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The Mug
by WhiteTanniyn
Writer
12 years ago
THE STORY:
The household was well managed, and all things were kept well. The dishes were always washed, the floors vacuumed, and even better, all rooms were kept clean. Well, almost all of them.
The keys jingled on the lock of the door. Just another typical Saturday night; he was home, late, again. The door slowly opened, and a gray wolf slowly poked his head into the darkly-lit entry room. His shirt was dirty, and his jeans were ripped at the knee-caps. With a sigh, he entered into the house and slowly closed the door hoping not to wake anyone in the household.
To his extreme dissatisfaction, the door creaked loudly. He closed his eyes and re-adjusted the backpack that hung loosely on his back. Just another night filled with more regrets and memories he didn't want to make or remember. With a sigh, it was time to head to his room.
He left the entry room, which was a pretty big room. The room only had four windows: Two windows on the front wall, and two windows to the wall right of that one. Then it had one of those weird pseudo-archways that led into kitchen. Then of course, there was the hallway that led to his parents' bedroom, his brother's room, his sister's room, and of course, his room.
As silently as he could, he was about to enter the hallway, when he suddenly turned around: he needed to go to the kitchen. Avoiding couches, and furniture that seemed to be more dangerous than a comfort now, he entered the kitchen and placed his backpack on the table, which made a louder thump than he would have liked. He then winced. His side was hurting. Going to the refrigerator, he opened the top door, the freezer. He reached inside of the freezer and prayed that the icepack would be in there.
His brother was a fantastic sprinter, so their mother had bought the icepack for him so he could ice his shins whenever they would hurt. That was his brother, though, and he wasn't his brother. He had to ice a bruise. He gently closed the freezer and placed the icepack inside his backpack.
Just as he was about to the leave the kitchen, his throat still itched from a night of screaming and yelling; a liquid was inviting. He turned around from their wooden table and almost kicked a chair in the darkness of the kitchen. After catching his breath, he went to the pantry to retrieve a cup. As he opened the pantry, there was only one cup he would used. It was a glass mug. It was blue, and it had green letters, that spelled, "Mother's Love". It was his favourite mug to use. It was a gift for him from, of course, his mother.
He held the glass mug tightly in his hands and whimpered sadly as he read the words on the cup. With a sigh, he went to the faucet and turned it on to fill his mug. A second into filling his mug, he quickly emptied it; that stupid water filter that he openly hated and despised but deeply thanked the Higher Powers for wasn't switched on. With a quick twist of the odd mechanics he once again began to fill his mug. After doing so, he took the mug to his muzzle and downed the water within seconds. He repeated this five more times. On the fifth time, he retched and nearly threw up the water with how fast he drank it.
Wiping his muzzle on his shirt, he rinsed his mug and then placed it on the empty dish rack to dry. It was now time to head to his room. He silently picked up his backpack from the table and carried it with his right hand. As he left the kitchen, he entered the T-shaped hallway. He skipped the first door to his right, the bathroom. He then skipped the second-coming door, his older brother's room. Then he came upon the next door, it was his room. He reached for the knob, and just as he started turning it, there came a sound from behind him. He tensed up tightly as he slowly turned around. His older sister stood at her bedroom door staring at him.
Both wolves said nothing. The only thing his white-coloured sister did was stare at him. He did the same. After an uncomfortable and prolonged amount of time, his sister shook her head.
"Are you coming tomorrow?" she whispered.
"No," replied the wolf, quickly. "I j-j-j-just don't enj-"
"It's all right," she reassured, cutting him off. "I'll just tell mom and dad that you were tired."
"Thank you," he responded, blankly. He then ran his hand through his, and then all the way to the top of his head
"Just try to get some sleep." said his sister, who now looked desperate.
"I will..." he paused. "Love you."
"I love you too, brother." she smiled weakly before retreating back into her room.
He was alone, again. He loved his sister, deeply. He loved her like any brother should.
With a sigh, he slowly turned his door knob and then entered his room. His room was the same as he left it earlier in the morning for college. And it was kept like a rebellious nineteen-year-old's room, too. Untidy and messy. It wasn't always that way, though. Before everything started going bad for him; his bed was always made, his room always vacuumed, his clothes neatly put away - well, his room was one of the best in the house next to his sister's. That, however, was in the past, and he was in the present.
