Cristal is the victim. She wore that tag every friday night, wednesday afternoon, thursday light round pixel aura borealis.
“It’s always the other way ’round”, a woman in the room says.
He tries to process her words. Fails.
“The men-wom thing”, she adds. “you’re either a king or a slut, either the irresistible or repulsion”.
King of a slut, he thinks. Servant of lust.
“She reminds me of my virginity”, he finally speaks.
“Aren’t you married?”, the woman reminds him, her eyebrows heightened.
“Yeah. I mean, I haven’t slept with the victim. I’m Cristal-virgin.”
The kitchen is were evil mesmerized last night. Fragments of glass like sharp icebergs and fragments of Cristal’s womanhood can be found even by the blind.
“She was into little kids” reads the woman detective.
A children-maker grooming children, he mumbles.
“The offender-victim started therapy a week ago”, the woman keeps dazzling at it all.
“Well,” he stretches his arms, “it takes an army to be kind. See ya tomorrow.”
“What will you do?” the woman detective asks.
“Jerk off to Cristal, for the last time. Have a cup of tea and watch TV”, but instead he proudly says “Jubilee”.
