Monday, June 14th, 2021

Dear Mother,

Black women are beautiful. So damn gorgeous, I have to confess and the hatred I have burning in my heart for them is just a facade. A big fat lie to shroud my dark carnal intentions.

Today, I had the best tease of my life with one black woman. To make Daddy becum (yes I hope you see what I did there Mother) happier, my baby girl joined in the sexual orgy, doing exactly what Daddy commanded her to do. Obeying my harsh dictates. It was so fun, really. I'd never had such heady pleasure in all of my life.

Until the goddamn black woman wouldn't repeat the rosary like my baby girl could. Why on earth couldn't she do that, repeating the Hail Mary, praying to mother Mary? Even when she was in a nun's habit, inhaling the sweet smelling scent of incense that wafted our holy prayers to heaven? Gah! I was sorely disappointed!

And although I ached to teach her the harsh ways of those chosen by Mary, the supreme mother herself told me not to and boy was I unhappy. Why did Mary have to save her sinning hide?! I'm tearing my hair in frustration as I write this. It's so stupid and annoying! Assuming she was a little girl of six or seven, I would have had a good time with her. A very good time flaying her black skin with my metal beads. Inscribing my initials A.M with the blunt tip of a knife. Teaching her that heathens were severely punished. But, alas, it wasn't so. To my greatest regret.

But she didn't go scot free, Mother. How could I let her? In a fit of rage, I accidentally used the hilt of the bead's cross to strike Ruthie, the black woman's fake name, in the face. Okay, I grin as I whip the pen across this page, that might have been intentional. And boy did she howl, her right eye bleeding furiously, dark red blood dribbling down her face and down to the sheets. Serves the pagan right.

There was no way I could trust Ruthie now, you see, so I had to kill her. My baby girl watched me as I strangled Ruthie with my beads. It was messy and really unsatisfying as she wasn't a little girl of six and right now as I recall this, I ache to turn the clock back so I would finish Ruthie off the right way. But mother Mary doesn't give second chances. Neither do I.

I just yawned now. Sleep calls to me which means I shall continue writing to you another day, Mother. Also, I don't have the strength to pray to Mary so that'll be later. Work has made me so exhausted. Fatigued even. Later, Mother. I love you.

Your beloved son in whom you are well pleased with,
Ave Maria.

A/N: Hehe. Me wondering who this guy could be :-)

Nita♡