You are not only worthy but you are unfathomably good.
But I have done so much bad.
That does not, must not, shall not, define you.
Only be so if I let it, you know?
From here all you can do is grow.
What if I don’t?
What if I do?
What if we fail?
What if we don’t try and never get the chance to succeed?
So many pointless questions you have.
So many answers in that beautiful mind of yours.
It’s because we’re cancer.
You mean A cancer, water sign?
Yes, cry babies who always whine…
Actually, we are quite divine…
Who said that being self critical is a crime?
It will work itself out, take your time.
I am DYING!
You’re going to be just fine.
I can’t do this anymore…
When it rains it really pours…
You’re not funny.
Maybe you’ll feel a little better if you go running.
You’re stuck with the cards you’re dealt.
Let your friends know if there is anything they can do to help.
I don’t need help, I can do it all myself.
You are so much more than a trophy sitting idle on a shelf.
I can’t do it.
Can’t hurt to try.
I’m weak if I cry.
You are strong and resilient like a butterfly.
Sometimes I think of giving up.
But you haven’t, because somewhere, deep down behind that careless, aloof attitude, you give a fuck.
Shut up.
Seasons greetings
Shall not be defined by lifeless work meetings
Egg nog fresh from the carton
Shall not be defined by the vodka it’s spiked with, as it feels just as jolly when consumed in the frosty garden
The Noble Fir Christmas Tree that towers over us nearly kissing the ceiling with its branches, three lone ornaments hanging
Shall not be defined by the lack of presents underneath, and the holidays will still be banging
Seasons greetings must not be defined by cheesy cards, or presents, or lack of an perfectionism as depicted in children’s movies
What makes the holidays special is the ones we love most spending time with us, and without them, seasons greetings would be nothing more than gloomy
Lacey walked into the gym early on a Monday morning, while the rest of the world was sleeping or just crawling out of bed to make their coffee and crawl back into bed with it. It wasn’t too crowded, but not completely empty either. It was way too early for the creeps to come watch girls bend over in a squat while sitting on the cycling machine pretending exercise. She showed the the stalwart man with muscles bulging out of his In Shape T-shirt her membership ID, and he gave her a smile, some towels, and told her to enjoy her workout.
Lacey started off with some dynamic stretching to warm up her lower body muscles, as usual. She bended down in a squat, the words ass to grass in her mind as a cue to help her. She pressed her knees open with her elbows, rocking side to side and opening up her hips. She did this for about thirty seconds before she placed her palms on the floor, and slid both feet forward while pressing into the floor and lifting her lower body up into a hamstring stretch, pressing her booty to the back. From here she moved between the two movements, going from a peaceful gnome in a squat with praying hands, to a stripper showing off her round glutes. After a few more dynamic stretches she felt warmed up and grabbed some different weight variations and dumbbells from the weight rack.
Lacey found an open area to exercise in and placed her mat down on it. She scanned the area, noticing a tan beach going sort of man standing next to her. He had dirty blonde curly ringlets, blue eyes, and a white T shirt with some lettering on it. It read “leave the weight lifting to the men”. Lacey glared at him and grabbed two thirty pound dumbbells, suddenly irritated by the ignorant slogan. She was going to make him look like an idiot by breaking a few PR’s today in the gym. She had been slowly working her way up to deadlifting twice her body weight for months, and today might be the day.
Rather than starting with breaking her personal record for deadlifts and exhausting herself in minutes, Lacey started with her favorite exercise; Bulgarian split squats. She started by finding a bench, which just happened to be in front of the insipid man with the offensive shirt. She placed each dumbbell on either side of her, and did some tippy tappy motions with her feet.
The man stared at her curiously, as she was the only woman lifting weights near her. He was working chest taking a break from his set, and appeared to have chicken legs as he probably didn’t train them often if he did at all. What an amateur.
