Sunday, January 25, 2015

Parachute



Today was my last day alive. I had envisioned this moment numerous times in varying circumstances and how I would not weep but instead bravely hold my head high, admiring all the beauty surrounding this world. Each breath would be an indescribable treat that opened my eyes wider than any muscles or torture device, clearing the veil away from the truth.

Unfortunately, after the first two hours of wandering around central park, tenderly caressing the roots of trees then watching in horror as random homeless men whipped out their stinking genitals to pee on such trees that I had touched, I ran into a young man. He jerked himself to the side and I recoiled slightly on impact, immediately ready to spout my apologies.

"I'm sorry-,"

"What the fuck?" He was looking at me like I had just swallowed a live chipmunk, furry tail and all, "Watch where you're going, dumb bitch."

Dumb bitch. Huh. Three strides away when my held tilted in naive disbelief; six strides away when my eyes began to lower into barbaric slits, as if I'd allow some punk to smack talk me on my dying day; not even eight strides away when my left hand closed around the back of his faux fur hood, dragging his skull onto the sidewalk. 

A look of abject surprise flashed across the teen's face before it morphed into panic as my right hand catapulted into his sour mug. The crunch was audible and so were his terrorized screams. That whiny behavior only portrayed him as more of a ball-sack. Technically he was crying because he got his nose smashed by a girl barely five foot tall. What a spongey chode.

After the ambulance had come to take him away I was already being lowered into the cop car with my hands cuffed behind my back. Worth it. 



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