VII

“You look so perfect standing there 

In my American apparel underwear 

And I know now, that I'm so down

Your lipstick stain is a work of art

I got your name tattooed in an arrowed heart

And I know now, that I'm so down (hey!). . .”

The unearthly descant — sounding more like a frustrated harangue from a rat that had been starving for months — escaped from Oriana's mouth as she bounced from one couch to another, the daily newspaper folded into a cylindrical shape, resembling a microphone held in her paws as the music — from artistes unknown to Emerald — continued blasting through the speaker, making Emerald's ear throb from the noise.

She really had no idea how she sounded. Even the grunts from a gravid donkey in labour sounded more bearable than the sounds that left her throat. At some point, she let out something similar to a strangled cry, leaving Emerald to worry if she was perhaps choking on her own saliva.