay that I love molding. Why did my grandpa have to interfere? Why did he have to scold me? me that he will tear away my mask of chivalry? Threaten me that he will take me to the police? He knows I don't like scolding. I get upset. Yet I do feel remorseful. To some extent. He was blood after all. But also, a pain in the ass as well. And I love my ass a lot. I need it for my art. To be creative. 

Hope you find peace in heaven, GRANDPA.

With Love

Anna