She placed her left leg back, heel on the bench and placed her other leg far out in front of her; as this helps work more glutes than quad while doing lunge variations. She lifted up both weights, feeling the familiar cold metal against her skin. It was the only constant in her life, it would never leave her and it was always there after a bad day. She began squatting, her front knee at a 90 degree angle bending slowly as her other leg worked. She felt the pull in her hamstrings, glutes, quads, and it burned. She even felt the strain in her arms as both hands gripped onto the hefty weights and lowered both of them to the ground with control. The man’s eyes widened, and this time he read her shirt. “You think you can hurt me? Bulgarian split squats are my favorite exercise”. He appeared shocked, and he would definitely be soon to eat his words after she broke her personal record for deadlifts. This pathetic man was merely bench pressing eighty pounds. She powered through her reps, feeling both legs begin to quake. She smirked after her last rep of her other leg, and the man looked defeated.
“What can I say,” she said to him with a smirk still playing at her lips as the gym television provided background noise from a commercial.
“You see definition through progression, and maybe you should leave the weight lifting to the women, chicken legs.”
Melly and Jack both rose early on a Saturday morning, squabbling for the shower to get ready for work, as per usual. Jack somehow swindled his way into getting to go first, and Melly played with their four month old German Shepard puppy as she waited for the shower to free up. After what seemed like an eternity, it was finally her turn and she told Jasper to be a good boy and chew his bone in the corner. Jasper grumbled, talking back with sass. What a little bastard.
Dance music blasted as Melly took her time in the shower; much longer than Jack. She tried not to slip as she danced while scrubbing her body with rose scented body wash and a loofah. She heard some loud banging and crashing from outside, but decided it was probably Jack watching a stupid action movie again and shaved her legs with meticulousness, being sure not to miss any hair patches.
After about an hour and a half of exfoliating, shaving, and scrubbing, Melly was finally done with her shower and oiled with scented lotions. Her hair was blown dry and lustrous, the tips saturated in a glossy oil. Her dark hair stood out against her light-colored skin and complemented her pleasingly. She opened the bathroom door and steam escaped it, cool air hitting her warm skin. She turned the corner to go inside the kitchen and saw what seemed to be where a tornado took place. Trash scattered everywhere, tissue ripped to shreds, a glass cup shattered on the floor, shards daring a bare foot to mistakenly step onto them. The fridge was open, unidentifiable, red liquid spilling out of it onto the hardwood kitchen floor. An absolute disaster had occurred, and Melly was terrified to even see what mishaps the living room held for her.
She stopped the messy leakage as best she could and put some towels on the floor, moving quickly to the living room where a bag of cool ranch Doritos had been opened up, probably stolen from the cabinet in the kitchen. The guilty culprit laid angelically on the lime-green cashmere couch. He had his face in his paws, appearing to be hiding from Melly shyly, but she knew better. Jasper was the one to blame for the mess, and she had just cleaned not one day ago. Melly was livid, even more so as she noticed Jasper laid his head on a fluffy new pillow she had ordered from Amazon. It was ripped open, and covered in Doritos crumbs.
“Jasper, you Bastard!” Melly exclaimed, and he made a run for it. His swift legs flung out in front of him and behind rapidly, as he desperately tried to escape his owners capture and wrath. He jumped up when he reached the bedroom door, pushing it open and sprinting under the bed. Melly caught up and squatted down on her hands and knees, peeking her head underneath the bed as Jack still somehow laid peacefully sleeping on the bed, She yanked her young puppy out from under the bed as he yelped in anguish. She scooped up the guilty pup in her hands, and his tail was between his legs, his ears down and back behind his head in shame.
“Are you kidding me? You did a bad AND you ran from me???”
Melly scolded the dog, carrying him to his kennel. She pried the metal doors open with a quickness, and put him directly in front of it.
“Now you go in there and think about what you did!” She exclaimed furiously.
Jasper huffed in exasperation and grumbled, seemingly annoyed to have been caught red handed and punished for his actions. He sauntered into his cage with his head down, defeated. Melly swatted him once on the butt, not too gently to where it felt like a pat and not hard enough to be considered a spank.
