Devil In A White Dress

Seventy Three

Walking in a very dark alley, a six-year old Emma looked sparkling in her WHITE Lace long dress. It was during Good Friday, when she helped a fellow classmate back to her home at the exact time her foster parents went out. Her friend had escaped his hell of a home to wonder in the dangerous and dark street of Tampa, Florida. Gala remained uneasy cleaning up the TV room because of the great angst.

She had her ear pressed against the door, listening to the evil Emma was teaching the young boy. Gala's expectation was that Emma might hurt her friend severely and get in trouble for it, but she was wrong. Gala only heard laughs throughout the night. She ran away and went on vacuuming the carpet, scared that Emma might know she was standing there listening without her consent.

Even though Emma and her "boyfriend" spent a lovely night playing video games, the poor kid was dealing with a painful emotion that ate him inside. He told her how much he hated himself for causing his father's death and that he couldn't stand living in the same house with that abusive mother anymore.

To his utter relief, he believed all his problems were going to drown in the bottomless pit forever; but something wasn't right with what Emma had just told him. She whispered into his ear, saying 'When life gets hard, it's always better to kill yourself than live with the pain.'

The kid never opposed young Emma, but upon all the awkward things she said, this was different. He began to think about it when he got back home. When the abuse got worse, and his autism was being ridiculed by numerous peers, he kept on thinking about what his "girlfriend" told him that night.

The voice so innocent. So firm, and bright. He later realized that it was a whisper from the Devil. A tiny Devil in WHITE. Sometime later, young Emma stole her foster father's credit card and manipulated an adult friend to purchase a Beretta M9 for her. She paid her friend a visit on a similar night, and just when she caught his mother asleep on the couch, Emma whispered the same thing to him, 'Do what you must do, or it'll be too late'.

By the exact time Emma returned home for her curfew, a smile etched on her face, because she could hear the gunshots from a mile away. The kid shot his mother and himself, and the news put the entire neighborhood in alarm.

In 2008, Emma Woodburn, dressed in a WHITE Cord Sleeveless with blonde curly hair was seated on the WHITE futon sofa bored to death listening to her fellow women cackle and make teasing jokes about their marriage during the book club. No one took her seriously when she clearly expressed her emotionless self. A blank, tired face that gave the impression of a woman who wanted to shoot everybody.

She picked Willie up from school with a creepy, twisted smile, hoping to hear how exciting his youthful life had been so far. Instead, he expressed his view in a quite similar way as his mother. Willie wasn't scared of his mother, even though teachers and students complained about the kind of deranged woman the boy was being raised by.

At home, Emma carried popcorn and two cups of soda from the kitchen but quickened her pace at the sound of Willies voice.

"Mom, hurry. Dads on the show. Dads on the show, he called out", he called.

She lay on the futon sofa with him, her hand hung over his tiny shoulders as they both munched, drank and watched their dear Peter on TV making a hell of a comedic performance during the Friday Night Special show. Willie talked about how much bullying he faced at school that day, and that his friends were starting to break his heart.

Emma patted her son on the back, smiled, looked him dead in the eye and told him 'When life gets tough, sweetie. The best thing to do is put yourself out of your misery.'

"What does that mean, mom?", Willie inquired with eyes so sluggish it was as though watching his father on the television had been the most soporific thing of the year.

"It means killing yourself," Emma plainly replied, "It's an act of mercy. To kill pain. When you're older, I'll show you. I had this friend when I was your age. I told him to do the same thing, and when he did it, all his pain was rid from the world, and he ended up in a much better place. But don't tell your father. It's our little secret."

"But if I kill myself, will I go to Heaven?", Willie asked Emma.

She kissed him on the forehead, stroked his blonde, unkempt hair then told him,

"NO."

Back in her past, young Emma would always cuddle the kitchen knife in her arms on a stormy night. Sneaking was her specialty. Gala was forced to sleep with her eyes wide opened, scared to death that the little Devil in WHITE would walk in on her. She clutched the rosary tight.

Fearing that the early morning would be filled with screams by the time she jerked from the bed only to gaze at Emma's foster parents stabbed mercilessly in their sleep. Anytime Gala was about to clean Emma's room (the one thing she swore to God she'd regret for eternity), there would be a pile of dismembered dolls as well as a dislocated mannequin.

Sometimes, Gala would walk in on Emma to catch her in the act. The poor Mexican nanny would plead with her to stop, but the face little Emma gave her was a nightmare to remember.

That night, however, things went haywire. Emma's foster mother lost her temper during dinner all because the deranged toddler would not cease her glorifying talk about intestines and organs from an autopsy. When the father joined in and indirectly referred to Emma as a queer, she gave a twisted smile despite the inner rage growing.

When the couple went into sleep, none of them expected the little Devil in WHITE to waltz in through their door, holding the Beretta M9 handgun. Smiling, she aimed at both of them just when they woke up. The two shots were fired and the echo startled Gala out of bed.

She ventured into the room to see, low and behold, the couple's brains splattered on the wall. That night, Gala screamed for the whole world to start its ascension into Heaven.

In 2008, Emma Woodburn took the same handgun and demonstrated the shot-through the-mouth type of suicide to Willie during a stormy night.

'There. You see, now you try. It's simple.', she said.

"But mom, I'm scared. Are you sure there are no bullets in it?", the sleepy Willie asked.

"Scouts honor," Emma smiled, crossing her heart.

Willie did the similar thing, but when he pulled the trigger, a loud bang echoed his bedroom, and his brains splattered on Emma as well as the Captain America and Bucky Barnes poster on the wall. No emotion. No fear. No remorse. Emma smiled while gazing at her dead son.

She picked up the handgun and aimed it right at Timothy, caught peeking from the opened door. Little Summers pissed his pants and trembled. Tears fell down his rosy cheeks.

'Now it's your turn, you piece of shit', Emma said, handing him the firearm.

"No", Timothy cried.

'Okay. I'll do it for you', Emma smiled again, then blasted his face clean from his shoulders.

Timothy jerked awake.