Blood’s thicker

Rosa had always had long black hair, the children at school called her Wednesday and then later Morticia. A throwback from her Great- grandmother, her grandmother said. But it didn’t really worry Rosa too much, she’d always been happy in her own skin, give or take a freckle.
Rosa’s parents were also happy with her the way she was, she rarely got into mischief, and when she did they chatted together before sitting her down and explaining her transgression and asking about it, before telling Rosa how it may be seem by themselves and others.

In her teens Rosa found she was very sought after by the boys, but wasn’t particularly interested in them. She enjoyed science and working with animals particularly.

By twenty-one Rosa had finished her external studies and was working for a company that treated her well. In the evenings though, Rosa liked to go to bars and clubs and listen to loud heavy metal and goth bands: people there were in awe of her long dark hair, and she enjoyed their attention.

Before university she had a relationship with kind sensitive young man called Marcel, but they had parted for study. Rosa had taken to just getting attached short term to men, whoever took her fancy as long as they could keep her interest after they opened their mouths. But recently, if they stayed the night, in the early morning, before they woke, she found herself wandering into the kitchen and looking at her block of knives. How simple it would be, she found herself thinking, to take their beating heart from their chest, whilst they slept? Would they even wake?

As a scientist the questions hardly even bothered her, but as a kind woman who has hardly ever transgressed, she was shocked.

The morning that she woke with a knife over a beautiful young man’s chest as he slept, she realised that she needed help. She was a bit concerned about going to a psychiatrist: she didn’t really want to give money to someone that might lock her up for the good of the community.

At the local shopping mall there was a, ‘hippie shop’, as she thought of it, with an array of: tarot cards; crystals; dragon goblets; and dream catchers all shrouded in the smell of incense. Rosa had seen a sign advertising that they do readings of some sort and decided, on a whim, to go in on her day off; vaguely thinking that it may provide a distraction.

A middle aged gentleman waited in the other world, out through the beaded curtains in the back room. On a velvet topped table rested his hands and on another were a crystal ball, tarot cards and a recording device. She had a moment of doubt coming in, before he looked into her face, studied it a moment and exclaimed,
‘Ah the Inca Virgins are seeking their revenge again!’.