“Don’t you talk back!” Melly protested, shutting the doors of his time out box and covering it with a blanket. Jack rose suddenly, coming out of the room in his light-blue boxer briefs, covered in a tan blanket like a tortilla to a burrito.
“Hey baby, what’d I miss?” Jack interrogated groggily, a sleepy smile spreading across his face. Melly rolled her eyes and sighed, much like her annoyed pup only minutes ago and plopped on her lazy boy in exasperation.
“Oh, nothing babe, just the dog terrorizing the house again.”
You walk upon a misty path
A sign reads those who pass shall feel the wrath
Of the foot bandit
After three steps he cannot stand it
In his teeth must sink
Before you get the chance to blink
It tears into your ankle
Soon your knees buckle as he starts to chuckle
Chomp chomp, he devours your feet in two bites
You never knew you’d be in for such a fright
As you walked upon the misty path
In the water you fall, a deadly bath
Every night I wake up under the same crooked tree
Deep in the rural woods with no recollection of how I got there
And every night, oh what a sight there is to see
At least five gutted bodies hanging from the twisted branches dripping blood onto the icy grass
Throats slit, eyes gouged, victims of all ages mangled and disembodied under the same crooked tree
I wonder who murdered these poor souls
Blood stains my clothes, fingers, mattes in my blonde hair, was it me?
These strange occurrences happen nightly leaving me in a cold sweat saturated with bodily fluids
Every night I wake up under the same crooked tree
Demi had long, stringy black hair that was lackluster, and had little shine to it. Her skin was a pale translucent, like if her skin was thin enough you’d see her insides through it. She was tall, lanky, and incredibly thin. Her spine showed through her clothing if she leaned forward, and her face was hollowed out with sharp contours. Her nose was pointy and thin, and she had eyes almost black as her hair that stood a little too close together, like two friends starting high school for the first time. She had bushy, long eyebrows and a brow piercing to match that stood out on her bland, colorless face.
Click clack click clack Christian Louboutin red-bottom heels clicked on the floor with attitude as Christy pretended that the entrance to her local Walmart was a red carpet event. She always made it a point to dress her best anywhere she went, in case she saw someone who spit on her. Her looking good was how she spit on them.
A tall, dark man with a backwoods hoodie looked her up and down as she searched the store isle for what she was looking for. He might have been handsome, she hadn’t noticed; she was done with men. Her hands found the duck tape before her eyes, as her mind was preoccupied.
Flashes of a memory bombarded her troubled mind. Walking into her home she shared with her husband, surprising him by coming home early with a pizza and bottle of wine. Noticing her 4 month old daughter Libby, abandoned in front of the TV, watching Elmo. Coming to the steps, seeing the faux fur floor mat at the bottom of it stained with spilled wine. The corner of her eyes catching a red lacy bra that clearly wasn’t hers (drastically larger than her modest 34 b bra size) hanging from the top of the railing. A matching thong sat lonely on the top step. The look on her husbands face as she walked in on him pile driving a woman half his age. The memory stuck in her head replaying like a broken record, and she wanted nothing more than to feel something about it. So she was going to buy it, Rage.
Some of her friends had recommended to her local feeling dealers, but she decided to buy legit.
Feeling maps was a local delivery service that brought the product right to your door. It sounded simple enough, but she wanted another excuse to get dressed up and look like a bad bitch making men who could never have her drool, so she decided to go to an emotions dispensary herself. After an outfit change and touching up her makeup, she decided some company would do her good. It only took one FaceTime call and about five minutes before her best friend Audrey was at her door.
“Hey bitch, what’s up! Let’s go get you some of that good shit and go key that bastards car or something, it’ll be great!” She pulled Christy in for a hug, sniffing her shiny, black hair.
You smell good, what is that, Dulce And Gabanna? We gotta get you some rebound dick and your ass looks great in that skirt! She exclaimed, grinning with merit.
