06/01/2023
Marie and Anna moved to their flat in Kentish Town sometime this year. One is an "influencer" the other works in an office, it doesn't which does what. Marie grew up in a brothel in Paris, Anna grew up on a cow farm in rural France like the opening of Inglorius Basterds. Anna's father would force his three daughters to milk the cows as he sat in his wooden wicker chair. The same chair he would sit on in his stained underwear and force his daughters to perform sexual acts on each other straight faced, milk moustached. Just like Inglorius Basterds.
The two would go to bars and find lonely looking men. There they would say all the right things take their drinks and cigarettes. They made this balding 24 year old trainee risk assessor feel like a Moorish sultan for the night, the girls being his captured occitan concubines. They would take these men back to their mandala covered grey flat where they would almost have sex with him and then tell him they'd rather wait. They'd discovered the best schedule for texting a man to make him completely dependent on their contact. After enough time the man would stop responding due to an unfortunate suicide. They wouldn't notice. This wasn't some feminist power fantasy getting back at the men that had wronged them, they simply didn't care. They were far too attractive to care about women's rights.
One night when Marie saw an aged white bearded man at what she called her favourite bar she saw her next target. His name was john.
"So where are you from?" Marie asked after hearing his distinctive Irish accent after ordering a cider.
"Everywhere and nowhere" John Replied
Marie laughed harder at this than was natural.
John was immune to her. He built adventure parks for a living. Seventeen year old girls would beg him to employ their chubby, greasy haired, gamer boyfriends because in six months he'd completely change them. John liked to surround himself with his improved boys and aged ugly women. In this community he was a king. He was a platonic ruler wise and caring but demanding. To him Marie was another person to make an unfunny joke to. John's dismissal of Marie began a deep infatuation. This isn't what she knew, she was beautiful and French. John's girlfriend was a crackling, wrinkled, Easter Island head. Marie had ruined herself thinking she could debase a king amongst men. John didn't care about her, John cared about the way the blood pulsed in his hands after a long day hauling logs and tightening screws.
The next day Marie had pre-paid for a double mastectomy. She began to take testosterone pills and dyed her growing scraggly beard and now unkempt hair a pale white. Anna was found hanging from the clothesline the week of Marie's strangely rapid transformation. Marie didn't notice, she continued to perfect her Irish accent by way of YouTube video. She began to sail the Regent's Canal looking for work in her rowboat. Blood pulsing in her hands. Ordering ciders.
The death of every pretty French girl births an Old Irish man.