Exodus 20:14

Ephesians

'Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church.'-Ephesians 5:22-23

It had been six days, nine hours, forty-eight minutes and sixteen, seventeen, eighteen seconds since Dahlia's encounter with the demon, Ashemdai.

Not that she was counting.

She was too busy attempting to purge his presence from her house, mind and soul by being the best Christian housewife she could ever be. Since the encounter, she had been attending the community church more often. She sought the predictable solace of the Word and her knees ached from the hours she spent at the altar, begging for the forgiveness of her mortal sins. She became more vocal during the choir practice and even volunteered to become a more active member despite her yearning to remain the community wallflower.

She could tell that her Husband appreciated her efforts. He had started to acknowledge her in public, taking their interactions further by holding her hand briefly and even employing a wispy caress to the side of her face when he issued his instructions for the coming week.

Some could say that the infernal visit was a blessing in disguise geared at bringing the two closer to each other and cementing their relationship in the eyes of their God and community.

Despite this, Dahlia felt the performative symbolism of her actions. The shined shoes that she could see the reflection of her corrupted soul in, the suddenly bland tasting body and blood of Jesus Christ and the monotonous topping from her Husband felt as empty as the hallowed deep left behind by Ashemdai, which she refused to acknowledge.

The small dosage of deviation the demon had administered to her turned out to be an accursed affliction since it gave her a glimpse behind the woolly curtain of her banal existence.

Once she realized this however, her efforts became more frenzied to rectify the matter. Motivated by the opioid of her Husband's newfound affection and the community's superficial acceptance of her, Dahlia donned the identity expected of her and wiped out her own individuality for the community's hive mentality.

Her plan to disremember the particular demon was working spectacularly.

The road to eternal life and happiness in her earthly one was paved smooth with acts of service to her Husband and their God.

Seven hours before the promised visit, the smooth road gave way to a potholed dirt track caused by none other than despicable Ruye.

They had been eating a dinner of baked potatoes and ham, as was customary on a Sunday afternoon and it served as a fitting epilogue to their church service. As her Husband took a healthy, yet delicate swig of his Cabernet Sauvignon, the "serious wine, for serious wine drinkers", he announced that he would visit with the widow.

It had been five days since he visited her last and it was his longest streak without seeing her. In his defence, Dahlia had been a klutz of epic proportions and had warranted punishment on many occasions.

She knew this visit, like it always had, would lead to them shaking the sheets, a phrase taught to her a particularly naughty cousin which she still found confusing since there wasn't much shaking actually involved in the act.

At least when done with her Husband.

She was still chalking up what she saw during that dream as the work of an overly imaginative artistic brain steeped in fallacy.

Dahlia was speechless for a moment. She had done everything that was expected of her and still she was receiving punishment.

She voiced her concerns.