I met a rotten woman once. She was by the roadside, rotting away, waiting for something; someone; that will make her pure. The stench of her rottenness found my nose, and with my two fingers, I tried not to let it engulf me.
I walked past, and then she called me over. She said:
“Amanda, why do you run away from my rottenness?”
So I drew closer, nose still in between my fingers, and tried to convince her it was not her rottenness I was running away from, rather it was the stench of it.
Her eyes bore a thousand piercing swords as she looked at me, so I changed my narrative, and told her I was late for school.
Later, I met her again. This time, she was in a bar. She was drinking from a cup, and hers was full of keg. All around her, she was surrounded. People who wanted to talk to her, people who wanted to possess her, people who wanted to fuck her.
I approached her, and as soon as I was two feet away, the stench again. Putting me off.
She saw me and then, loud, in the presence of all of them, she asked:
“Amanda, does the stench of my rottenness still put you off?”
I smiled and said no. I went to her table and drank of the cup.
I found her again. This time, she was kissing the man that was not hers. The man was looking at her as if she was God, but I knew better. I knew of her rottenness.
She stopped mid-kiss, and the man still tight in her arms, her lips curved in the most devilish smile.
“Amanda, do you now see? Do you see the rewards that await the rotten?”