Part 2 Just she and she

The mailman awoke to find him self a 6 month inhabitant of the lonely house.

Yes, clothes were in the corner and his razor was in the medicine chest.

(When we last saw him, he was being carried away by the solitary sisters, She and she. )


He awoke this day to find his face stuck to his pillow, he had been crying in his sleep again!


He slept with one sister while desiring the other.
Her claim on him by the hour  deepened, till he thought he might well resign himself to never obtaining the object of his love.
Until the dream again this morning.

(When we last saw him, the mailman was thoroughly entranced by the beauty of She whilst becoming appalled at her cruelty; and upon meeting her sister, falling in love with that homely spirit, all despite her repellent visage.)

So the dream:
a watery quality, a rebirth, some pain, a scream and then beautiful, absolute peace and happiness!

This last is what made him weep and sop his pillow.


He took the qualities of his dream, locked himself in his newly appointed "office";

(most recently the sister's reading nook cupboard, decorated with low lights and perfumed air.)

he rolled up his sleeves, called the post office, picked up his sketch book and pencil and started to work.

He sketched and measured for days, it seemed like, while the eager and the sullen sister crowded by the closed door. No sound could they hear, but an occasional crinkling of paper and an anguished cry, 
"Not quite right, by god!"

When he finally emerged, he had his plans grasped his his hand.  His hair was tousled and shot with white where previously had been raven.  He smelled.

"I will make you whole! I will use these brilliant plans to create a whole woman, a woman made of everything good and desirable! I can do it!"


And because they loved him each in her own way, She and she followed the mailman back into the reading nook.  He locked the door.


He severed and attached and cut and sewed.  At last he and she were done.  
There were no longer two sisters.


The creature he produced could no longer move on it's own.  It sat and stared languidly at it's own reflection, and was only dissuaded from this pursuit by insistent closeness with another.  It would press itself to him as if it could press itself through, through his heart.  He would peel her off of him and place her again in front of her glass.

And the skin was strange. Not....human.  It didn't take.
No longer beautiful or ugly. Somehow the human-ness, the most important part,  that's what was missing.