Christy chuckled and hugged her back, hoping that her eccentric companion would keep her mind off of her husbands epic betrayal.
The five minute drive flew by, they sauntered into Mentalroma, a local emotions dispensary. She showed the the burly man in a security uniform her ID and medical recommendation, and stepped by the large threatening looking coke-white pitbull he had on a leash next to him. The beast growled at her menacingly and she shuddered, hoping he couldn’t smell her fear. Following the hallway around to a back room, she was surprised to see how many people were casually shopping for drugs. She remembered a time where if anyone wanted to buy emotions they had to do it on the street, and that had dangers due to people making it incorrectly or getting the percentage wrong, which could wreck havoc on one’s psyche.
“So what emotion are you looking for today, and how would you like to receive it?” The red headed lady with large breasts spilling out of her top inquired. Christy blinded twice and gave a blank stare.
“Chrissy, she means how do you want to take your Rage. Do you want a joint, an edible cookie, a disposable feeling cartridge. Which one do you want to try first?” She said it as though she knew this wouldn’t be a one time thing for Christy. Audrey got high regularly, on almost every emotion, but never jealousy. She had forewarned her to not ever try that one, especially with her husbands recent adultery involving a younger woman.
“Okay, so to start you off let’s go with a two gram joint. 20% mental capacity manipulation, if we need to adjust any doses we can do so. If at any time you experience any adverse side effects, discontinue use immediately. Keep out of reach of any children or pets at all times. Please just sign this waiver,” the busty woman handed her a clipboard and pen with a brain as the clicker.
“And that’ll be twenty dollars and forty eight cents. Since you’re a first time buyer, you get a free peanut butter rage cookie and a sticker. Enjoy!”
She inserted her pink debit card into the reader and in no time was out the door with her drugs in a brown paper bag.
Christy zoomed down the highway going 100, her best friend screaming the lyrics to Ambitions As A Rida by Tupac. Audrey was the most free spirit Christy had ever encountered. It was uplifting, almost gave her a feeling of ecstasy. Not quite though, you had to buy that in this dimension; nothing was free, especially not cheap thrills. She swerved through lanes in her old blue Bentley, an emotion close to adrenaline pumping in her veins. She probably just had to pee, you couldn’t get that free either.
“I won’t deny it, I’m a straight rida, you don’t wanna fuck with me. Got the police bustin at me, but they can’t do nothin to a g,” Audrey sang with heart. Christy smiled modestly and yelled “you’re ridiculous!” But Audrey couldn’t hear over her terrible rapping and the bass slapping aggressively.
She reached her apartment in two minutes with her lead food (it was a five minute drive), and grabbed her brown bag along with the plastic Walmart one with duck tape and some ropes inside.
“Okay Audrey, let’s get fucking livid. I think I wanna try this cookie. Split it with me?” Christy bat her lashes at her friend, knowing she would be down for anything.
“Down bitch, give it here!” Audrey beamed, holding her hand out for the cookie and bounced up and down like a child. She split the cookie in half when Christy placed it in her hand, immediately biting into it.
“Mmmm! This shit is good. I wonder what they put in it to make it taste like that.”
“Drugs, Audrey. They put drugs in it.” Christy replied dryly. She ate her cookie slowly, with self control (Audrey demolished hers, and licked the crumbs off her fingers).
Within an hour or so, neither of the exuberant friends could feel the drugs. So they decided to take more. Audrey picked up a joint and a lighter, and put the joint in her mouth, covering it with one hand and lighting with another. She inhaled sharply, holding it in for a few seconds and coughing it out, holding her chest. The joint was then passed to Christy and she copied her partner in crimes actions. After the joint was out, Christy picked up the packaging for the edible cookie. On the back it said “may take up to two hours for the effects to begin.”
“Hey Audrey!” Christy called from to her from the bathroom nervously.
“We fucked up!” When Audrey realized what they had done she laughed hysterically. Within thirty minutes they were both feeling way more than rage. They were outraged, livid, and beyond pissed the fuck off.