He slowly closed his door. Success: no creak or squeak was made while doing so. However, his happiness was short lived. He entered his small room and felt quickly overtaken by the odd feelings of defeat as he turned on a dim light. He went to his bed and placed his backpack on it. He then grabbed a chair he kept near his bed and opted for placing his backpack down on it instead. Opening the main zipper, he retrieved the icepack like a holy relic and gently put on his pillow as if he was afraid it could be possibly damaged. Patting it lightly, because he felt the need to so, he cleared everything off his bed. Everything either went onto the floor, dresser, or on the backrest oh his chair. Simple and quick.
With his bed now cleaned, it was now time to get down to the painful work. Slowly, he placed both of his hands on the hem of his shirt. Then with a groan of pain and a face of discomfort, he lifted his shirt off from his body. It was a stale pain for him to raise his elbows any higher than his chest-level. With a groan of pain, he threw his shirt on the floor as he went to his dresser to retrieve a clean pair of underwear, a pair of shorts, and a clean shirt. All of which he threw on his bed.
Now that his shirt was off, he got his brother's icepack and placed it upon his right side where a nasty bruise had developed. He shifted uncomfortably at first when it touched, he always did. However, after the pain had dulled, after the sensation of feeling of left, he for once smiled. It was almost as if nothing had ever happened...but something had happened. Something always happened, and this constantly reminded him of where he was at: in his room icing wounds.
After about fifteen minutes of being lost in the feelings of numbness that the icepack brought, which is a dangerous amount of time to leave on an icepack bare, he removed the icepack and sighed contently as he moved with no pain. Then, as quickly as possible, he removed his ripped jeans, and then his underwear.
Just as he was about to put on his underwear, he saw himself on his mirrored-dresser. He felt overtaken by disgust, and he had no reason to. On his upper torso, there was clearly no signs of fat, but then again, there were also no signs of any obvious muscle – at least that's what he thought. He was lightly built on his shoulders and down, but he was often made fun of for having such a "girly-build". Any “respectable male” his age would have been built by now; muscular arms, a solid six-pack, and legs that could crush the world.
He stepped back from his mirrored-dresser to get a more complete view of himself. Even though there was nothing in particular "wrong" with his body, he never felt as though it was good enough. He had fine, well toned legs. In his sight, however, they looked horrible, and he could never in his wildest dreams compare to his brother...not to be anybody, for that matter. His body was a lost cause, so why even try, right?
Then again, he figured, beautiful body or not, beauty was just an idea he could never reach; no one can.
With a bitter sigh that quickly developed into a whimper, he turned from the mirror wishing to see no more of himself. He retrieved his clean clothes and quickly dressed his lower half. He grabbed the icepack and placed it on the chair on top of his clothes. It crossed his mind that his clothes would get wet, but that was something he didn't even care about at the moment, he just wanted to sleep.
He grabbed his shirt and quickly slipped it on. It was just a loose, blue short-sleeved shirt. It was comfortable to sleep in. And that was what he wanted: sleep. And he did so by slowly slipping into his unmade bed. Once doing so, he pulled up the covers and soon fell fast asleep.
The next day, he woke up suddenly. He looked to his window and saw light dimly shining through the curtains. He didn't even want to check the clock. Instead, he slowly got off his bed and went to the window. Slowly, he pulled the curtains aside and grimaced from sun as he slyly peaked through the blinds. The driveway was empty, which meant that is was past ten 'o clock in the morning; his family would be gone up till about four 'o clock or so.
He then backed away from the window and then sat on his bed. After a few moments, he emptied and unloaded the many things from the night before off his chair to reach his backpack. Once reaching his backpack, he looked through the front pocket of his backpack: where was his cellphone? After scurrying around through two other pockets, he found his cellphone. He flipped it open and saw that the time was 12:43 P.M.. He even had a message that he had received at 11:09 – it read:
"hey dude! awsum parteeeeee last nite! wat'd u say bout goin out later? I can pick u at 1:30 or sumthing! GET BACK TO ME SOON!!!"
