Silk Delilah

“There’s the light at the end of the tunnel, then there is the hole in the imaginary donut of life. When you look through it, everything disappears, yet stays the same. Picasso was the genius behind Blue Nude, and the world faced a terrible suffering when Marilyn Monroe took her life.” Silk Delilah read aloud. Her back bent, slouching over her bedside table, with a 40 bulb burning through her tired eyes.
“Sometimes when life jabs a piece of foam through your mind, you have to perform instant lobotomy, just as the whores in alleyways with coat hangers trying to delay the inevitable pain of life without meaning. Even when you think about it, parents only kick you when you’re down. Suffer the times with teenage angst, and you may conquer the world. Living through pleasures in doses that even George Bush couldn’t count. Endless amounts. Day by day, we drive through the waking hours of a house with no heart, a love with no name, and a father who sits playing only his game. You wont even guess what he’s done with the children down the street.”
Silk left her legs open once too often, and began to screw the world.
One more moment, she almost has it!
She closed her ancient journal, and tossed it across the room. Throwing herself onto the bed. Her legs stretching to the ceiling, as she yawned, and fell to her side. Releasing a sigh of past redemption.
“You won’t even guess what he’s done with the children.” she repeated to herself softly, under her breath, as the children who ran from him day by day.
Silk was a terribly imaginative girl. Thinking of the world through the eyes of a toad, and living through the body of a stripper on 82nd.
“Silk Delilah, oh my Silk Delilah” her father would say to her when she was young, staying at home, flipping through channels on the tube, awaiting the next unconscious visitor. She remembered he would come crawling in though the door with children strapped to his back like a worker’s union on strike. “Fix your daddy some milk and honey, child, we need to settle them down for tonight.”
She didn’t understand the complications of the troubled children. They where her brothers and sisters in the eyes of the bewildered church leaders who took her money when the brass bowl flew past her aisle.
“Your father doesn’t go to church, does he little Delilah?”
She heard this a hundred times over, every Sunday morning when she awoke at the tiny age of seven and walked to church like an abandoned dog on the side of a highway, ready to be hit.
And she was ready. So ready. Every hour on the clock of the crow beat in her psych as little children danced in the streets.
And even as she lays in bed again, ten years later, the children still dance with words ringing through the air, as real true love would sound if it existed between the parent and the child.

Silk woke the next morning stretching her legs straight above her in an eloquent fashion. Draping her arms to the sides, falling off of the two mattresses merely sitting on the rotten floor. Picking up the rats with the teeth of a cannibal, and spitting out the remains through secret tunnels under the bed that lead to her father’s soul.
She yawned desperately, reaching towards the heaven she had forgotten years before.
As she heard her father’s footsteps near her door, she dreaded the infomercials, and the ten day old cartons of milk sitting in the refrigerator calling her name to be released. She could imagine them dancing on white legs, and singing through the door as the old man opened to find the lollipops he kept cold, for that same old ripple effect. “The children loved them cold against the skin.”
The footsteps neared, and she tried to cut out the sound with a knife. The footsteps neared, and she could still hear the children screaming for their mommies with the strangest delight. As though being strapped to his back made life not so bitter.
“Delilah! Wake up, I’m going out, I need you to watch the kids.”
She could hear his screeching, tainted voice creep through the walls, as she did every morning for years.
Soon after, the footsteps passed through. She could hear the car start and wisp itself off into another world. An alternate realm of magical wonder, where children were created for the picking, and time only passed by as miracles do in the long lost Shakespeare words of infatuation, and hate.
Silk rose to her feet, coughing slightly, squinting her eyes to the corner of the room.
“No, no more of this!” she screamed unto the journal she had tossed there only the night before. “I trust him now! I will not question the children in the basement…”
Silk caught herself mid-sentence, and quickly jolted her thoughts to the mount of Cleopatra, miles upon miles away.
“The children!”
God could not have ran so fast if he created the biggest legs, and the most highly balanced feet this planets ever seen.
Silk Pranced her way down two flights of stairs until reaching a door with mold around the edges, and worn condoms sticking out from under the wooden wonder, as though trying to escape the hell that awaited.
She could hear them breathing. In and out. As children do when life has just begun.
Silk placed her ear to the door, and remembered what her father had told her, “These children live with us, darling. I have found them across the land in which I travel. A land where your nerve is not lost, and your mind should not be found. A time in which the children dance and dance, but laugh at the times when people would frown. Honey, you are the queen, and these are my toys. Watch them like a hawk, for you are the only true.” Silk never understood a word he said, but only listened once the last phrase had entered her ears.
“This is what your mother would have wanted for us.”
So don’t cry Delilah, you’re still alive Delilah.
Silk placed her hand around the doorknob and felt the mold grab hold of her as though trying to attack with the powers of Sparta.
She could hear her dad’s words of warning blast through her brain cells, left and right. “Do not touch the door, my dearest, I will see you, and throw you in. Do not touch the knob, my dear, I will see you, and throw you in. Do not go inside my dear, I will see you, and have to make you mine.”
Mother would have wanted me to help the children.
Silk squeezed the handle, and pushed the door inside. She could still hear the breathing. The crying, and the kicking. The wailing and the flailing. The dancing and the crashing of sane minds.
“Hello?” she whispered, moving her head slowly from side to side, trying to see the children who really did exist.
But only her mother stood lifeless, as food for the children.
And she spoke in a haunting tone.
“You must be stronger than mommy, you must be strong.”