“I’m hungry” I say to myself.
“Mate, seriously, you have to stop eating, it really can’t be good for you, and you’re over eating way too often.” My friend replied.
I stayed silent.
It doesn’t matter to me, she’s gone, what have I got left? Food is what I love now.
It’s been three weeks since the bombing of the hospital. The person who committed these terrible acts causing mass hysteria and loss of lives?
Dead, killed by his own bomb after robbing a bank, I wasn’t even sure how he managed to blow up a car. Wouldn’t you want to use it to escape? Especially after robbing a bank…
I took another bite of the three large pepperoni pizza’s I had ordered for myself, my friend sitting there, watching the news. The same story, over and over again,
Food, the only replacement to my now dead fiancé; was helping me, over and over again.
My friend began talking again, in the background, insisting I seek help.
I don’t need it; I have all the help I need in my lap. Pizza, stacked on top of each other, with my 3L Coke next to me. That’s all I need. Unlike my wife, they don’t ask of much, just attention; which I am happy to give them.
Images flickering in front of me, I’m not really watching, I’m looking beyond the pictures, I’m looking to her. She’s not there anymore, she left me. Food’s never left me. Only to occupy my stomach, even so never leaving me for long, it’s always nearby.
Food is better than her, better than anyone, never complains, unless you’re a rather arrogant bunch of Jalapeños. Food satisfies me, and I it.
My emotions consume me, and I consume it.
This is my struggle, this is my survival.
Images of victims flash across the screen with some song in which I cannot remember the name of, a famous one, I recall.
Time slows down, to a near halt.
I stare. Tears forming in the corners of my eyes; lip quivering in despair, the slice of pizza held within my trembling had dropping to the box below in a dramatic fall, like one would see in the movies at a point of climax.
Tears flowing freely, like melted cheese; emotions pouring like a jug of cold beer.
Pain spreading slowly throughout my body, a constant dull thud, thud, thud.
The thudding increasing in beat, rapidly, like boiling water on a stove.
I see nothing, “Hey, buddy? Can you hear me? You’ve just suffered a heart attack, I need you to hold on until we get you into surgery, there has been a clot to you’re heart.”
I murmur something unintelligible.
“Can you repeat that for me buddy? It’s not long now…”
I gasp for air, filling my lungs.
Murmuring to myself as I come to, rubble everywhere, last thing I remember, was walking past the hospital, and then, an explosion.
Hysteria, confusion, but most importantly anarchy.
I chuckled to myself, this is where humans show their true emotions, in a situation like this, its do or die. I on the other hand had another idea on hand, money.
Two entire blocks had been affected by the blast.
I overheard two people yelling out ‘Terrorists! The second blast wasn’t the last to come! Take cover!’
Two blasts? Interesting, i had only experienced one, but then that wouldnt have affected two whole blocks. I noted that the bridge leading out of the island was packed with people running, i noticed that there was only enough of the bridge undamaged to allow for people only access.
I spotted the bank. Surprisingly empty.
I couldn’t help it, it was just there. It was doing nothing, just sitting there, if you will.
Running into the crumbling bank, i run past a dead security guard, reaching for his gun. Turning to inspect the vault i see a man quivering. Another security guard, armed.
He reaches for his gun, but i am quicker. A small pop and I become the worlds next Grim reaper; decider of lives.
Laughing at the large crack in the wall, leading to the vault, despite its reinforced walls it could hardly survive the blast and the next doors roof. The pressure must be immense. Just my luck, all the money in the central business area that i can carry, mine.
Checking my satchel I empty out the charges i was originally using to blow the vault door open. They can be used another day, when i strike without being interupted.
Filling up my bag, i place the charges on top of all the cash, wrapped in a black bag, in case i need to use them, for some odd reason.
Thinking to myself i could use them for distraction, place them on a car nearby.
And thats exactly what i did.
After planting the bomb, I took a moment to take a breath.
A sick feeling from the bottom of my gut.
I hadn’t changed it.
It was set for 20 seconds.
It was already at 17 seconds.
I moved quickly to the…
I wake up, its raining.
Damn, that’s going to affect my make-up and hair, i think to myself.
Moving to the bathroom I move past the many mirrors that occupy my apartment walls.