The wolf stared at his phone and nodded his head. He then sent back:
"Alright sounds good I guess."
He then closed his cell phone and placed it in his pocket. With only one thing on his mind, food, he grabbed the icepack that was now on his bed and made his way to the door. However, he barely made it to his door when his pocket buzzed. He grabbed his phone and flipped it open, a new message:
"all rite. sounds good. wat do u want to doo? I know sum guys that can get us some preety neat stuff. believe me, neat!"
The wolf shook his head and readied his message:
"This better not be like last time! That whole going to a 'fun shop' thing was a complete mess. Clearly all of us were underage. I dont want to do that again. I didnt even like it. It was no fun"
He closed his cellphone and then opened his door. The hallway was now well-lit with all of the light shining through the windows. Shielding his eyes, he walked slowly to the kitchen and sighed. He looked around, aimlessly, not sure of what to eat. He then looked at the kitchen counter and saw a note that read:
"Hello, sweetheart. Your dad and I left some dinner from last night in the fridge. Also, we should be back around 6. If you are leaving, please be sure that the back door is locked. If you need anything, please call or text your sister. She'll be more available to answer. Love you!"
He placed the note down and began to walk towards the fridge. He opened the fridge and saw dinner: pizza. He licked his lips and retrieved the plastic-wrapped food. He then went to the pantry and got a glass plate. Just then, his pocket buzzed again. Ignoring it, he would set his food to microwave first.
He placed his plate on the counter. He unwrapped the three slices of pizza and placed it on the plate. After putting the plate in the microwave and starting it, he reached into his pocket and the message read:
"HEY! CALM THE FUCK DOWN! Just tell me what you want to do!"
The wolf scratched his head. He then sent:
"Whoa, whoa! Why are you so freakin' upset all of the time? You need to calm down yourself. PS typing in CAPS makes you like a stupid idiot"
With a disgruntled sigh, he slipped his cellphone into his pocket and then retrieved his food from the microwave. He had only met this guy about a year ago, and it was starting to seem like a mistake. All of it. He was short-fused, and he blew up on the smallest of things. He was also a stupid idiot.
Not trying to think about the guy and his text, which was proving to be impossible, he tried to eat in peace. He took a bite, chewed, and then swallowed. On his fourth bite, his pocket buzzed yet again. He put his pizza down and slowly, he took out his cellphone. He didn't want to read it, nor did he want to respond. But he felt rude for not doing so. With a whimper, he read the message:
"Hey! Quit being a whiny bitch! Do you want do anything?? Yes? No?"
He growled and then answered:
"NO. I don't want to do anything. As much as you found last night fun, it wasn't."
He closed his cellphone and placed it on the table. He needed to call this whole thing off. Being "friends" with this guy was totally not worth it. With a sigh of frustration, he took a few more bites of his pizza. Then the familiar buzz came again. He picked up his cellphone:
"WELL FUCK YOU!"
In a fit of anger he jumped from his seat, and threw the chair he sat on to the floor. He then grabbed his cellphone and scrambled with the keypad:
"Fine. FU–" he then erased the two letters 'F' and 'U', "–SCRE –" again, he erased the letters 'S', 'C', 'R', and 'E' - "I'm done with you."
After sending it, he slammed his cellphone on the table. With his arms crossed, he didn't have to wait more than a minute for a reply:
"That is F I N E with me. Why don't you go suck a dick, bitch? You might as well since you are such a pussy when it comes to living life up."
In a fit of anger, he slammed both of his fists onto the table. Not going to reply, he turned around and blindly threw his cellphone. A mistake.
His cellphone went flying through the air, and it soon smashed against the kitchen wall above the sink. As it hit the wall, his cellphone broke into pieces that went flying out in different directions. In an instant the top half of his phone went straight for the dish rack, with his cup still there. Then, to his great horror, he felt as if his world went in slow motion as he watched his favourite mug fall to the floor with the dish rack.
