Sad Beautiful Tragic

9-Spell T-R-A-M-P, Me

9-Spell T-R-A-M-P, Me

 

 

I was ready. Here it goes. Here it goes. This is bullshit. Should I do it? NO! Yes! What? Crap.

I sighed. “Mr. Bloom—”

I didn’t stop. But something did.

Outside, there was a commotion. It was troubling and I can’t seem to figure out who would be out in this time of night. It’s kind of late. No one’s out late around here.

I peeked through the curtains along with my father and I saw a couple of boys and maybe two girls in black and red—splashing paint all over my damn car.

“What the f—” I ran outside and they scattered away, screaming, shouting things I actually didn’t catch. I looked at my car splattered in red.

And in black markings:

TRAMP

 

Wow. People these days are quite the scoop. It’s irritating.

“What’s this all about?” Mr. Bloom exclaims. I looked at him and his face was red.

I rolled my eyes as it darted towards my car. “Just a bunch of old pranksters,” I replied quietly and I saw him shook his head from the corner of my eye.

“The word tramp isn’t for a silly little prank.” He mutters and he turns to me. “What’s going on, Rachel?” He demanded as if he was truly my father. He is, biologically. But—

“You don’t have to know.” I said bitterly. “You can’t just act as if you really wanted to be daddy-yow all of a sudden because you should. Trust me, we’re doing fine.” I went back inside the house and I heard him grumble something unintelligible.

I slammed the door shut before he can turn around and enter. I can almost laugh.