every single dent in your car is why we broke up. the scratch in your bumper is for when my mom was in the hospital and your thought that watching a lacrosse game was more important. your shattered head lights are for when you forgot to call on my(more) birthday because you were visiting your grandparents, who your sister told me have been dead for three years. Your punctured tires are for every time you made me feel inferior, when you told me that maybe i should consider eating a salad instead of a burger, or that i should consider starting a diet. And your kicked in fender is because I believed we could be forever, even after I put up with all your shit unconditionally, and you didn't care about me at all. (less)
She would lock herself inside the house and wrenched the doorknob from its handle; would close the door to her room and kick it closed, wedge her desk up to the wall to seal up the windows.
Off, went the lights and her phone and the computer, and she(more) would
sit reading, mummify herself in blankets, fall asleep
then wake up and cry:
"Why am I always so lonely? Doesn't anybody care?"(less)
A race, boys! Everyone's gotta join, no one can hold back. And the best thing is, there's only one winner! No one to trust, no one to depend on, no one for support. Only You and the Track and the Dust, only You and the blinding Blue Sky, only(more) You and the hazy Treetops as you speed by.
Kevin was in a furry stuffing his shit in bags. Toiletries, clothes, and of course his half-drunk-bottle of Jameson. Richelle climbed into bed and head facing the wall. She wasn't watching his circus acts anymore. Kevin had threatened to leave her before but after a day of cooling off(more) amends were made and the slow trade of possessions resumed. Kevin had pulled this shit so much, his threats no longer cut her to the bone, they'd become dull with repetitive use. Her eyes dry this time and he drunkenly tried to stare into them with his lopsided marbles and said, "I can do better than you and I deserve better than you." He slammed the door and she gently locked it.
Kevin claimed she didn't make time for him and Richelle jabbed back he was trying to control her. They were both right and things had lasted this long because the sex was robust enough that the neighbors had called the cops on both sides of the apartment. They had kicked around the idea of threesomes with both genders after snorting molly and fucking themselves sore. They watched porn, used toys, and he always made her cum.
Four days later Kevin had started fucking his married friend with and without her husband. He also was fucking a Southern Belle from Atlanta. Richelle was curled up in bed watching Disney movies and eating food from boxes. Without Kevin's cooking she'd lose a few pounds and tighten up. She'd straighten her frizzy-hair and subconsciously she'd be trying. While Kevin was trying to fuck-his-wounds-closed, Richelle's mind drifted to Germany, her study-abroad, that guy who forced himself on her, assassinated her trust, and the resulting gravity that kept-her from moving on. She lay in bed vibrator humming, wrestling her-own-desires, and shame, her-hazel eyes closed.(less)
Well two of her ribs had been kicked in, she was fairly certain of that. Nancy was just glad he had left her face unscathed this time. A little rib pain would be much easier to hide from her work colleagues than a shiner.
She looked around the kitche(more)n at the destruction he had left in his wake and set about righting chairs and cleaning up wasted food. She would have to go shopping again. She checked her purse. Nothing. He had taken it all but she had learned from the last time to keep most of her money in a bank account he didn't know she had.
By god the pain was almost unbearable and no amount of Advil was going to help it.
She grabbed up the spilled contents of her purse and headed to Miriams' surgery. She called ahead on the ride over and asked for an appointment, "Geoffrey again?" "Yes." That was Miriam had needed to know to clear the rest of her afternoon.
As Miriam was tending to her wounds she was lecturing Nancy again. "You know you need to move Nance, just get away to somewhere he won't find you."
"I can't, he needs me."
"Oh yes and look what that gets you. You don't deserve this and it's get worse I don't have to tell you. It's almost every other week you are in here now." She held Nancy's hand her voice softening and said, "It's time to let go Nance, put him away for his own good and yours."
Nancy hugged her friend, "I can't Mir, I'm all he has. He can't help his episodes and besides, he's my brother."(less)
I used to scream into a pillow when I was mad. But now? Now there was a space behind my door that I kicked whenever I was angry. A gaping hole in the drywall, (or two. Possibly three. Maybe more than fifteen.) showed how often I was really, really(more) angry. My mother had yet to discover the holes, (and I hoped she never did, because she would kill me after smashing my feet with a hammer,).
I had started kicking it a week ago.
