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First published January 1, 2014
A woman was an object, a canvas, upon which society and culture painted labels and framed unspoken expectations, a collectively owned piece upon which shame, scorn, and punishment should be heaped if she failed to conform to the prescribed design.
Subterfuge as a woman was always more complicated because a man in a suit was a man in a suit, but a woman in a dress with a hemline two inches too short was ... in the wrong country, a corpse not quite dead.
She was the hangman's noose, the guillotine blade, the executioner's axe. That was her burden. One she could never atone for or washed off. She was a killer, just as he was a killer.