102 years ago, a woman was murdered. She was killed in a boomtown, a 14-hour drive east of here, here being Spokane, Washington, near the North Dakota border and where her mean man traveled to and fro - in many iterations, from Plentywood, Montana to Williston or Minot and back. He was afforded a multitude of roles and personalities, dimensions through space and time, and lies and criminality that my Great Aunt Ethel was never allowed. Think of yourself as a 22-year-old, which she was then - your brain fast forming neural pathways or maladapting to the crises of your time. You are surrounded by violence, your entire age ruled by Mars, and midnights getting drunk on illegal booze and wide-open plains. You meet a man who looks really good on paper, knows how to talk you and the world, and has money and the power to move you from everything you ever loved - from a place where the only good crops were sunflowers and snakes. A mite like Hades - he who controls the very tilt of your world and the seasons that rule your mood. 

This is part of a series on femicide. Previous works include, Dead Woman Made Real; Visiting Twin Peaks; Black Femicide, and the MMIWG Crisis.