"DAMN IT!" he shouted, furious. As he cursed the phone and the one that caused his anger, he made his way to pick up the cage that was the dish-rack; his mug was underneath it. As he lifted it, however, his anger soon turned into sadness and then an immediate panic as he realised that pieces of his favourite mug laid all over the kitchen floor by the sink. Panic then turned into chaos: his favourite mug was broken – BROKEN!
In a panic, he tossed the dishrack aside, dropped to his knees, and then gasped and groaned as his right knee-cap was gashed by the remnants of what he loved. He began to fumble with the broken glass in his hands trying desperately to think of a way he could fix it. While doing so, he soon dropped the pieces he held in his hand as he howled in pain. He looked at his now bloodied left paw, which was shaking. He looked to the floor: the pieces he held were now in even more pieces, and blood was dripping from his digits on his right paw.
Fighting back tears of building depression and dying anger, he stood and soon found his back was against the wall adjacent to the mess. He felt as though things were becoming hazy, but he knew deep down inside, everything was painfully clear; his situation was painfully clear.
He slowly slid to the ground and began to rock back and forth. At first, he sniffled as he wiped a tear from an eye; then a tear from the other eye; then tears from both of his eyes. After doing the ritual a couple of more time, he stopped wiping his face, for his were eyes burning from the blood on his digits, he ran his paws through the the fur on his head; as if it was some attempt to try and wipe off the feelings that the situation brought.
It was no use, however, as he soon fully realised what had happened. And soon enough, he was sobbing in his hands, smearing blood on his face as he did so. He wiped his face yet again. He picked up his head and saw the remnants of something he loved; he screamed out his inner turmoil, relishing the comfort of useless shrills that really did nothing; again, he screamed, adding yells that magnified the flow of red tears.
Sobbing still, he brought his knees close to his body. He hugged his legs into his chest with his arms as he began to rock back and forth. It was broken, like he was.
END OF STORY
This a story I wrote a couple of years ago...like, three or four, I think. I just wanted to post something just to see what response (if any) I may or may not get. I want to post some new material here, and, well, what a better way to get started then with a short story!
Some comments would be most appreciated!
Thanks for taking the time to read this and whatnot; it means the world to me!! <3
-White Tanniyn
The household was well managed, and all things were kept well. The dishes were always washed, the floors vacuumed, and even better, all rooms were kept clean. Well, almost all of them.
The keys jingled on the lock of the door. Just another typical Saturday night; he was home, late, again. The door slowly opened, and a gray wolf slowly poked his head into the darkly-lit entry room. His shirt was dirty, and his jeans were ripped at the knee-caps. With a sigh, he entered into the house and slowly closed the door hoping not to wake anyone in the household.
To his extreme dissatisfaction, the door creaked loudly. He closed his eyes and re-adjusted the backpack that hung loosely on his back. Just another night filled with more regrets and memories he didn't want to make or remember. With a sigh, it was time to head to his room.
He left the entry room, which was a pretty big room. The room only had four windows: Two windows on the front wall, and two windows to the wall right of that one. Then it had one of those weird pseudo-archways that led into kitchen. Then of course, there was the hallway that led to his parents' bedroom, his brother's room, his sister's room, and of course, his room.
As silently as he could, he was about to enter the hallway, when he suddenly turned around: he needed to go to the kitchen. Avoiding couches, and furniture that seemed to be more dangerous than a comfort now, he entered the kitchen and placed his backpack on the table, which made a louder thump than he would have liked. He then winced. His side was hurting. Going to the refrigerator, he opened the top door, the freezer. He reached inside of the freezer and prayed that the icepack would be in there.
His brother was a fantastic sprinter, so their mother had bought the icepack for him so he could ice his shins whenever they would hurt. That was his brother, though, and he wasn't his brother. He had to ice a bruise. He gently closed the freezer and placed the icepack inside his backpack.
Just as he was about to the leave the kitchen, his throat still itched from a night of screaming and yelling; a liquid was inviting. He turned around from their wooden table and almost kicked a chair in the darkness of the kitchen. After catching his breath, he went to the pantry to retrieve a cup. As he opened the pantry, there was only one cup he would used. It was a glass mug. It was blue, and it had green letters, that spelled, "Mother's Love". It was his favourite mug to use. It was a gift for him from, of course, his mother.
