She thought he loved her. He would send her flowers and call her every hour, and in the minutes before the next, she would flex…tell everyone how good he tended to be, make them sit and barely listen to her long, love story because she would tell it every time she felt the need to hide the shame of the other woman who called his name.
She had to dress him up. He would send the other woman love poetry and call her every minute, and in the seconds before the next, she would still falsely flex…talk about how he made her light up, strike a match and send her heart into flames, but those flames kept her trapped between the doors of rage and a bullet between his brain.
She thought he loved her. He would stumble inside the house in the middle of the dark morning, fall into her comfort zone and disturb her aching bones with more bruises than she cared to count. She just laid there with no concept of how to make it end, but she knew the very next bright day, she would flex again just so everyone could see just how wonderful a relationship she was in.
She tried to kill him. He would bring her flowers and call her every hour, and in the minutes before the next, she stopped the routine and finally truly flexed…placed one round that she’d found at the back of some smooth metal, backed away and made him think before she blew his evil threats directly into that stainless steel kitchen sink.
She went down in cuffs. He went down with his neck cocked and his eyes rolled back into his head. She stared at his lifeless mouth, no longer able to do what he boastfully said. She smiled as they gathered her callous attitude from the blood-stained floor, describing her actions as crazy and even cruel, but when they requested her name, she flexed once more and replied…
My name is Mrs. Pity Ann Fool.
From that time on, people pitied her because they’d already seen through her lies, that all the things in her love life weren’t so grand, but just fairy tales and lullabies. A fool is what some others started to call her, said she was a sure heap of mess, hanging around a man who beat her and cheat her, but then there were some who confessed, gave her much props because she finally got the drop on that man. They continued to respect her as little Mrs. Ann.