06-18-2015, 11:57 PM
Like I said, I don’t play well with others.
My eyes open and I feel hazy—the kind of hazy that you feel after waking up from a hangover, with grungy eyes and disgusting goop around your lips. My head feels heavy, like a million bricks just piled itself cheerleader style aboard my head.
Well, perhaps HE had hired someone to kill you, and that person did a very, very poor job.
I try to move but the place is so thick, so nauseatingly stuffy that even to move is a struggle. I feel as though I am swimming in a batter of molasses, impossible to move but yet I cannot stop because heaven forbid I begin to sink.
This is the story of my life, really, the story of how pathetic I truly am behind the glass of appearance.
It is then that I hear the faintest, softest voice ever lull right into my ear, “well aren’t you a tacky addition to the family.” At first, I feel my heart grow red with anger and my belly flip into an instant defense; how dare you, is what I almost say. How dare you critic my appearance when you damn well look like… Holy shit.
Ladies and gentlemen, I am not kidding you, I am looking at a doll with chopped and scrapped blonde hair, markers for makeup, and absolutely zero clothing. I see it all—everything that is visible on a doll without a dress—I see it. And let me tell you something, as a horse, I find it very offensive.
“Jesus—“ is what I am able to muster out before I realize that her hand (which looks like it has been gnawed by some sort of rabid shih-Tzu) is currently the item now rubbing my withers in an inappropriate fashion.
HE didn’t want me to die, he wanted me to suffer. Damn him.
“Down girl,” is what I say, because oh my Lord this is not how I wanted to start off meeting human beings. My heart is pounding, my skin twitching, I feel like I have a million fleas all crawling up and down my flesh.
That is what motivates me forward, that is what powers me ahead. My stomach is flipping, I am hitting objects and species left, right, and center and… Something bit me.
Oh my God, something bit me.
“What the hell—“ I shriek (which is a rare occurrence for me, I am quite nasty) as my head spins around to… Is that Jaws? My eyes narrow at the rubber over-sized fish like creature gnawing at the base of my hock, “hey, fish breathe, get the heck off me.”
I watch as he snarls behind his grip, his black bead eyes glaring at me with some sort of intent. If this is intimidation, he needs to start taking lessons. I continue shimmying myself upwards, light creaks through an open crack and I can practically smell fresh air.
And then… What is that even?
Three little trolls with hair oh so bright stare at me with painted eyes, though two are missing limbs (an arm and a leg to be exact) and… Seriously do they feed this Chihuahua? I see bite marks all over this poor guys chest.
“Hey, do you think you could help me out?” I ask, a slight worrisome expression crossing my face. Clearly I am completely out of my element here. Give me an evil father, a moronic half brother, a crazy aunt, whatever, but don’t give me… whatever this is.
Hell? Maybe? Don’t give me hell.
“You have saved our lives, we are eternally grateful,” they all say in unison with their arms (or arm in some cases) extended in my general direction. I watch as they squirm and wiggle into my vicinity, edging their way like worms or snakes into my bubble.
I wish someone had killed me.
“Back. Back!” I growl with teeth bared, but they continue forward. Before I even have a chance to bite one finger is up my nostril (or is it a hand? I cannot tell), another belly worming his way up my back, and the third choking me in a neck hold and acting as if it is a hug.
“Help—“ I squeak through air bubbles and short breaths as these children, no, hounds, torment me in ways I never knew possible.
Give us this day our daily bread… Something something… As we forgive those who trespass against us…
That’s it, I am praying (mind you, not well). This is how I die. Mother, I am sorry I don’t know you or care to. Father, I am sorry you’re such a horrible parent. Half brother, I am sorry you are such an entitled freak. Beqanna, I am sorry you’re filled with useless peasants.
The neck one, he is releasing. Oh God al mighty thank you so, so much. I toss my neck in a way I never new possible, shoving a troll right in the nose, the other one tumbles beneath him. I hear more voices, more noises, more rustling.
I have no time, I have no time.
I kick, I swing, I am swimming in a pit of waking souls. My stomach is crumbling in fear and I have persistent sneezing from that monster’s germy hand up my nostril.
He probably broke something.
Between the sneezing, the swimming, and the constant movement of groaning bodies beneath me I hardly know which way is up.
Until I feel it, I feel the breeze of fresh air. I taste freedom.
The roof won’t open. I am stuck with the movement of life beneath me ready to suck me back in to her pit of death. It feels like hours, days, a lifetime before I see it. The solution. The trick to this all being over.
I see a toy train, not too big, not too small. The type of train that if wedged in a small crack, can widen the opening enough for me to squeeze through.
Smother, you dirty dog you, you genius.
I have no time for game planning, I leap over and begin nuzzling this train like no tomorrow. I feel the ground beneath me of toys and items shift and squirm and I feel as though I am losing balance. I push, I push so damn hard that my head hurts. The train is more than awake and begins to chug and choo and WOOOOOOO right in my ear to the point I am pretty much ready to just throw down right here right now.
This is too much.
And then, I hear the wood splinter, and the lid weaken, and the choo choo train weasel its way into the open space and… hallelujah.
