Anger

It started off as a toothache. A rotting tooth, bleeding gums, slowly disintegrating beneath the surface, exploding in a gush of red, swirling down the sink as she spit, spit, spit, waiting for the pink water to turn clear.


Argument. Retort. Silence. Ignorance. Anger.


Let me take your photo, he says. Turn around. Her back is faced to him silently, her mouth set firmly. Her face would have been empty, her eyes blank, she imagined the snapshot in her head. She would be as blank as a dead person.


Fuck off.


And screams, red faces, tossing, shoving things. She stormed outside, blank, still detached, pulling on gloves, coat, hat, leaving but not really. He told her to get out. She blinked twice, awakening from her detached stupor. Ouch. Did it hurt? She wasn't sure. She watched him grab her things, shove them in a plastic bag, tossing her shoes out in the hallway.

There. There are your things. Now get out. Don't speak to me again. Don't look at me again. I don't ever want to hear from you again.


Fuck off.


She left.



And went to McDonald's, chewing mechanically on greasy fries. She is still blank.