“How fucking DARE he! That lying cheat, I’m gonna kill him and I’m gonna take all his fucking money!” Christy screamed, with tears of anger splashing onto her sharply contoured cheek bones.
“Hey girl… calm the fuck down. I thought we were just going to slash some tires and make him call himself a cheating pig on Facebook live. Actually, you know what… fuck him. Let’s fucking get this dirty bastard!” Audrey smiled mischievously, though her eyes showed her true emotions; rage, and lots of it.
The adventurous two zoomed off in the car playing music about murder and drugs to their victims work place. It seemed fitting, as they had duck tape, some rope, and a Glock 9 in the trunk. They flew past a cop that couldn’t be bothered any less by their speeding; the police system was extremely corrupt in this dimension, and they only arrested those who went up against the monarchy. In no time they reached eighth street, and saw her husbands tiny chiropractor office on the corner next to a seven eleven. He was a shark, charging top dollar for mediocre service to old people in pain who didn’t know any better. She should have known he was a scum bag from the start.
Christy and Audrey hopped out of the car looking like they stepped out of an action movie scene. They both had their hair in braids, and wore Halloween masks to hide their faces from the businesses security cameras. Audrey wore a Jason mask and Christy wore a Chucky’s Bride mask, naturally. They had on all black, tight, leather jumpsuits and black Air Force ones. The trunk popped open, revealing an abnormally large briefcase and a binder stuffed with documents. The resentful pair bombarded into the establishment, and saw her husband bent over in a corner. Christy threw the briefcase on a desk along with the documents and shouted,
“Hey, you fucking pig, guess who’s here!” Her husband jumped up, clearly startled and faced them.
“Oh no Christy, why did you bring this crazy bitch,” he groaned, recognizing her best friends dirty blonde hair.
“Because sweetie,” she cooed back at him.
“We’re about to fucking end you and take all your money, then we’re going to Cancun to get married and raise our daughter, that’s why. You stupid prick.”
“Please, just let me go and I swear I’ll give you all the money you want!” The man pleaded with them, tied to a plastic yard chair. Audrey huffed in anger and pulled duck tape out of the briefcase.
“Oh, shut this asshole up baby cakes! I can’t stand his obnoxious whining,” Christy yelled, as her words echoed through the building. Audrey quickly followed her best friend, and new lovers request and duck taped their victims mouth shut.
“Okay, so here’s what’s gonna happen hubby,” Christy started.
“You’re going to sign these papers that declare everything you own will go to me and our daughter when you die, and none of it will be going to your family. Those bitches never approved of me anyway. If you don’t do it I’ll set your fucking hair on fire along with your pubes. Sound good?”
His eyes widened and he mumbled inaudible through the duck tape. Christy untied one of his hands and handed him a paper and clipboard. He signed instantly, probably terrified of losing his precious receding hair; since he was going to buy plugs with his next paycheck. Audrey smiled fakely.
“Perfect! Now you’re going to write a suicide note, thirteen reasons type of deal. Can you handle that cunt? Or do I have to set fire to more than just your hair. I’ll pop a cap in your cheating ass!” She yelled threateningly, grabbing a Glock nine from the briefcase and pointing it to his skull. He soon wrote that up as well, claiming to be taking his own life out of guilt for his adultery to his loving wife.
Christy ripped the duck tape off of her husbands lying mouth, pulling some hair off of his upper lip and he squealed in pain. What a little bitch, she thought to herself. Audrey untied his ropes and stuffed them in the briefcase. She handed the gun to her soon to be wife, and went to turn the sign on the door to “closed” instead of “be back in five!” She returned to see the pathetic man on his knees, looking Christy making him deep throat the barrel of her gun. He was lucky she didn’t make the dirty bastard sit on it, I would have, Audrey thought.