I have an escape.
My eyes open and I feel hazy—the kind of hazy that you feel after waking up from a hangover, with grungy eyes and disgusting goop around your lips. My head feels heavy, like a million bricks just piled itself cheerleader style aboard my head.
Well, perhaps HE had hired someone to kill you, and that person did a very, very poor job.
I try to move but the place is so thick, so nauseatingly stuffy that even to move is a struggle. I feel as though I am swimming in a batter of molasses, impossible to move but yet I cannot stop because heaven forbid I begin to sink.
This is the story of my life, really, the story of how pathetic I truly am behind the glass of appearance.
It is then that I hear the faintest, softest voice ever lull right into my ear, “well aren’t you a tacky addition to the family.” At first, I feel my heart grow red with anger and my belly flip into an instant defense; how dare you, is what I almost say. How dare you critic my appearance when you damn well look like… Holy shit.
Ladies and gentlemen, I am not kidding you, I am looking at a doll with chopped and scrapped blonde hair, markers for makeup, and absolutely zero clothing. I see it all—everything that is visible on a doll without a dress—I see it. And let me tell you something, as a horse, I find it very offensive.
“Jesus—“ is what I am able to muster out before I realize that her hand (which looks like it has been gnawed by some sort of rabid shih-Tzu) is currently the item now rubbing my withers in an inappropriate fashion.
HE didn’t want me to die, he wanted me to suffer. Damn him.
“Down girl,” is what I say, because oh my Lord this is not how I wanted to start off meeting human beings. My heart is pounding, my skin twitching, I feel like I have a million fleas all crawling up and down my flesh.
That is what motivates me forward, that is what powers me ahead. My stomach is flipping, I am hitting objects and species left, right, and center and… Something bit me.
Oh my God, something bit me.
“What the hell—“ I shriek (which is a rare occurrence for me, I am quite nasty) as my head spins around to… Is that Jaws? My eyes narrow at the rubber over-sized fish like creature gnawing at the base of my hock, “hey, fish breathe, get the heck off me.”
I watch as he snarls behind his grip, his black bead eyes glaring at me with some sort of intent. If this is intimidation, he needs to start taking lessons. I continue shimmying myself upwards, light creaks through an open crack and I can practically smell fresh air.
And then… What is that even?
Three little trolls with hair oh so bright stare at me with painted eyes, though two are missing limbs (an arm and a leg to be exact) and… Seriously do they feed this Chihuahua? I see bite marks all over this poor guys chest.
“Hey, do you think you could help me out?” I ask, a slight worrisome expression crossing my face. Clearly I am completely out of my element here. Give me an evil father, a moronic half brother, a crazy aunt, whatever, but don’t give me… whatever this is.
Hell? Maybe? Don’t give me hell.
“You have saved our lives, we are eternally grateful,” they all say in unison with their arms (or arm in some cases) extended in my general direction. I watch as they squirm and wiggle into my vicinity, edging their way like worms or snakes into my bubble.
I wish someone had killed me.
“Back. Back!” I growl with teeth bared, but they continue forward. Before I even have a chance to bite one finger is up my nostril (or is it a hand? I cannot tell), another belly worming his way up my back, and the third choking me in a neck hold and acting as if it is a hug.
“Help—“ I squeak through air bubbles and short breaths as these children, no, hounds, torment me in ways I never knew possible.
Give us this day our daily bread… Something something… As we forgive those who trespass against us…
That’s it, I am praying (mind you, not well). This is how I die. Mother, I am sorry I don’t know you or care to. Father, I am sorry you’re such a horrible parent. Half brother, I am sorry you are such an entitled freak. Beqanna, I am sorry you’re filled with useless peasants.
The neck one, he is releasing. Oh God al mighty thank you so, so much. I toss my neck in a way I never new possible, shoving a troll right in the nose, the other one tumbles beneath him. I hear more voices, more noises, more rustling.
I have no time, I have no time.
I kick, I swing, I am swimming in a pit of waking souls. My stomach is crumbling in fear and I have persistent sneezing from that monster’s germy hand up my nostril.
He probably broke something.
Between the sneezing, the swimming, and the constant movement of groaning bodies beneath me I hardly know which way is up.
Until I feel it, I feel the breeze of fresh air. I taste freedom.
The roof won’t open. I am stuck with the movement of life beneath me ready to suck me back in to her pit of death. It feels like hours, days, a lifetime before I see it. The solution. The trick to this all being over.
I see a toy train, not too big, not too small. The type of train that if wedged in a small crack, can widen the opening enough for me to squeeze through.
Smother, you dirty dog you, you genius.
I have no time for game planning, I leap over and begin nuzzling this train like no tomorrow. I feel the ground beneath me of toys and items shift and squirm and I feel as though I am losing balance. I push, I push so damn hard that my head hurts. The train is more than awake and begins to chug and choo and WOOOOOOO right in my ear to the point I am pretty much ready to just throw down right here right now.
This is too much.
And then, I hear the wood splinter, and the lid weaken, and the choo choo train weasel its way into the open space and… hallelujah.
I have an escape.