"What the hell am I supposed to do with these things?"
Even I can hear the panic in my voice and it's perfectly understandable. I mean, it isn't every day that a girl sprouts wings.
"Well don't just stand there staring at me! Do something!" Arms folded in front of
(more) me I stomp my foot like a child in the throes of a temper tantrum.
"You know what to do," she says as she nonchalantly files her long blood-red nails.
Where the hell did she get a nail file- forget it, stupid question, I seem to be full of them lately.
"No, I don't know what to do! I don't *want* to know what to do! I wanna go home and climb into my bed and sleep for a few days! That's what I wanna do!"
"You know what Mick Jagger said," she snarked. "Quit the whining and deal with it chica, and stop being a brat."
"Look," I got right in her face, sick of this neverending bullshit. "I didn't ask for any of this! You're zipping me around from place to place, disappearing on me after dropping some cryptic remark I'm supposed to get, telling me zip zero nada!"
I pause for a breath before continuing my tirade while she continues to ignore me.
"Hey! I'm fucking talking here!"
I stomp my foot again knowing it annoys her.
In retrospect, I guess I didn't know my own strength because that little foot-stomp was enough to start a crack in the very fabric of reality.
Let me rephrase that, a crack was forming in the fabric of *my* reality.
Except I didn't notice it until it was too late.
I didn't notice it until I felt my body being sucked into some sort of vortex.(less)