He held the glass mug tightly in his hands and whimpered sadly as he read the words on the cup. With a sigh, he went to the faucet and turned it on to fill his mug. A second into filling his mug, he quickly emptied it; that stupid water filter that he openly hated and despised but deeply thanked the Higher Powers for wasn't switched on. With a quick twist of the odd mechanics he once again began to fill his mug. After doing so, he took the mug to his muzzle and downed the water within seconds. He repeated this five more times. On the fifth time, he retched and nearly threw up the water with how fast he drank it.
Wiping his muzzle on his shirt, he rinsed his mug and then placed it on the empty dish rack to dry. It was now time to head to his room. He silently picked up his backpack from the table and carried it with his right hand. As he left the kitchen, he entered the T-shaped hallway. He skipped the first door to his right, the bathroom. He then skipped the second-coming door, his older brother's room. Then he came upon the next door, it was his room. He reached for the knob, and just as he started turning it, there came a sound from behind him. He tensed up tightly as he slowly turned around. His older sister stood at her bedroom door staring at him.
Both wolves said nothing. The only thing his white-coloured sister did was stare at him. He did the same. After an uncomfortable and prolonged amount of time, his sister shook her head.
"Are you coming tomorrow?" she whispered.
"No," replied the wolf, quickly. "I j-j-j-just don't enj-"
"It's all right," she reassured, cutting him off. "I'll just tell mom and dad that you were tired."
"Thank you," he responded, blankly. He then ran his hand through his, and then all the way to the top of his head
"Just try to get some sleep." said his sister, who now looked desperate.
"I will..." he paused. "Love you."
"I love you too, brother." she smiled weakly before retreating back into her room.
He was alone, again. He loved his sister, deeply. He loved her like any brother should.
With a sigh, he slowly turned his door knob and then entered his room. His room was the same as he left it earlier in the morning for college. And it was kept like a rebellious nineteen-year-old's room, too. Untidy and messy. It wasn't always that way, though. Before everything started going bad for him; his bed was always made, his room always vacuumed, his clothes neatly put away - well, his room was one of the best in the house next to his sister's. That, however, was in the past, and he was in the present.
He slowly closed his door. Success: no creak or squeak was made while doing so. However, his happiness was short lived. He entered his small room and felt quickly overtaken by the odd feelings of defeat as he turned on a dim light. He went to his bed and placed his backpack on it. He then grabbed a chair he kept near his bed and opted for placing his backpack down on it instead. Opening the main zipper, he retrieved the icepack like a holy relic and gently put on his pillow as if he was afraid it could be possibly damaged. Patting it lightly, because he felt the need to so, he cleared everything off his bed. Everything either went onto the floor, dresser, or on the backrest oh his chair. Simple and quick.
With his bed now cleaned, it was now time to get down to the painful work. Slowly, he placed both of his hands on the hem of his shirt. Then with a groan of pain and a face of discomfort, he lifted his shirt off from his body. It was a stale pain for him to raise his elbows any higher than his chest-level. With a groan of pain, he threw his shirt on the floor as he went to his dresser to retrieve a clean pair of underwear, a pair of shorts, and a clean shirt. All of which he threw on his bed.
Now that his shirt was off, he got his brother's icepack and placed it upon his right side where a nasty bruise had developed. He shifted uncomfortably at first when it touched, he always did. However, after the pain had dulled, after the sensation of feeling of left, he for once smiled. It was almost as if nothing had ever happened...but something had happened. Something always happened, and this constantly reminded him of where he was at: in his room icing wounds.
After about fifteen minutes of being lost in the feelings of numbness that the icepack brought, which is a dangerous amount of time to leave on an icepack bare, he removed the icepack and sighed contently as he moved with no pain. Then, as quickly as possible, he removed his ripped jeans, and then his underwear.
Just as he was about to put on his underwear, he saw himself on his mirrored-dresser. He felt overtaken by disgust, and he had no reason to. On his upper torso, there was clearly no signs of fat, but then again, there were also no signs of any obvious muscle – at least that's what he thought. He was lightly built on his shoulders and down, but he was often made fun of for having such a "girly-build". Any “respectable male” his age would have been built by now; muscular arms, a solid six-pack, and legs that could crush the world.