“Okay, let’s get this shit show on the road, we don’t want to miss date night. I got us a babysitter and everything!” Audrey yelled. Christy stared daggers into her husbands skull with so much Rage, you could feel it bubbling up and swirling around the room.
“Any last words, cheating prick!” She screamed at him.
“Her pussy tasted like fucking raspberries, you cunt.” He spat on her face. She roared, seething with Rage more than ever before. She wanted to shoot him in the dick, but that would blow the whole suicide thing. She shoved the Glock in his dirty mouth like a cock in the porn he watched frequently and shot through his skull. His brains splattered out onto the clock behind him.
Clarissa backed out of the driveway in her beat up red car with a few too many dents and a bad paint job, looking as stunning as ever. She was a striking contrast to the Hooptie car she bought after months of saving up working at bargain mart across the way from her home on Bedlow, a street in north Stockton nefarious for gang related activity. She grew up poor and without handouts, having to work tirelessly and punch a time clock to eat and have clothes for school.
As Clarissa drove out of her run down neighborhood, she glanced to her left and noticed a skinny, balding man covered in scabs. He stood in between a towering evergreen tree and a beat up mailbox. Some of the letterboxes had been left open, clearly broken into.
This is so ghetto. I can’t wait to get out of this shit hole town.”
As she stopped at the stop light tainted with graffiti, she stared at the questionable looking man as he lifted a crack pipe to his chapped mouth and inhaled. He exhaled slowly after a few seconds and smiled at her deviantly. “Fucking lovely” she muttered, and sped off.
Within a few minutes Clarissa arrived at the smoke shop and opened her car door. She stepped outside into the brisk October air. She noticed a black Mercedes’ pull up right next to her and park. The driver was a strikingly handsome young man, about her age maybe a few years older. She tried not to stare at him, but noticed how lovely the dark ringlets of his curls framed his sculpted face. He craned his tattoo covered neck towards her slowly, noticing her not-so discreetly eye raping him. Clarissa quickly snapped her head back into place, a flattering pink blush creeping up her pale cheeks.
“How embarassing!”
She quickly snapped her focus forward, brushing off her pants. Reaching down into her green and burgundy Gucci purse she huffed, stifling around until she found her keys and locked the car; it wasn’t the best area and car robberies or “bippin” as her cousin called it happened too frequently for her to risk the loss of her crappy car. Reiterating what just happened in her head she sauntered towards the smoke shop with confidence, deciding not to let any embarrassment hinder her bad bitch energy. Her hips swayed seductively, covered in Juicy Couture yoga pants and her petite waist covered in beads. Approaching the open door covered in flashing lights and tacky stickers, she rolled her eyes and turned around quickly, seeing the sexy stranger staring at her round bum. Now it was her turn to smirk.
“That’ll be 30.99 sweetie,” the unpleasant man said, staring at Clarissa’s perky c cup breast’s threatening to spill out of her tight sports bra and tank top. She shuddered and pulled out her card, hearing the ring of a bell, meaning another customer was entering the establishment. Butterflies built up timidly in her stomach, threatening to surface. She swiped her card quickly and heard heavy footsteps approaching behind her.
“The card declined, but if you follow me to the back for a few minutes for some fun I’ll cover the cost for you, no problem.” The Arabian man grinned, showing his black teeth.
The mystery stranger stepped out from behind her and slapped his hands on the counter. She studied them, noticing the scars likely acquired from numerous fist fights.
“Aye man don’t talk to the lady like that, you hear? And for the cost of her items just take it off what you owe me for the white girl, dope fiend. You’re lucky me and my boys don’t come down here and light this whole bitch up. And get me a pack of backwoods, too. The honey bourbon five pack. The fuck are you looking at? Grab them off the shelf.”
She stared at him in awe. Who was he?
As they stood outside of his flashy car, for the first time in her life, Clarissa found herself dumbstruck.
“I’m Damon, what’s your name ma?” She gulped.
“It’s clarissa, and thank you for that back there. He was a fucking creep.
