I wrote this short story about jealousy. It is very simple. I hope you like it.
By Helen Lemus
She shook her hair loose in that special way that tugged at his loins. He felt it physically when she did it even though they were not physically close to each other. Even when they were talking over the internet TeleConf, he felt a certain arousal when he saw her hair cascading over her bare shoulders. Her long, flowing brown hair sweeping around like a waterfall would make his heart skip. His cardiologist said that he was fine that the whole skipping thing was part of this whole ordeal called love.
He asked daily whether he believed that she loved him the same way that he loved her. She didn’t, he thought. She couldn’t. She was so young. Plus, he saw nothing but ugliness in his reflection in the mirror.
One day, he saw another man looking at her. He saw desire in that man’s eyes. It was enough to provoke him. He had inherited a special gift and he never liked to use it. He knew that he could go to hell if he used it without the reality of justice. If it stood the test of the law, then woe to the man who wronged him.
She was his betrothed. If the other man knew it and still pursued her, he was within his right.
This is what he did. It involved a small bit of cinnamon, a little bit of the man’s hair and his own sacrifice. If he was wrong, it would hurt.
This man had been a pastor at the church that they frequented and knew them both. He saw them in the congregation every Sunday. One day, the confrontation took place in the office behind the church proper.
“You keep her like a slave. She has a right to make friends,” said the pastor.
“They judge her and make her feel bad. She is an artist,” said the man.
“She has nothing to fear, because she’s done no wrong,” said the pastor.
“You selfish goat, you want her for yourself,” said the man.
“Where is your mind? She enjoys going to the soup kitchen and serving Our Lord in any way that she can. You don’t want her to leave the house,” continued the pastor. He was pressing and the man was starting to become angry.
“That’s not the real reason for your interest, admit it,” he said.
“Yes it is. You just can’t accept two people having a common interest without there being some kind of romantic involvement,” said the pastor.
“Why would you even mention it unless it was on your mind,” said the man. Around his neck, hung the metal container that held the pastor’s hair and the cinnamon. He turned it in his hand.
“You suggested that I want her for myself. You know that it is impossible because I am a man of God. She is your betrothed,” said the priest.
The man spun the container around in his right hand. He touched the pastor’s arm. The priest’s eyes glazed over briefly. He dropped forward and landed in the man’s arms. There was a small puff of smoke and the office smelled of cinnamon and the smell of a copse in a large pristine forest. In his arms appeared a small plush animal. It was a black and white dog with short cropped hair and bright button eyes. In them, there swirled a strange smoke.
Later, the man arrived at the house that he shared with his betrothed. She would never know why her circle of friends kept getting smaller while her collection of stuffed animals kept getting larger.