JUDITH SHAKESPEARE II

One day, I woke up believing I had a great idea. I started writing metaphors, soliloquies, and sonnets around one same topic. I was trying to give my father the feeling that lies deep inside, like a centrifugal force among the digestive organs. I wrote complete dialogues, creating blood images and dark visions. I wanted him to experience the one thing he did not have: guilt.

But instead of staring at his own hands and seeing my weakened body, he gave birth to what everyone called his great masterpiece. That way, he was able to distribute his own guilt among innocent audiences.