He stepped back from his mirrored-dresser to get a more complete view of himself. Even though there was nothing in particular "wrong" with his body, he never felt as though it was good enough. He had fine, well toned legs. In his sight, however, they looked horrible, and he could never in his wildest dreams compare to his brother...not to be anybody, for that matter. His body was a lost cause, so why even try, right?
Then again, he figured, beautiful body or not, beauty was just an idea he could never reach; no one can.
With a bitter sigh that quickly developed into a whimper, he turned from the mirror wishing to see no more of himself. He retrieved his clean clothes and quickly dressed his lower half. He grabbed the icepack and placed it on the chair on top of his clothes. It crossed his mind that his clothes would get wet, but that was something he didn't even care about at the moment, he just wanted to sleep.
He grabbed his shirt and quickly slipped it on. It was just a loose, blue short-sleeved shirt. It was comfortable to sleep in. And that was what he wanted: sleep. And he did so by slowly slipping into his unmade bed. Once doing so, he pulled up the covers and soon fell fast asleep.
The next day, he woke up suddenly. He looked to his window and saw light dimly shining through the curtains. He didn't even want to check the clock. Instead, he slowly got off his bed and went to the window. Slowly, he pulled the curtains aside and grimaced from sun as he slyly peaked through the blinds. The driveway was empty, which meant that is was past ten 'o clock in the morning; his family would be gone up till about four 'o clock or so.
He then backed away from the window and then sat on his bed. After a few moments, he emptied and unloaded the many things from the night before off his chair to reach his backpack. Once reaching his backpack, he looked through the front pocket of his backpack: where was his cellphone? After scurrying around through two other pockets, he found his cellphone. He flipped it open and saw that the time was 12:43 P.M.. He even had a message that he had received at 11:09 – it read:
"hey dude! awsum parteeeeee last nite! wat'd u say bout goin out later? I can pick u at 1:30 or sumthing! GET BACK TO ME SOON!!!"
The wolf stared at his phone and nodded his head. He then sent back:
"Alright sounds good I guess."
He then closed his cell phone and placed it in his pocket. With only one thing on his mind, food, he grabbed the icepack that was now on his bed and made his way to the door. However, he barely made it to his door when his pocket buzzed. He grabbed his phone and flipped it open, a new message:
"all rite. sounds good. wat do u want to doo? I know sum guys that can get us some preety neat stuff. believe me, neat!"
The wolf shook his head and readied his message:
"This better not be like last time! That whole going to a 'fun shop' thing was a complete mess. Clearly all of us were underage. I dont want to do that again. I didnt even like it. It was no fun"
He closed his cellphone and then opened his door. The hallway was now well-lit with all of the light shining through the windows. Shielding his eyes, he walked slowly to the kitchen and sighed. He looked around, aimlessly, not sure of what to eat. He then looked at the kitchen counter and saw a note that read:
"Hello, sweetheart. Your dad and I left some dinner from last night in the fridge. Also, we should be back around 6. If you are leaving, please be sure that the back door is locked. If you need anything, please call or text your sister. She'll be more available to answer. Love you!"
He placed the note down and began to walk towards the fridge. He opened the fridge and saw dinner: pizza. He licked his lips and retrieved the plastic-wrapped food. He then went to the pantry and got a glass plate. Just then, his pocket buzzed again. Ignoring it, he would set his food to microwave first.
He placed his plate on the counter. He unwrapped the three slices of pizza and placed it on the plate. After putting the plate in the microwave and starting it, he reached into his pocket and the message read:
"HEY! CALM THE FUCK DOWN! Just tell me what you want to do!"
The wolf scratched his head. He then sent:
"Whoa, whoa! Why are you so freakin' upset all of the time? You need to calm down yourself. PS typing in CAPS makes you like a stupid idiot"
With a disgruntled sigh, he slipped his cellphone into his pocket and then retrieved his food from the microwave. He had only met this guy about a year ago, and it was starting to seem like a mistake. All of it. He was short-fused, and he blew up on the smallest of things. He was also a stupid idiot.
