Sleep was the only thing I wanted.
Apparently somebody somewhere had other plans for me.
"Look,"I say to my muse"I'm half-drunk,half-asleep,and did I mention I've had an extremely fucked-up bunch of days which,by the way,your fault for going missing in the first place you know!"
I'm on a roll(more).
"Also, all this Djinn stuff is freaking me out and how the hell, no,how the *fuck* did I get involved in the goddamn apocalypse anyway? There I was,minding my own business, just trying to write and next thing I know I'm in a goddamn desert and these bottles are in my pocket and..."
I'm patting myself down and there's nothing.
She watches me begin to panic with an exasperated look on her flawless face before tossing me the pants I'd been wearing before she magic-ed me into clean,less smelly clothes.
I pull out the tiny bottles and look at them cradled in my hands.
Bottles of Djinn,at least that's what I was told.
They scare the hell out of me.
There aren't any proper words in the english language to explain how they feel to the touch.
Frozen hot with a barely-there heartbeat kinda thumping that makes you feel like something's about to ooze through the bottle and work its way inside you and you'll never be the same.
"What are these?" I whisper the words as if I'll be safer if quiet."What's going on?"
Suddenly I want to put these bottles down. Like now.
I set them down next to the half-empty Glenlivet bottle, not sure which bottle holds the most badness.
A hangover is already creeping up and I have to get to Caerii,she'll know what to do,I just have to get Miss Museypants to get me there and-
Behind me,the terrifying sound of breaking bottles.
Ah the days of spit wads. They where every teachers worst nightmare. Gooey and gross, falling from the ceiling into your hair or even worse, your coffee. They were harmless fun kids would have and for the time period what teachers would consider their biggest annoyance. Times have changed.(more) Now when the alarm goes off- I get up to start my day as a teacher the first thing I do is look at pictures of my family and pray I make it home alive. Working in a court adjudicated facility coffee is not even allowed in the classroom. It can be picked up by a student and used to burn someone. Gone are the days of spit wads being the nuisance in class. Today its a fight between Bloods and Crypts. Somewhere in the middle is me praying that my self defense classes will keep me alive today. The rule of no pens doesn't mean they won't get one so my eyes need to be scanning constantly for the threat. Gone are the days the only way the pen was a threat was when it was used to projectile the spit wad. When my husband would call from his long tours of duty from Iraq he would joke that most days my job was more dangerous than his and I should be the one getting combat pay. He would teach me new self defense moves from half way across the world to ensure I would be safe. Sometimes on my prep period I wonder what it will be like for teachers in another 20 years. I wonder if they even will know what a spit wad is or was?(less)
Bolting up, spine straight, ready for a fight, I was initially relieved to discover that the little things hitting my window weren't large bugs. I had been waiting for you in my car for days it seems, reading a book I could only possibly get through if I were(more) forced or if it were my only remaining option besides self-immolation. I was considering finding my matches by chapter 4.
My relief turned to anger when I saw that these projectiles were sticking to my window. Spit wads were continuing to fleck off of my car when I was getting out of it, determined to choke something.
Three boys were crouched behind the juniper bushes bordering the dentist's office. I don't know what they thought would happen. Fortunately for two of them, I only needed one of them caught. The fatter of the three was quickly left behind by his cohorts.
I drug him back to my car and wiped the spit wads off of my car with his face. He shrieked the entire time, sobbing "sorry" repeatedly. While his face was used to remove the last paper wad from my door panel, I informed him I was reading "The Bridges of Madison County." Once again, he said "sorry."
"I know," I replied to his accidental answer, "I can't stand that saccharin crap."
When I released him, he stumbled trying to jump the juniper bushes and face planted the brick building. Dazed, he spit blood and teeth onto the ground and continued to run.
When you got to the car, the book was in the next parking lot, and I was singing to oldies music. It was a good day.(less)
During the campaign, I had to be more careful, but I won, so now things are different. I can go to great lengths to avoid having to tolerate the people I hate. So what if I'm the first holder of this office to ge(more)t in a fistfight with a family member on a subway car?
The daughter they didn't have to worry about. The little sister who took it with a smile. Good for cooking, cleaning, eating shit. They think this is who carried the state of Ohio?
I'm at the center of a crowd. They're snapping pictures of me on the sidewalk. I'm victorious. I'm being charming and magisterial. I say whatever needs to be said to whoever needs to be told. Everyone is doing their job.
It's at this moment that I hear the voice. I'd like to believe it can't be, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt whose it is.
A voice of Virginia Slims, pink lipstick, and drunk blowjobs.
A voice of my very smallness.
"Nice blazer, cunt!"
And I'm in eighth grade, right after she yanked my tube-top down in front of the JV lacrosse team. And I'm fourteen, waking up covered in frosting beside the dumpster at the AM/PM. And I'm a senior, going to the prom with two black eyes.
And I'm ditching my heels and chasing her down the sidewalk.
And I'm trailing her down the stairs to the platform.
And I'm sliding in after her, just before the door shuts.
And I'm punching her hard twice in the stomach.
And I'm breaking her teeth against a handrail.
I don't worry because none of this will be in the news.