Sorry, I'm Not

Part 1

“Be careful.” She tied her brows in a knot, spreading lines along her forehead which made her look a couple years past 50. This was the wrinkly horror I had to deal with before leaving the house today. But, it did come along with her obvious concern, so I accepted it.

Walking out the door, those two words left me thinking. Does she actually believe that simply saying that would morph the future? “Be careful.” Does she actually think telling me this is going to make me any more precautious than I am now? It’s weird, but it’s really making me wonder. Say, after uttering that three syllabled phrase, what would she end up feeling when I come home the same night after doing exactly the opposite? Is she going to blame me for not listening to her? Or maybe she’d forget ever warning me and end up feeling horrible. I sincerely hope she’ll have a heart that’s been beaten with a mallet, hammered to mere crumbs. She should end up feeling that way for what’s going to happen, for what’s going to happen to me.

We’ll see later tonight, I guess. Damn, I wish she hadn’t complicated things with “be careful,” in the first place. After all, for what I’m about to do, she better have the right reaction when I come home.

I feel the damp shingles indented in my skin. They grind into me like hard sandpaper. You know what would be wonderful, if my new hair color would match the shingles! See I don’t plan these kinds of things, but I’m just so lucky that they always work out. Peering over my sea of garage roof, there’s a faintly lit loose-stoned road. That luck I’ve been talking about, if it doesn’t work with matching colors, I sure as hell hope it’ll come into play for my next source of actions.

Crunch. Crunch.

I peer down cautiously at my iPhone, they’re here and right on schedule.

Good, I can get this over with, go home, then finally get my fix.

Crunch. Their boots aren’t doing a very good job of keeping this meeting in secret. The suction of mudded rubber just inhaling the newly graveled road. It’s just like how my pathetic sister gobbled up ice cream after her boyfriend decided to move on.

The dark hooded men with hands hidden into their pockets emerge from my right eye, then from the other, a bald one with the face of a starving bird. He grips a large briefcase to his chest, and shields it under his hunched back.  Phone prepared in my fist, I steady it’s shaking and snap a nice aerial shot of the exchange. Now’s my time to shine.

As the vulture whips out his department of goodies, I pushed off my heels and fly through the air with absolute grace. The impact of gravel shoots numbness through my bare feet. Standing up, I soak in all the panicked expressions from the gangsters surrounding me, and smile curves along my thin pink lips.

“Hey all you coke snorting lowlifes!” I proclaim to the world, waving my iPhone in the air victoriously. “As you see, I got a picture of that pretty crystal you spent all your rent money on! Now unless you’d like to be thrown in jail and screwed in the anus for the rest of your life, I’d suggest you listen to what I have to say!”

It’s a cold night, well it’s not even below zero, but I have room to complain. Seeing how there isn’t a single string of fabric on my body.

***

My cheeks burn, oh they burn. I seriously doubt this was the work of gangsters throwing me bitch slaps, no this is real. This is now.

A slow muddled string of life pulls me back to reality.

Eep. Beep. Beep.

Why are my cheeks burning? Geeze this is annoying. Not to mention that my lids are attached to sixty pound dumbbells.