Destined Fur More

Fuck Celery I Think It's Torture In China

At this, my head shot up, shock successfully cutting off the sprinklers in my eyes. “WHAT?”

            My mother jumped at this reaction, looking more nervous than necessary for the situation. She used her next words with care. “Fisher… you just told us that you knew.”

            My lower lip quivered. “W—what? N—n—no, I d—did NOT!”

            Her expression was Holy-Shit-What-The-Fuck-Have-I-Done?

            I was surprised at the small amount of time elapsed before I reacted without stutters. “I’m not your daughter? I’m adopted? I’M FUCKING ADOPTED?” I screamed, but really not surprised. “YOU ASSHATS ADOPT ME TO TREAT ME LIKE SHIT? YOU’RE FUCKING KIDDING ME, RIGHT? WHAT THE FUCK?!” I paid no attention to the cramping toe, or calf, or thigh.

            Laurie swallowed hard, but the words coming out of her mouth weren’t informing me to stop cussing, they were scared, frightened words. “Fisher, we didn’t have a choice.”

            “WHAT THE FUCKING HELL DOES THAT MEAN?” I bellowed, standing up on my bed, flailing my arms wide in question. “PEOPLE DON’T JUST FUCKING FORCE FUCKING BABIES ON YOU. YOU FUCKING DECIEDE YOU FUCKING WANT A FUCKING BABY WHEN YOU FUCKING ADOPT ONE.” My breaths were swallowing to the point of suffocation, but I still got out “FUCK” after my mini-tirade. My throat was beginning to rip like a chainsaw through paper, but I ignored it.

            Laurie bit her lip, refusing to meet my eyes, not that she ever did before, anyway. “Fisher, please stop using all forms of ‘fuck’. The word is losing its meaning.”

            “FUCK YOU. YOU’RE NOT MY FUCKING MOTHER.” For good measure, “FUCK. FUCKFUCKFUCK.”

            Laurie stood from my bed, walking towards the door, shaking. She gave her feet one, last scared look, and mumbled, “Then I won’t take care of you anymore,” before gently shutting my door.

            It wasn’t until that moment that I realized they really did hate me. Then I won’t take care of you anymore, rang through my head, and I snorted one, snotty snort. You never took care of me in the first place. So, I collapsed onto my bed, finally defeated, then blared my radio on a scream-o station so no one could hear me.

            Now the cramp reached up through to my head, and I lost my ability to stand, bouncing onto the floor. I couldn’t care less where I was, though. That’s all that was in my mind at that moment in time was: BIIIIIIITCCCCHHHH.

             And after another second, even that thought found the exit.

            The pain from this morning was back, swarming through my entire body, breaking bones, punching holes the size of elephants through my skin, gouging out my eyes. Fire was in my veins, burning up any sign of flesh like paper. My throat was being torn in half, making any screaming impossible. I couldn’t hear my whimper in the screaming music, and my family couldn’t possibly know what was happening to me at the moment.

            And, just like this morning, it vanished.

            Beads of sweat were making rivers down my face, and my breathing was sharp and gasping. I sat up, the movement free of any pain, and checked myself for any visible injury. Though I was sure my ribs had been broken in half, they were as thick-boned as they always were, free of any pain. I held no gaping holes in my flesh, just pimples. What was that? What’s wrong with me? Was this just in my head?