I’ll now recount the tale of Florence; this I suctioned from her as I gathered her soul into my collection.
“I’ve been a mostly respectable person Sir, you must believe me and take me to the good place.
I raised two children and took in more than 60 others. Yes, it is true I made a fortune from the foster care, but it was legal.
The money is a great thing that I leave my own children, they suffered you see as they did not receive all of my love and attention. The foster children consumed so much of my time, so the money is their inherited compensation!
Ah yes, I see into the darkness of your hood the questions of the other children, but what what is wrong with my actions? I put sufficient food on their plates and clothing on their backs, even if I shopped at second-hand stores.
I see your questions now of love, but I was not paid to love the foster children. Love was not ever included in the deal. You have to understand they were wretches, all of them, from broken homes. They never knew love before coming to me, so they lost nothing.
Oh no, I see your question of kennelling children. It wasn’t like that at all. There were so many rooms in the new house. Rooms, rooms, rooms galore to storage children and so much more money to be made. It isn’t as though I kept them in wire cages!
There, now I see your question of professionalism and training. Phooey! Nobody needs schooling or training to take care of children. It is not my fault you see, the agency gave the children to me and the agency fought the government, to bend the rules so I could keep them!
So there, if there is fault, it is the agency to fault not me. Take me to the good place now that you know everything.”
I transformed Florence into her yearned for image of womanly perfection, a store model she had seen. Some wishes do come true. The shrillness of her scream pierced the stillness as I tucked her under my eternal robes of darkness, the final destination of her life voyage.
© Zora Zebic 2016