emmamk96
She walked with an air of "I'm young and I love middle aged women more than getting drunk.
She felt as if she'd been thrown from a cloud by some Greek or Roman god who sought to punish her by forcing her to live among the ordinary. Always falling, always anticipating the shrieking pain the hard ground on her spine would bring but always falling still. Never caught by consequence. A narrow smile creased her lips as she drew the knife out of the flesh and realized she was unbreakable.
I pitied the poor man as he went on and on about what a disdain the damn liberals were with their bane against voter ID laws. "Fuckin crazy" he uttered, turning back to the TV. He can't see. He raises a fist against military sequesters and shakes his head when marriage is defined by love, not gender. I pity the view of the world he is cursed with.
She had none. The rest of the world seemed to have a plethora of friends, acquaintances, lovers. She could plainly see their perfectly calculated happiness through social media profiles and captioned pictures but she, she trusted herself alone.
He glanced up and the dark doubt shrouded him. Impossible he thought. Yet still he went. He went right up to the man and socked him in the face. Stunned, the man staggered back, his burly form bouncing against the brick. “How does it feel, getting hit by a faggot, huh?” the boy shouted in desperation. The constant disapproving stares, the under-breath comments like that of the present man, had exhausted him far too long. Yes, I’m gay. he thought And Im tough as hell. The man’s cheeks went from white to boiling red as he realized who and what had just hit him. Fury swirled in this chest and he started toward the boy, but noticed a lone cop coming around the corner. “Do you know who I am? I have influence, I can finish you.” his eyes carrying more threat than his low, growling voice. “I’m ready.” the boy whispered. The man parted his lips to respond, but instead whirled around and stalked away. He longed to stamp the boy out, but knew any further physical or legal action would only draw bad publicity for a contestant in the upcoming gubernatorial race. The boy sighed and knew the only reason he hadn’t been beaten and left in an alley at 12:30am was the fateful policeman. He was grateful. His heart still throbbed in his throat as he trotted down the street.
Mother tried to kill herself that night. She called from the hospital "Sweetheart, you got in! You've been accepted!" Those words wrapped a chain around my heart and sent it down, down. How do you tell a severely depressed woman who's just found a reason to live that her daughter doesn't yearn for the prestige and recognition of an exclusive and "honorable" lifestyle. The girl is sorry, but no matter how many times you try to die, Mother, she can't provide your reason to live. That's on you now.
Mother tried to kill herself that night. She called from the hospital "Sweetheart, you got in! You've been accepted!" Those words wrapped a chain around my heart and sent it down, down. How do you tell a severely depressed woman who's just found a reason to live that her daughter doesn't yearn for the prestige and recognition of an exclusive and "honorable" lifestyle. The girl is sorry, but no matter how many times you try to die, Mother, she can't provide your reason to live.
He glanced up and felt doubt shroud his heart. Impossible. Yet still he went.
He sat in utter dismay in the hospital waiting room. She had done it again. He was failing. He grasped his head in his hands, shaking in agony. Why couldn't he keep her from this horrible fate? Why couldn't he stop her from wanting desperately to die?
I stood, my feet cemented to the damp morning grass; not even the gray wind could sway me. I should have wept. I should have fallen to my knees and let my soul pour out my eyelids and escape. I should have grasped his mother in my arms, heads resting on corresponding shoulders. Instead I stood, staring, gazing at that slab of rock surrounded by an array of hideously bright and hopeful bouquets. Paralysis kept it's firm, cold hand clasped around my heart, repelling pain, refusing consolation. Nothing but a dull, pitiful beating mound of muscle remained of who I once was. How can a whole live on when a half is ripped away? I stood, steady as that slab of cursed rock.
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