The source of my anger was mixture of everything in my life; mostly, though, it was my sister. Oh, how she irked me. Some days since I had discovered the spot behind the door, I considered kicking her stomach instead of the wall, but I was worried that she would tell on me, so I didn't.
My dream is to be able to do it. Maybe karate chop her vocal chords so she can't tell first. That'd be nice.
But for now I have to be satisfied with putting my foot through the crumbly, dusty drywall and imagining it's her head.(less)
Sitting out in the courtyard by a tree, they spoke late into the evening on a wide variety of topics, from recently developed scientific theories, to historical happenstances, to great literary exploits. It was quite refreshing, speaking of such matters with someone without the same formal education he experienced. (more)
As they discuss the scholastic canon of Greek Mythology and its various influences on modern folk and fairy tales, she stifles a yawn, glancing up at the twilight sun. She feels the weight of the day's events settle upon her, and stretches, getting back on her feet. "Welp, looks like exhaustion's just about kicked in. I think it's about time to hit the hay for me - gotta make sure I'm up bright and early tomorrow if I want to get home before supper."
Hickory closes his book, returning them to his satchel. "In that case I may as well turn in myself. I'd like to see you off, if you don't mind."
"You really don't have to, Prof; I'm gonna be heading out around the crack of dawn! Take some time to relax, why don't you." She dusts off her pants and offers a him hand, pulling the scholar up with ease.
"I'd do no less for a dear friend! Besides, it'd be a good time to discuss the remainder of my payment."
"Hey now, I think I've picked your brain enough. You really don't have to worry about that."
"Oh, but that isn't a fraction of the knowledge you're owed! What about Copernicus, or the history of surgery, or even the effects of poison hemlock! I'll likely have to pay you a later visit in order to pay you in full, if that's acceptable."
She laughs. "You sly dog! I'm holding you to that, Hickory."
Come on. I dare you. Break me. Kick my steel heart in two. Break my concrete walls. I dare you to get closer. I dare you to try.
I know you like me...I see it in your eyes. I know that I'm messed up and hurting and completely self-absorbed.(more) I know I have a heart of ice.
You're too good for me, you know? You care about other people. You help someone if they're hurt. You see the tears in my eyes, even though I haven't cried in years. You see the weakness trembling inside me behind my shield of strength.
But while you keep on loving me, I suppose I should make an effort too.
Kill me. Kick my ribs in so they shatter my glass heart. Do it. Do it. It won't hurt. It will be a relief, to feel again. I want to cry. I want to laugh. I want to shatter this rock-hard wall I've built, but I can't.
I need you.
I NEED YOU.
Yes. I said it. I need you need you need you right now. I need you to snap me in two, to break my heart, to make me feel pain and happiness and peace so I can finally love you like you love me.
I dare you.(less)
"So, how did you meet?" She asked, calm as you like, picking apart a daisy with her long jade green nails.
"In a cafe." He sighed, staring up at the clouds. "I was having a really shitty day, and I ordered a coffee, and she was my waitress and..."(more) He sighed again, whistfully, "it was like she'd kicked in the door in my head that said 'fuck love, fuck girls, and fuck you'. She just kicked the fucking thing in and took over. She didn't even notice, but she just crawled into my head and refused to leave."
"I noticed." She laughed and he stuck his tongue out at her. "You know, if you keep waiting for her to notice you, it's never going to happen."
"I know that!" He snapped, slapping her knee gently. "Do you think that changes the fact I feel like I've got a fuckin chook stuck in my throat everytime I try to talk to her, and then I just end up spoutin a load of codswallop and sound stupid."
"Your Kiwi side is showin pretty strongly right now." She giggled and he slapped her knee again, slightly harder than before. "Ow!"
"That's what you get fucker."(less)
I pumped at the balls of my feet and kicked into a run. My cells were screaming with misuse after days - even months - of being trapped. Trapped where, you ask? Realistically it was the confinement of my home sweet home, but personally I would answer 'my very(more) mind'.
Jog. Sprint. Run. Slowly I felt my adrenaline kick in. The rush was intense and powerful. I could even feel a laughter at the back of my throat. And there it was - I was running, running, and laughing. Some say I'd look like a maniac, but I don't give a rat's butt.
I was free.
Free from my über-strict parents, free from my butt-ugly study table, free from my instruments which I absolutely hated, free from the stuffy confinement of my ugly egg-yolk-painted room. Free.
