The douchebag.

Nightmares and gunshots...

The gunshot in the distance felt like it had been fired at her. As if the bullet had torn the delicate layers of her skin and right into her heart. It had felt like…last year again. She closed her eyes shut tightly,trying to block out the sirens and burrowed further into her comforter. She wanted to run, far enough so that it was all a bitter memory and nothing more. Where the littlest of things triggering the worst nightmare of her 19 years of existence wouldn’t make her lose her shit all the freaking time. She was tired of those stupid panic attacks that gripped here anywhere, the streets, the local cafe while trying to enjoy the morning coffee, the garage she worked at…she was tired. She wanted rest. Her mind needed rest. God knew, it had been too long since it was quiet for even a couple of seconds in there.
The knock on the door ported her back to that night she wanted to escape so badly, but never could. That terrifying storm. The drunk douchebag her mother had brought home. The douchebag young enough to be her older brother. The douchebag who had eyed her all night long during that pathetic excuse for a “family dinner”. The douchebag who had invited himself to stay over because he wanted to spend more time with her mother and her family. The douchebag who had tried to grab her when her mother had turned in for the night. The douchebag who had slapped her so hard when she tried to walk away that the blood had rushed inside her ears. The douchebag who had pulled that 9 millimeter on her and threatened to shoot her mother if she didn’t concede. The same sorry douchebag she had kicked in the balls and grabbed that gun from, trying to stop her hands from shaking and aiming right. The same bloody douchebag who had jumped at her, and in the fight, had grabbed onto the gun. The same douchebag who had died that night. The same douchebag she had killed. The same one whose blood and gore had coated her body like a second skin, the feel of which she had never been able to scrub off, no matter how searing hot showers she took over the year. The same douchebag who had ruined her relationship with her mother when she wasn’t ready to accept in her heavily drunk state that her douchebag boyfriend she had claimed to love was that huge an arsehole. The exact same one who had ruined her life. That one.
She snapped out of it when the insistent knocking was accompanied by a police officer asking her to come out. She walked slowly and snapped the bolts. The sight that met her eyes threatened to transport her back to that nightmarish sight. Police vehicles with sirens blaring, ambulance, people all around…it was too much to take but she slipped on that mask she had perfected over the year to give nothing away and calmly asked how she could help. The police wanted a statement. Again. She started talking.



House of Night.

Like the pretty sky and the prettier night.

There also stands the gloomy house of Night;
ghastly clouds shroud it in darkness.
Before it Atlas stands erect and on his head and unwearying arms firmly supports the broad sky, where Night and Day cross a bronze threshold and then come close and greet each other.



Times and her.

She was an oxymoron in the bland language of life.

She was~
The excitement in the patience
The peace in the violence
The pretty in the mess
The more in the less.

She is~
The scream in the silence
The dark in the radiance
The broken in the complete
The evil in the sweet.

She will be~
The epitome of change
The stable little game
The tranforming soul
The one screaming hoarse.


Philosophical Me!

Fight for yourself.


Note: I read this story not one day ago where tough love proved to be a miraculous remedy to accepting shit and sulking and what not. So, I thought I would try. No offense intended. Just want you all to buck up and…live. Don’t think of killing me if the crude language hurts your eyes(not that shit’s a new word in my vocab. But anyway. Fair warning.). Just thinking of the greater good.*insert winning smile*

You might have accepted your fate. You might have accepted it as your reality, however bitter. You might have not noticed the options you have. You might have embraced the fact that that’s the best it would ever get. But I haven’t. I refuse to. I won’t. Because I know once you stop being a submissive shit and accept the fact that you can fight your way through the ordeal that your life has become, it’s all gonna be rainbows and sunshine. Okay, maybe not that,but yeah. Your life would take a turn for the better. You will realise that there’s something worth living for out there instead of just breathing. You will realise that you can have a great future ahead instead of just being a little shit who’s wasting the precious oxygen and nothing more. You will realise that you are worth a lot more than you could have ever imagined. And you will realise that, even though it isn’t effortless, life just might be beautiful. All you have to do is open your eyes to the possibilities:of fighting, and of living.