My hair only slightly curly from last nights events, and my make up still perfect, as I examine myself in the mirror.
Pure beauty, that’s what I am. I weigh myself on the scales, the perfect weight.
God I love my metabolism, so perfect. Keeping my body in optimum perfection. Within the mirrors reflection i gaze upon the beauty within the painting hung up above my bed, so flawless, amazing, beauty that cannot be re-created anywhere.
God I loved that self-portrait.
My best work yet.
My phone rings, i walk slowly to the other side of the room to answer it.
“How is my beautiful girl today?”, it’s mother. My secondary idol, other than myself. It is her that I have to partially thank for my beauty, I have myself to thank for the rest.
I speak to her for another five minutes until i realise what the time is, i am late for a photo-shoot of the cover of the newest fashion magazine that has taken the world by storm Looks are everything.
Rushing down the stairs, yet not enough to look undignified I exit the apartment onto the street, scoffing at the doormans shocking apparel, and glaring at the local newspaper boy for his mishapen hair and nose.
Hailing a taxi, it parks across the road waiting for me, looking to my left I cross the road, my heel snaps on the grating of a drain cover.
Blinking, disorientated, i get up, I am fine, unhurt.
Praising God for saving my looks, i continue on, unaware of the car hurtling towards me, screeching on its brakes at the last minute.
I wake up three weeks later, in a full body cast.
My life is over.
Room smelling of last nights dinner,
Thai take outs.
Papers strewn everywhere, radio playing softly in the background,
curtains drawn light filtering through.
Television flickering; snobbish politician feeding lies to the greater population of 6.30am.
My beer surprisingly still in present company, not spilled.
Take a sip, wincing, my neck, sore from sleeping on the couch, probably should sleep in my bed tonight, if i can be bothered.
Itching my bloated stomach, I think to myself. I should probably call in sick to work again. The last few days on the couch have been rather enjoyable, not having to work. I had plenty of sick leave left…
hmm, ill do it soon.
Flicking through the channels, Politics, News, Cheap Soap Opera, Kids Channels. The remote drops out of my hand, landing face down.
The channel changes, its the news.
Unable to reach it from my outstretched arm, i give up.
Burping, i adjust myself to get to the comfortable position, wiping the gunk out of my eyes and around my mouth I pay attention to what they are saying.
“We have declared a state of emergency” “We must initiate precautionary measures now.”
I move forward and change the channel.
The channel changes to a children’s channel.
The TV turns to static. I hear bangs and explosions in the distance.
Shrugging to myself I take a sip of last nights beer, a bite of last nights dinner.
Rolling over to sleep some more.
Walking down the hall I see him by the locker, talking to his best friend. The one I know he loves. Does he know I love him?
No, he doesn’t know of my little hints, my little secrets that I desperately want to yell to the world. He doesn’t know the amount of space he occupies within my thoughts.
All of it.
Looking at him, staring into his deep brown eyes, his amazing brown eyes, with the sparkle of the sun on the water. I wonder if he notices me, if he thinks of me, like I do him. I wonder if he notices the little things about me.
I want him.
I need him now.
He needs to know.
Careful as to not arouse suspicion to anyone else, I begin to approach him as he sorts through his locker, trying to look casual. I smell his strong musky odour of his amazing, expensive cologne; Share.
Moving my eyes over every aspect of his back, absorbing every small and minor detail, getting to know him in every way possible. My longing for him increasing with every glance, with every detailed absorbed.
His phone rings, I move away slowly to the drinking fountain, careful not to make any obvious changes. I do not want to bring attention to us, to him.
No one else can have him.
I overhear his conversation, he’s going out, tomorrow. With someone, i cannot make out who. It better not be that girl. He’s mine, not hers.
I need him right now.
He hangs up his phone and continues sorting out his locker.
I approach him, closer, closer, until I am right behind him, looking at the back of his well carved neck.
I must have him.
My eyes open.
My alarm clock ringing.
Suggested by a special friend :P
Looking outside, its raining, people rushing about, living their lives, i’m watching the world pass by, hoping you would too, to fix it all. After that phone call, i’m hurt, i’m tired, i’m sick of it all. I trusted you, I needed you, all i got was an empty wall.
