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[Just kidding. (see subject line)]
I think it is time to shake things up a little bit. Instead of a poem, I am going to post a short story. I'm sorry it sucks. This is the first of a two part story. And it sucks. I apologize.
“Such expletives are not necessary.”
“Dipshit isn’t a bad word.”
“It is when you‘re referring to me.”
Richard winced as a cupboard door slammed and the sound of silverware crashed and clattered upon the porcelain tile. The hideous sound echoed and bounced against the concrete walls.
The pain in his skull spread and pulsed around his temples, running down his spine.
Elizabeth hummed to herself as she worked in the poorly lit kitchen. Richard listened numbly as he sat up from his bedding. His arms felt dead—bulky and cumbersome. He cursed as he fought to find the will to stand. The drone of electricity increased as his head spun and his stomach lurched. Elizabeth’s humming grew louder as his knees buckled underneath him. With every dainty note, something inside him died little by little.
“Why don’t you go out with Naomi tonight?” he suggested. Get lost bitch. He felt like screaming.
“But I’m cooking dinner.” She whined.
“I would rather eat rat poison.”
“What did you say? I can’t hear you when you mumble baby.”
Baby. His stomach churned and lurched.
“Forget about it Liz. I’m not going to eat anyway.”
“Well…” she pondered, “I haven’t got any money.”
“There’s a fifty under the left couch leg.” Elizabeth squealed and he suppressed a groan of irritation.
“I love you,” she leaned down to kiss him but he pulled away and she grinned at him. “Don’t forget to feed the fish.” She reminded.
Fuck off. He just wanted her to leave. Two hours of silence is all he needed. If he could not have peace it was likely Richard would kill himself. Or Elizabeth. Or both. Either way, he would be doing society a favor.
Grabbing up her bag, she pranced out the door, leaving Richard in darkness with nothing but the faint scent of her obnoxiously sweet perfume.
Suffocation. That’s what living in Eazru was like. Dirt, dust, and smoke plagued his every breath and yet people flocked to the city like vultures to a rotting carcass.
“You’re pathetic.” He glared into the grimy mirror. How could God create something as ugly, weak, and deplorable as he? His mother had been right; she should have had an abortion.
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