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She's late.
Again.
She's so unreliable.
For the third time this week, she's going to put yet another dent in my schedule.
Thanks.

Oh, there we are. I can hear her keys at the door.
Why unlock it for her? She can open the damn door for herself.
I'm not lazy; I'm just sick of her constantly fucking up my day.

"Finally," I sigh, a little over-dramatically.
"You could have called, you know. Shown a little bit of responsibility."

She said nothing. Strange. Normally, she'd go to any length to get a word in.
To get attention.
To be heard, no matter what kind of riddiculous excuses come out of her mouth.
But today, nothing. She's just staring at the floor.

She looks a mess today. Also strange. Not to say that she's not usually a bit "off."
Normally, she's got something theatric going on. Too much eyeshadow.
Big, garish sunglasses perched atop her firetruck red hair.
Fake. Just like everything else about her.

Okay, so maybe I'm being judgemental.
Eh, who gives a fuck.

I decide to end my tirade. Something looks amiss. She's shaking, standing near the wall.
Normally, she'd plop herself atop the counter.
Another attempt at looking stylish.
But today, no. She's just leaning up against the wall, staring at her shoes.
Wringing her hands.
I have never seen her wring her hands.
Something is definately not right.

Ugh. I'm not going to worry about it right now. I have places to be.

I scoop up my purse from the counter and head toward the door.
I won't say goodbye. It's predetermined.
Fuck formalities.
I know it makes her just squirm when I don't pay her any attention.
My hand is on the doorknob when I hear a tiny sound, almost inaudible.
"Wait," she whispers. Ah, here we are. I knew she's been planning an act.
Oh well, I might as well let her go on with her little show.
It's all she's got left, anyway.
I turn around, and she's got a gun to her head.
"What would it mean to you...if I pulled the trigger?"
Her eyes no longer scan the floor. She stares into me.
I cannot believe that she's really pushing her little game this far.
"Alright, that's enough. If you have to do something as stupid as bring your little toy gun to work
in order to make me feel sorry for you, and cry, and beg you
not to do it, you must think I'm an idiot.
This is a new degree of low for you."
And with that, I walk swiftly out the door, slamming it behind me.
How could she act like such a little kid?
I was with her when she bought that stupid thing. Painting it black doesn't hide it.
To think, she had to resort to childish little tricks in order to get my attention.
And we used to be so close...ah, fuck it.

She can be so selfish sometimes.
Bang.

Description

She's late.
Again.
She's so unreliable.
For the third time this week, she's going to put yet another dent in my schedule.
Thanks.

Oh, there we are. I can hear her keys at the door.
Why unlock it for her? She can open the damn door for herself.
I'm not lazy; I'm just sick of her constantly fucking up my day.

"Finally," I sigh, a little over-dramatically.
"You could have called, you know. Shown a little bit of responsibility."

She said nothing. Strange. Normally, she'd go to any length to get a word in.
To get attention.
To be heard, no matter what kind of riddiculous excuses come out of her mouth.
But today, nothing. She's just staring at the floor.

She looks a mess today. Also strange. Not to say that she's not usually a bit "off."
Normally, she's got something theatric going on. Too much eyeshadow.
Big, garish sunglasses perched atop her firetruck red hair.
Fake. Just like everything else about her.

Okay, so maybe I'm being judgemental.
Eh, who gives a fuck.

I decide to end my tirade. Something looks amiss. She's shaking, standing near the wall.
Normally, she'd plop herself atop the counter.
Another attempt at looking stylish.
But today, no. She's just leaning up against the wall, staring at her shoes.
Wringing her hands.
I have never seen her wring her hands.
Something is definately not right.

Ugh. I'm not going to worry about it right now. I have places to be.

I scoop up my purse from the counter and head toward the door.
I won't say goodbye. It's predetermined.
Fuck formalities.
I know it makes her just squirm when I don't pay her any attention.
My hand is on the doorknob when I hear a tiny sound, almost inaudible.
"Wait," she whispers. Ah, here we are. I knew she's been planning an act.
Oh well, I might as well let her go on with her little show.
It's all she's got left, anyway.
I turn around, and she's got a gun to her head.
"What would it mean to you...if I pulled the trigger?"
Her eyes no longer scan the floor. She stares into me.
I cannot believe that she's really pushing her little game this far.
"Alright, that's enough. If you have to do something as stupid as bring your little toy gun to work
in order to make me feel sorry for you, and cry, and beg you
not to do it, you must think I'm an idiot.
This is a new degree of low for you."
And with that, I walk swiftly out the door, slamming it behind me.
How could she act like such a little kid?
I was with her when she bought that stupid thing. Painting it black doesn't hide it.
To think, she had to resort to childish little tricks in order to get my attention.
And we used to be so close...ah, fuck it.

She can be so selfish sometimes.
Bang.