“Thy will be done….”
Dead, disembodied and disoriented, Robyn Sullivan was floating through currents of anger and madness. Her own memories had fled her. Occasionally, she would hear someone crying, but even that was becoming rare. It was difficult to remember her name. Had she always lived this way?
In life, Robyn Sullivan had been one of the most beautiful women on earth. Long before the cult of supermodels and Twitter Goddesses, Robyn had made slaves of every man, woman and child she met. Her days began with Robyn drinking toast and coffee before the house was awake. Cereal and silver then came out for the 6 very unwanted Sullivan children and her husband. If only she hadn’t had children, she thought. They were a burden and an embarrassment. They soaked up money that belonged to her. They diverted her husband’s attention away from her although that could be a plus since she despised sex. The work involved in providing her family with the basics of life was unending. It seemed odd to her that her husband loved the children. Breakfast was a tense affair, since Robyn started screaming as soon as the coffee kicked in. She could be heard by the neighbors very clearly and the shouting didn’t stop until the children had left.
At this point, she would go upstairs and say prayers to God and the Holy Mother Mary, a habit she acquired in the convent for orphans, where she had been left by her very much alive motherand stepfather. It appeared they had wanted to start a new life in tropical Jamaica. After prayers,she would bathe and then sit in front of a golden mahogany dressing table and “do” her hair and make up. It took one hour to sculpt the fine black hair into the high French role that was considered elegant for the time. she kept one hundred hairpins in a rare piece of dark purple cut crystal. When she had finished her hair, her face and hands came next.Simple and elegant clothes were a must, because, after this, came the jewels that her husband lavished on her. Since she had been statuesque, her jewels were quite large. Amethyst drop earrings, a large gold brooch with 9 amethysts radiating in an oval, a bracelet of amethysts on one arm and a heavy gold bracelet on the other. On her right hand was a mighty amethyst solitaire. Her very tiny wedding band was on the left hand. She used to say that amethysts were supposed to be bad luck, but she liked them anyway. “Who cares?” was one of her favorite phrases.
She had everything. Having everything involved having secrets. Having secrets meant changing your name and address every time something went wrong. At this point, changing her name was becoming more difficult. She had achieved perfection and did not want anything to change. Her past should not be allowed to catch up with her.She had so many enemies. Almost everyone who knew what she had done back home was dead. She knew because she read the obituaries everyday and very slowly. The death of an old enemy was occasion enough to order a new dress made and have steaks and lemon meringue pie for dessert. “What’s the occasion?” would be asked, but she would only smile enigmatically. Secrets were her currency. The would also be her doom.
None of this Robyn Sullivan could remember. The anger fog called her on and on.Still, occasionally, there were only a few words that she could understand, but what did “Thy will be done”, mean?