“No problem love, maybe if you’re up to it you can make it up to me by coming to dinner with me tonight.” Not usually shy but taken aback by Damon’s behavior, her head tilted down modestly.
“I work tonight… but if you’re not busy tomorrow.”
He reached out toward her and tilted her head up, forcing her eyes to meet his. They were a warm honey brown color, with swirls of a lighter color in the center, like Werther’s caramel candies. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
“I’ll pick you up at 8.” They exchanged numbers.
A few months later and a day hadn’t past without Clarissa and Damon speaking on the phone or seeing each other. Their new relationship got serious pretty quickly, he had already met her parents. Oddly enough she had yet to meet his, or even hear much about them for that matter. The last school bell rang and Clarissa got her usual text from Damon saying he was outside to pick her up, but this time he included that he needed to talk to her about something serious. She wasn’t sure whether to be frightened or intrigued.
When Clarissa opened the car door to step inside, Damon had an extremely solemn expression. That couldn’t be good.
“Get in. We’re going for a drive.”
They drove in silence for quite a while, no music or talk radio to kill her growing anxiety and anticipation.
“Clarissa, do you trust me?” He asked finally.
“Without a doubt, I trust you more than anyone else in this world.”
“Good. Well I hope this doesn’t change that.”
She stared at him and he kept his gaze on the long highway ahead of him.
“My family is in the cartel. A job went bad, and one of my brothers had to kill our cousin. Our own fucking cousin, over drug money. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you any sooner, but I didn’t want you to look at me any different.”
She started at him, still.
“I want out,” he continued
“I want out of the game and I want out of this shithole town. I have a change of identity and one for you, a Remington, a couple glocks, and about fifty bands. I’m going to Costa Rica and I need you to come with me, in case the cartel comes after you.”
Damon abruptly pulled over and stopped the car. He reached into the back seat pulling out an abnormally large leather briefcase. He entered the code and opened it, revealing everything he just described inside, along with a brick of cocaine and a shit-ton of weed.
She took it all in for a long while, maybe a few minutes, and took a deep breath. So many thoughts came to her at once.
“What do I tell my parents? That I’m doing a foreign exchange program? Will we come back? Will I ever see my family again? And why the fuck do you have all that blow and those guns?” She paused, and he looked at her in anguish.
“I love you but your powers are too strong… they scare me.”
He grimaced, and she considered what he asked of her. She loved him, with everything she had in her. No man had ever treated her as well as he did, and he was trying to protect her. If one thing was for certain about her, it was that she was a real ride or die bitch for the ones she loved.
“Oh, fuck it. I’m in.”
to be continued…
It was a little after 1:30 on a cold and foggy Tuesday afternoon. Jocelyn stepped one foot outside the badly painted doorframe and decided she needed a jacket. As she turned her foot her mom snapped at her “Jocelyn, don’t forget to do the dishes if you want any dinner tonight!” She sighed “yes mom”, and moped back upstairs.
When she got to her room she rifled through her messy closet and was unsatisfied, realizing all of her jackets were dirty.
“Fucking great” she muttered under her breath. Grabbing her dirty clothes basket, she realized she wouldn’t have time to go see her boyfriend Daniel. It would have been her third time cancelling on him this week alone, never mind how many times it had happened this month. He was sure to break up with her if her mother kept saddling her with chores so that she could never leave the house.
Jocelyn was near tears of anger as she trudged out of her room and approached the stairs, as she saw her wretched mother slowly walking down the steps.
“I’m tired of this bitch treating me like Cinderella”, she thought. Before she could stop herself she “dropped”, or launched, her dirty laundry basket at her mothers head. She smirked watching her tumble down the stairs, smacking her head against a picture of their barbie dream house fake family. She saw blood splatter from a body part as another became twisted and mangled along the way. Blood that would easily be falsified as red wine if things got deadly stained the creaky plywood floor.
“Sorry mama, it was an accident. I’ll go call 911 and get on those dishes ASAP. Hopefully your insurance covers the ambulance!”