Mom once said the real world was scary. She was dead wrong.(less)
I ran up to the door but it was already too late. The lock was shattered and the bottom hinge had been ripped off. It was just hanging there from what remained of the top hinge. Some huge force had kicked in the door. It looked like the Juggernaut(more) had entered my house.
In reality, it was my next door neighbor, Sandra. Sandra was a "handsome" woman. She played on a male intramural rugby team and liked to arm wrestle. She was also obsessed with me. She was devastated when she found out that I had a boyfriend. (less)
The stench of the city was unbearable. They had taken to wearing bandannas over their faces, it helped to filter out the worst of the smell of decomposition. Edward stood on the side of an overturned military truck, one hand over his eyes to shade them as he surveyed(more) the mostly-empty street.
There were several ghouls straggling around the boulevard, but nothing that wouldn't take a few minutes and a machete to take care of easily. They conserved their ammunition - on top of the fact that the noise attracted the dead like flies, their bullets were a limited resource. Edward wasn't afraid to get close, but the others were.
Alphonse shuffled up to the truck, a large bag of supplies tied around his back. "It looks clear up ahead, brother," he reported, the plume on his helmet blowing a little in the soft breeze. "I was able to transmute a barricade that trapped a whole bunch in an alley."
If there was a way for a helmet to frown, Edward knew he would be frowning. Alphonse didn't quite understand that these things weren't people, not anymore - it was a difficult thing to come to grips with. "Good," Edward said. "We should get back to the rendezvous point, Mustang has probably gotten himself in up to his chin again and needs us to bail him out."
Alphonse extended his arm to help his brother down, but Edward ignored it, swinging himself down from his surveillance perch with ease. He had taken to riding around on Alphonse like he was a metal pony because the ghouls ignored him when he did so.
"Brother?" Alphonse asked curiously, and Edward shouldered the rifle that Mustang demanded he carry.
"I'll walk, Al," Edward said. Alphonse nodded his head, and quietly followed his brother.
Jimbo laughed. Jimbo, who we sometimes called Rambo. Certainly, he would have ground his way through any tropical jungle or wasteland.
"I sure kicked it in that time!" Jimbo walloped.
"Come on, then, give her another go!" I watched. Rambo wrenched up and booted. Hard. The door burst, it's(more) shingles dangling, and splintered wood left jagged.
Jimbo walloped a second time. It was ritual, as much as anything else, as much as painting the town with our carelessness, plastering it to pieces with our steel-toed construction boots. Boots we wore, specifically, for occasions like these.
"Your turn. Let's see what you got!"
I stepped up. The door already split half way down, its folds bent backward and into the dark and shallow entrance into whose home we didn't know.
I skimmed it, barely catching one of the outward wooden beams. My foot was caught. I felt pain, subtle wash running down my legs.
"Well, hell, that's one of your worst yet," Jimbo said.
Crack! Wallop. Crack!
"Falcon kick!" A final crack.
The door was a mangled corpse, flopped over in a semblance wooden puzzle pieces which would not fit together.
Jimbo, proud, gave me a shot in the sternum. I cracked him square in the rib cage, hearing the jingling of the soft bone. Jimbo winced and smiled and hoisted me out of the splintered teeth.
"Hell, you're bleeding there."
"Sure are, might have to take you to the hospital."
"Alright. You carry, i'll watch."
Jimbo walloped again. An expendable wallop. A wallop just for me.
"Hell, are you really that cut up?"
"No. I'll be fine. Let's get out of here."
"I hear that."
I hobbled along and Jimbo slung his arm across mine.
I walloped, simply, an easy wallop, an ubstantial goodbye.
"Hell, you'll get there." (less)
We tend to live our lives in bubbles. Glass houses that grant us boundaries from the outside world yet still allow us to see and pretend we relate. We feel safe in our houses, unable to comprehend a life outside of ours. We follow our routines, see the same(more) people, eat the same food, and think the same thoughts day in, day out.
We don't live life, we live a smothered caricature of an existence wherein we ignore the penniless beggar on the street, ignore the rampant starvation and atrocities being committed throughout the world and then have the audacity to proclaim, "Life is good!"
Is it the dwelling upon thoughts like these that lead to the decisions of those who are labeled 'terrorists?' To bring death and danger to the stagnant and complacent to make sure they still recognize it. Kick in the glass walls of their life so that they might feel the biting wind.