[avatar user=”Francesca” size=”thumbnail” align=”left”]I’m an oil painter and photographer, who also makes time to paint with words through my short stories and published poetry. I live in Manchester, England, and am happily sharing my life with a mental budgie, two Alsatian puppies, and a long-suffering, sculptor-boyfriend . . . not necessarily in that order. 🙂 [/avatar]
– warning for bad language and violence
They talking to me again. They smiling and grimacing and shattering my feelings again
They say things like ‘we understand.’ ‘we care.’ ‘we know where you are coming from.’
Nobody understands, or cares or gets it
Scrunching heart. Twisted stomach. Fucked off.
I get my coat and start to walk out of the door. Someone grabs my hand and pulls me back laughing, trying to thrust a drink in my hand. My face hurts as I try to smile at him
‘aw come on. Have a large one. Make you forget the bastards HAHA’
Just want to smack his face. Watch the blood dripping from his broken nose. Hear the crunch.
‘THERE YOU GO!’ he guffaws like the ass he is. ‘Just the thought has you happy again!’
Cardboard people. No thoughts or real emotion between them as they sit there smiling inanely at each other chatting about insanely stupid topics, UKIP, CONSERVATIVES, RELIGION, WHO WON AT THE RACES………………
WHO THE FUCK CARES!
I take the outstretched glass from his hand and holding it out in front of him, purposely drop it on the floor. It tinkles. Shattered glass sprays the floor glancing off a womans ankles that are too close.
‘SHIT!’ she yells.
The room slows down. I see everything frame by frame. The monsters show their faces through the wallpaper, horns waggling at me, ‘naughty, naughty’ they sing
The idiot man stands in front of me still holding his hand out, mouth open, eyes wide. He is looking at the shards of glass and looks up in time to see my fist reach his nose.
Walking out the door unmolested I smile and head home to walk the dog
This story is fictitious and any similarity to anyone is purely coincidental