You win. I lose. You always win. I always lose. It’s clear- you can see it painted in Blue and black all over the parts They will not see.
Well that’s not true. The black eye is a bit obvious. In every victory you become more confident More ambitious in your trophies.
It’s like you want to be caught. You want someone to notice Who it was that smashed my phone, My face, My broken wrist.
I am just not fun enough anymore. You’ve played to many games and Broken your favourite toy. I don’t try to run now, I don’t cry, I don’t beg for your mercy. All your favourite action features broken.
It’s getting to the point, I think you’d murder for the joy Of something new to reshape. Something more challenging than Your broken slave.
And I am afraid. But I can’t let you know that.
The blood was coming slower now. The fever was setting in. ‘Just a little further’ I grit my teeth. ‘Please...one last look...just one more’ The old subway cart pulls into view. My walking slows but it helps me keep quite. I peak through the door one last time. Eli is jabbing the dim fire with a stick as Cammie lies near by. Her eyes meet mine and her tail weakly waggles. My tears burn my eyes as my vision wobbles. ‘I’m so sorry old girl I’m so sorry. ‘ My heart is trying to tug it’s way out of chest so it can run over and hug my love one last time. But it’d be too dangerous. Shaking my head, I quickly scribble my feelings on the back of one cereal boxes I scavenged. So much to say, so little time. No time. I pack my pact down with my gun. And run. The pain is beyond terrible. The bites tear wider as I run but I have to get away! I hear my name called and Cammies barks as my vision goes creamy. The ladders right there. Please Eli, stay back. I’m sorry. My legs stop. I’m trapped in my own body. I hear their footsteps. No. Please. Don’t do this. Eli, I’m sorry.
The doors are grasping their frames by their finger tips. Quietness takes the seat in which laughter once sat. The days decay as we lie together before our family and friends. Softly, slowly, unnoticeable to the human eye, our happiness died. The tears for the death have long since died and the grief packed its suitcase and left. Words about it are no longer spoken as spare bedroom becomes your bedroom. And ours becomes mine. The lost suffers no yelling nor sobs. Because, I guess, I just don’t love u anymore.
Deep in the roots of the ruined city, Kayla poured her last cup of coffee. The steam poured out like the smoke of fires from the burning of bombings. The cup shook. Around the blooded wounds on her legs continued to throb and her muscles coiled in agony. Yet she sat and drank her coffee. The apparently empty pistol disregarded on the counter. “Selfish prick” she spat at the corpse of her former manager. So this was her fate, huh? To sit and wait. Sit and wait for death when she could have been home if it wasn’t for the shop being low staffed. She’d properly already be dead but at least it would be have been quicker. Now she just has to sit. The shadows reach out as she finishes the cup. Than she is left with the silence as a friend. The silence and the occasional distant gun shots. Finally, after several eternities spent on the edge of her sit, the squeaking comes. The shadow of the child shaped robot on the tricycle enters the storage room first. “About time” The child enters. It’s hands click off. Bang. Finally, the wait is over.