Not trying to think about the guy and his text, which was proving to be impossible, he tried to eat in peace. He took a bite, chewed, and then swallowed. On his fourth bite, his pocket buzzed yet again. He put his pizza down and slowly, he took out his cellphone. He didn't want to read it, nor did he want to respond. But he felt rude for not doing so. With a whimper, he read the message:
"Hey! Quit being a whiny bitch! Do you want do anything?? Yes? No?"
He growled and then answered:
"NO. I don't want to do anything. As much as you found last night fun, it wasn't."
He closed his cellphone and placed it on the table. He needed to call this whole thing off. Being "friends" with this guy was totally not worth it. With a sigh of frustration, he took a few more bites of his pizza. Then the familiar buzz came again. He picked up his cellphone:
"WELL FUCK YOU!"
In a fit of anger he jumped from his seat, and threw the chair he sat on to the floor. He then grabbed his cellphone and scrambled with the keypad:
"Fine. FU–" he then erased the two letters 'F' and 'U', "–SCRE –" again, he erased the letters 'S', 'C', 'R', and 'E' - "I'm done with you."
After sending it, he slammed his cellphone on the table. With his arms crossed, he didn't have to wait more than a minute for a reply:
"That is F I N E with me. Why don't you go suck a dick, bitch? You might as well since you are such a pussy when it comes to living life up."
In a fit of anger, he slammed both of his fists onto the table. Not going to reply, he turned around and blindly threw his cellphone. A mistake.
His cellphone went flying through the air, and it soon smashed against the kitchen wall above the sink. As it hit the wall, his cellphone broke into pieces that went flying out in different directions. In an instant the top half of his phone went straight for the dish rack, with his cup still there. Then, to his great horror, he felt as if his world went in slow motion as he watched his favourite mug fall to the floor with the dish rack.
"DAMN IT!" he shouted, furious. As he cursed the phone and the one that caused his anger, he made his way to pick up the cage that was the dish-rack; his mug was underneath it. As he lifted it, however, his anger soon turned into sadness and then an immediate panic as he realised that pieces of his favourite mug laid all over the kitchen floor by the sink. Panic then turned into chaos: his favourite mug was broken – BROKEN!
In a panic, he tossed the dishrack aside, dropped to his knees, and then gasped and groaned as his right knee-cap was gashed by the remnants of what he loved. He began to fumble with the broken glass in his hands trying desperately to think of a way he could fix it. While doing so, he soon dropped the pieces he held in his hand as he howled in pain. He looked at his now bloodied left paw, which was shaking. He looked to the floor: the pieces he held were now in even more pieces, and blood was dripping from his digits on his right paw.
Fighting back tears of building depression and dying anger, he stood and soon found his back was against the wall adjacent to the mess. He felt as though things were becoming hazy, but he knew deep down inside, everything was painfully clear; his situation was painfully clear.
He slowly slid to the ground and began to rock back and forth. At first, he sniffled as he wiped a tear from an eye; then a tear from the other eye; then tears from both of his eyes. After doing the ritual a couple of more time, he stopped wiping his face, for his were eyes burning from the blood on his digits, he ran his paws through the the fur on his head; as if it was some attempt to try and wipe off the feelings that the situation brought.
It was no use, however, as he soon fully realised what had happened. And soon enough, he was sobbing in his hands, smearing blood on his face as he did so. He wiped his face yet again. He picked up his head and saw the remnants of something he loved; he screamed out his inner turmoil, relishing the comfort of useless shrills that really did nothing; again, he screamed, adding yells that magnified the flow of red tears.
Sobbing still, he brought his knees close to his body. He hugged his legs into his chest with his arms as he began to rock back and forth. It was broken, like he was.
END OF STORY
This a story I wrote a couple of years ago...like, three or four, I think. I just wanted to post something just to see what response (if any) I may or may not get. I want to post some new material here, and, well, what a better way to get started then with a short story!
Some comments would be most appreciated!
Thanks for taking the time to read this and whatnot; it means the world to me!! <3
-White Tanniyn
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