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You know we all have urges, some of us more than others.
And for most of us controlling them is not quite that simple.
Just like how I was controlling the urge to break my boss's nose with the stapler in my hand.
It was like everyone I worked with just wanted me to flip out and maim each and everyone of them.
"I know you've been working here for a long time now that does not mean you deserve a promotion, I mean can't you be more like Janice, she works and she keeps her mouth shut."my boss said flashing my coworker Janice a dirty smile.
"I'm guessing she does that because she earns more than any of our pays combined in one night when she leaves your home." I got up saying.
I was taught tolerance but fuck that now!
I love saying things as they are, and no one can make me feel like shit because of that.
Like really fuck everyone and everything.
So as you can imagine the air in the room had gone hella thick.
I got my brown box,from under me desk and go to packing, my stuff neatly into it .
"Amalie!"yelled my two brain celled boss who finally came out of his temporary state of shock and made to hit me.
His hand shot out quicker than expected but I managed to grab a hold of it, pin it behind his back and slam his head into my desk.
I let go and he sunk down to the floor with everyone watching on and I knew most of them were silently cheering for me.
"You're no longer worth my time Sam, good luck getting someone better to replace me."
"And for the rest of you this shitty treatment is not worth it." I ended and made to sashay away but no, I wasn't done yet.
"Make sure I receive this month's pay regardless, Sam, or Janice your husband will be receiving an email with an attachment soon enough."
That was my exclamation point as I carried my box and took the elevator to the parking lot where my car was parked.
But again, I wasn't done yet.
I pulled out the wooden bat I always kept in my car and proceeded to break the windshield of my ex boss's car and his thot Janice.
"There."I smiled to myself feeling less shitty and much better after that.
But the only thing that could truly make me better was getting higher than the fucking clouds.
《《《《《《《《》》》》》》》》
James
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Sometimes in life we're grateful for the weirdest of things.
At the age of seven mine was probably the window cleaner's lift at the side of the building my mother had pushed me off of.
The result of that was intense trauma, acquired acrophobia and the start of my mother showing her delusional colors.
Back then I wished I'd really fallen to my death and not survived, because I don't want to live anymore but neither did I want to commit suicide.
Sitting in a park, at 2pm, at 23 years old I found it amusing thinking of how my mother had tried to end my life and how my father believed her spineless lies of how she'd begged me not to jump.
I sighed to myself.
It wouldn't do me any good to sit around and relive my old shitty days.
I didn't want to but I kept getting flashbacks and I hated it.
I hated that I was thinking of my parents distasteful attitude toward me, I hated that I kept getting hit by my trauma in the most randomest of moments and I hated my life.
Letting out a sort of frustrated laugh I stood up from the bench I was sat on and put my headphones on.
Ironically, Murder on my Mind streamed through my head and downwards towards my heart.
"What the fuck."I chuckled ready to go home and get Wiz Khalifa high.
°°°°°°°°°°° *twirls her non existent hips*
Oh hi, didn't see you there.
Quick question would it be better admitting you got body enhancement surgery or just faking it.
