By My Side

Direct Attacks

Rage.

Rage is what I feel right now.

"I'm so sick of basketball," I explain to Isaiah, who I know doesn't give a fuck about how I feel.

"Well we're sick of your writing," Jacob replies with the snark of an angsty teen.

Rage.

Rage is all I feel right now.

Isaiah agrees with Jacob claiming that I drag other people into my writing. Well I'm sorry if the only reason I haven't snaped on you is that I am writing!

This is a direct attack to my writing, leading to intense rage.

"Show him his place," the hostile voice demands, "take control. Break his jaw."

Now, anyone knows that's a horrible idea, no matter how tempting it is. I don't do that. It's just no right. Besides, of all the things I could do, fleeing and getting proof of the shit I've dealt with is the best option, but Bitchy is damn good at putting on a show, and if it doesn't work, I'd be put on antidepressants, with a bullet as a quick chaser to whatever pill I'm forced to take.

Luckily for me, Jacob throws a tantrum for literally no reason and stops playing basketball, allowing me to write, but I still feel the rage. The all consuming rage. On the bright side, we should be burning more leaves later today, which will make me feel better. Not to mention...

My novel is one-fifth done.