Life

She is closing the shop. The sun has set. She looks at the pinkish-blue sky. There are five chemtrails from airplanes. No wonder, she thinks. Unless they keep spraying us, sooner or later they will have a full rebellion in their hands.

She is sweating, her heartbeat fast. She moves her hips to the rhythm of the popular song, alone in the night, happy. Her t-shirt clings on her, her smile wide, exuberant, unpretentious.

She is watching the second season of Daredevil. There’s a scene with Frank Castle in jail attacking other inmates who are trying to kill him. He is a sight to behold, a well-oiled, merciless, unstoppable killing machine. Every breath he draws and lets out is accompanied by a shower of blood, broken bones, maimed flesh, screams and gurgles. She watches mesmerised as he carves a glorious path of death amongst human scum. He’s a berserker unleashed to rid this world of filth, unshakable in his resolve. She wishes she could be like him.

Her cats have fleas. There are two solutions for fleas: spraying your cats (and learning to kung fu a frenzied cat that somersaults, hisses, scratches and does a kind of superspeed static run clawing with all four legs simultaneously) or buying Stronghold spot-on treatment. The second is too expensive, so kung fu it is.

She is muttering under her breath as she slips her fingers between her legs. She draws a symbol with blood on her forehead, heart and over her womb. She whispers the holy names and welcomes the familiar sensation of energy.

A customer at work apologises for something. She wonders why polite people tend to be overly apologetic while overbearing, rude ones feel so entitled.

She approaches a dog on the street. The dog is tethered outside a shop, its owner inside. She talks to it. The dog growls in response and starts barking at her. She turns her back and leaves. A part of her wants to kick it, to give it an actual reason for growling at her. Another part advises her not to take it personally. Most living beings are a direct result of their conditioning, herself included. I will break this conditioning, she thinks. I will make myself an exception.

She is taking a shower. There is very little shower gel left. She considers buying some more, but then she remembers the bank took all their money for this month because her mother owes taxes. With a sigh, she picks up the shampoo and uses that instead.

There is a mosquito buzzing around her as she types a sentence on Facebook. She shakes her head with disgust at the amount of human stupidity in social media. Moments later a meme makes her laugh so hard that she scares her cat. The cat hides under the bed. She shares a petition she signed and gets up to get a drink of water.

A customer at work gives her life advice. She wonders why others feel entitled to share their wisdom without knowing anything about her, or her life, or her situation. She wonders if she too does the same without realising it and shudders. She should refrain from giving advice. Maybe she should stop voicing her opinion altogether and see what happens.

She is still trying to find a way to stop caring, or cause spontaneous combustion to some humans. She can’t quite decide. For the time being she is just hanging in there.
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