Friends forever you said, friends together you said, never apart, always one heart.
Just empty promises.
I try, try, try again, this friendship means a lot to me, working at it all day, all for you.. For me.
You say you’ll change, you tell me with a straight, promising face.
How naive i was.
No more time spent together, no more laughter filled joy. No more midnight conversations; secret tellings, sweet whispering of nothings.
Promising to do it all over again, share the moments.
Just empty promises.
Tears matching the rain, streaming, in mourning for the friendship that once existed, no more.
Sorrow turns to anger, the thunder rumbling in the distance, wind rattling open windows.
Vengeance is sweet; i tell you we’ll sort it out, we wont change, i just need time to myself, as soon as im myself, we’ll be the best of friends again.
Just empty promises.
She winks at me.
Wait, she’s winking at me? Why would she do that? Is she winking at me for the same reason i think she is? Is she interested? so many questions!
Oh god. She’s moving closer? What should i say? Should i greet her in some special way?
Palms sweaty, nerves racked to the edge of rawness. The butterfly effect surely must be causing many hurricanes worldwide, their flapping; quick, rapid, constant.
Deep breaths, must stay calm, act yourself, nothing a girl likes more than confidence, psych up man!
She speaks, she smiles, such a radiant smile… Those eyes, so deep, never ending, an amazing shade of blue, as blue as the ocean on a sunny day, on a a tropical island.
My mouth opens, instinctively; it deciding to catch flies instead of fulfilling its usual function.
I look away, where is this shyness coming from? where is my confidence? its disappeared, i must look like such a dork.
She smiles more, brighter than the days sun.
“how are you today?” Small talk? Is it really going this way?
“Uhh g-g-good” i stammer, blushing, these nerves strongly acting to cause further embarrassment.
The bell rings. NO! Not now, i’m feeling the control of my mouth coming back.She looks towards her class, “oh, well i have to go, i’ll talk to you later?”
“uhh y-yeah, sure i, i guess..” smiling weakly looking up at her slowly.
She smiles more, her eyes lighting up. “Perfect”
Bumping into me on her way past i notice my pocket getting heavier, a note.
‘I think i like you.’
Oh god, S-s-she likes me? Oh wow, this, this, this, is great!
But first i need to learn to talk again.
Aged 5 I was the happiest girl alive, I had the toys I wanted, I had a great, happy family.
I was daddy’s little princess, “my beautiful bub” he would call me.
His shoulders making me queen of the world, supporting me, supporting my happiness. His strong arms and charisma pushing me further and further to the top.
Aged 11, i was his world, still a happy girl. Moving up in the world, things mattered now, things weren’t as carefree. But he still loved me, i was his “little darling”, i was growing up
Aged 16, sweet sixteen he said, i still loved my father ever so much. He was always there by my side, although i saw him less and less, his job working him to the bone. He grew distant more and more often. Ageing day by day.
Aged 17, no more father, a handwritten letter, ‘I’m sorry, no more can you be my little girl, i can no longer live this lie.’
Mum said it wasn’t my fault, tears forming around her eyes, she told me.
He was never your father.
Just someone who wanted you to have one.
I miss you dad.
Love, Daddy’s little girl.
I wake up, sweat pouring off my head, my hands clammy, my body covered in goosebumps.
Rain pouring against the windows, belting like liquid pebbles.
A flash of lighting. A face at the window…I’m still dreaming….
Running, pathways, choices, where to go…
Trouble on every corner.
Panic, nerves raw, eyes moving rapidly, decisions, decisions.
Where to go, there they are, the chase. What do they want from me?
Why do they not hear my cries? My yelling, my screams?
I run, but go nowhere, i see them wherever i turn. A maze of alleyways and streets, where to go? Where to escape?
To escape from this reality?
Why won’t someone save me?
A shudder, the world shakes, flashes of bright lights, constriction, i can’t move, can’t do anything.
Eyes opening, being held by my girlfriend, kissing my lips gently to wake me up, oh so blissful. Soothingly says “it’s okay, i’m here” pulling me closer…
Flicking the light off, I roll over, holding her closely. She falls back to sleep.
Just a dream…
Whispered into my ear. We’re waiting…