SIERRA'S LEONE

THE 9TH LETTER

Sierra sat in the kitchen; her eyes fixed the wall clock. Sleep refused to grace her. For the last two days following what Sierra saw as her enthronement, the woman found herself haunted.

How could she live happily, surrounded by the people Cecile held to the most when Sierra's sense of justice caused Cecile's descent to her addiction.

Jonas came and sat across from her. He was more than halfway through his stay. Blindspots remained; he needed to know what hid behind Sierra's sad stare.

"Can't sleep?"

The woman slowly shook her head, "I can't, I'm unable to. It's too scary."

"Sierra, I know I've said it many times. And you don't wish to talk about this, but if you want to raise Leone, I need to know what happened. I can't offer my protection if I don't have the weapons to yield if necessary. If the Gauthiers are monsters, I must know," Jonas placed a hand on one of hers.

Sierra took a deep breath.

How long could she keep the truth?

She managed to repress it for twelve years, but now she had to speak for Leone's sake and Jonas, who deserved to know even if he didn't understand her decisions.

"When we were teens, we wrote letters. Cecile had mine, and I had hers. We wrote about our dreams and aspirations. Each of us held eight letters. We vowed not to open them until we were adults, but one day I opened my drawer. I had a habit of regularly checking they were in place. I don't know the gesture reassured me somehow. That day I had nine letters instead of eight. I thought the envelopes were the same, but one was bulkier. I understood it was the additional letter."

Scared of stopping the momentum, Jonas refrained from asking any questions.

"I don't know why. I swear, I can't say even today what pushed me to open," tears rolled down Sierra's eyes.

Jonas wiped them with his bare hands, "what was in the letter?"

Sierra covered her face with both of her palms, "I didn't know, Jonas. We were seventeen, Cecile always shined. I couldn't imagine it was inconceivable."

"What was in the letter Sierra?"

Sierra got up, "wait here."

She went to her room and came back with a four-page letter, "here."

Each page had a title. The first was The Snake In My Grass, the second Keyhole, then Little Girl, and finally Birdcage.

"They're poems?" Jonas asked naively.

"Read them."

Jonas returned his gaze on the first page; he began to read during that time. Sierra's stare remained locked on the kitchen's wall clock.

There's a snake in my garden's grass,

It entered by an infraction.

It slid slowly, slivering merrily to the foot of my shoe. It twirled up my leg, cold-blooded; it knocked on the fabric of my undergarments.

I am friendly, you know me. I'm the snake that lives in the grass of your garden. I like your scent; I love your smile; you and I could be friends with time. I can teach you things. God has made you blind.

Sierra watched the color seep of Jonas's face as the man saw the picture behind what some would consider banal prose.

Jonas stopped and stared at Sierra, "what on earth?"

In front of the woman's silence, the man carried on to read the second, which he was unable to finish. Cecile painted her sordid truth with words that strangled anyone who read them. The man wished he had not insisted, now he too found himself bound and sinking with their weight.