They twist and turn when they had breath, dressed in skin.
They twist and turn because they were almost one.
Two girl’s twins took their life when the rain fell down and they cut deep into their veins offering to the God of rain – their blood to spill.
The loss they felt of this life they hated so into to straw dolls the girls became one and anger, hatred grew, the dolls twist and turn to take other life.
She saw them first at a charity shop so small two fragile straw dolls twisted together facing each other at the wrist. They twisted and turned in her mind and purchase the pair she must. Both with straw red hair no larger than her hand bound in a dance they she could not help but be charmed. The night came, the fireplace lit when she heard laughter of two children singing:
‘We twist and turn and waltz and dance and kill; join us, join us’.
She looked around no one here then she saw that the dolls were gone from the table she had put them. And then she found them on the floor looking for all intents like a waltz both ready to perform.
Later she slept and dreamt of the pair as two children dressed in a style from another era. They sang and danced facing each other their melody rang:
‘We twist and turn and waltz and dance and kill; be our victim before the God of Rain; join us, join us be our first before the God of Rain’.
She woke the sun was streaming through the curtains, feeling even more tired than when first she had slept. She thought of the dolls and of the dream and found that in the night they had fallen from where she had displayed them before and locked in their eternal dance on the floor once more. Carefully she put them on display again, the dream and song dancing through her mind. Unease she felt but the dolls were such a sight, what harm could they do?
Two days passed in the October drought when rain fell upon the roof; rain soon became deluge it rained through the day, and rained through the night.
She awoke that night sweat teasing her skin and whisper of a chill in her blood; the singing of children’s melody ran through her mind: sweet, melodic and deadly. ‘The God of Rain,’ she thought ‘The God of Rain is coming…’
She could hear the rain smell the water that pelted down on the roof. And she could hear the dancing of the dolls ushering the God of Rain. Cautiously she got out of bed and crept down the hall to where she had displayed the dolls. Into the room she silently moved and there they were but not dolls, two children dancing each other’s arms. Two of the same dressed in white their beat the beat of the rain. ‘Join us’; she heard them say ‘be one of us before the God of Rain.’ Two steps she took and the melody of the rain and earth became one in her mind and reality melted away to a solid twirl of love, life and pain. Into the circle she went and didn’t feel the knife as one arm drew a line against her arm and the other hand did the same. The blood fresh fell like the patting of the rain that intoxicated her mind until the swirling white of the dresses of the girls, and the darkness of the room, and the blood that flowed from her arm became one. She danced, and twirled, and died. The patting of the rain and as the last of blood escaped the exsanguination of the body she saw through her tears the figure of the God of Rain. A bounty on her soul he was to claim and feeling his giant heart beating like a typhoon as her own stopped and was washed away in the blood and rain.
She lay dead when the rain had stopped and beside her the figurine of two became three.