Evil

He Saw Evil
By
James Robert Smith

His younger brother
married a whore.
His older brothers,
of whom he had several,
married women.
This whore, though,
was a working class
psychologist.
The Johns, the
endless line of Johns
even at her young
age
had taught her that all
she had to do
was stroke whatever made
them
feel good.
This whore,
had learned that
everyone
liked to be
stroked.
Even gay men
could be moved to
fall in temporary
love
with her when
she rubbed
what made them
emotionally tick.
And women, she’d learned,
had conceits
that could be
massaged to pleasure.
Eventually, she tried it
with him.
“You’re so smart,” she’d say, when
his kid brother was not
around.
But he already knew that.
“I admire people
who read,” she’d pout,
when his little brother was
somewhere else.
Good for you, he’d think.
“Your lips are
very pretty,” she lied,
when her husband was
not there.
He wanted to puke.
Eventually,
she gave up on him.
And then
he saw
the only true
emotion
that a whore
possesses:
HATRED.
She hated his
guts,
and showed it
at every
opportunity.
Ah.
That was much
better.
He could deal with
that.
He felt he’d
accomplished something
good
and decent,
since, as you now know,
his little brother’s wife
was
a
whore.
But,
worst of all, her husband
was
a pimp.