Changa Wasn’t Really His Wife
his rodent-like face- the shrieking of something
- to whom he was married
- another man’s flesh
- slid from his belt
- in his rubbery grip
Changa wasn’t really his wife, she was just the person to whom he was married at age five in the tradition of his people. All he recalled of the ceremony was itchy clothes and the shrieking of something about eternal honor and sacrifice. The stunned newlyweds had been compelled to kiss, and then avoided each other for the next twelve years.
Now Changa was hot. The kind of hot that makes you sweat. As she strolled through the market, the broom felt heavy in his rubbery grip. Urgency slid from his belt, and he had to be alone for a minute.
He hated the idea of her tasting another man’s flesh, kissing his rodent-like face. Anger darkened his world.