Bitches Be Jealous

I saw them. I saw them together.

 

There is he was, perfect in every way. I’d had my eye on him for over a year; I just hadn’t made my move yet. His hair, his fashion sense, his smile, his humor, everything about him suited me just fine. I dreamed of this boy every night, and the mere thought of him made me shiver. He was my everything.    

 

And there she was, all over him. Flipping her hair and smiling. Flawless skin and nails just begging for close-ups. She had the perfect proportions to drive anyone crazy. Popular beyond reason, she was looked upon by many as a shining example of what a woman should be. Slut. Slut slut slut!

 

I stood across the hall watching that girl, that girl!, flirt with my crush. How dare she? Didn’t she know that he was already, sort of, practically mine? Even though we weren’t officially dating or anything, he was still mine! Why couldn’t she see that? I watched as she laughed, leaning in close. She placed a hand on his shoulder and slowly traced his upper arm. I boiled over. Just because I’d never touched him like that, she thought it was ok? Everyone knew that I liked him!

 

That’s it. Shits going down. We both couldn’t chase after the same prey. Someone was going to have to die.  

 

“Jen?” Ashley walked up next to me, completely ignored in the heat of the moment. She followed my gaze and gasped. “Hey, isn’t that… and isn’t that…?”

 

“Shut up.” I said. Grabbing her face, I shoved her out of the way and walked towards the seemingly happy couple.

 

She saw me first and smirked. I bet she thought she was pretty clever. He hardly knew I existed after all; what would he know he’d missed out on if he dated her? A yard, a foot, an inch. Pulling back, I formed a fist and threw it, breaking that bitch’s perfect little nose effortlessly. She fell back against the lockers and slid down, holding her gushing mess of a face.

 

Shock crossed his face before I leaned in and kissed it, pouring in all the passion I felt for him into that one action. I enjoyed it for a moment or two. Pulling back, smiling, I licked my lips. “Call me,” I perked up and walked away, satisfied with the girl’s cries and the boy’s gasps.

 

My mother always told me to go after what I wanted wholeheartedly. I’m sure this is what she meant.   

Cell Fight

As a man openly pissed in a corner Mark sighed sadly. He did not belong here. Loneliness engulfed those thoughts along with his mind. He would not cry though. He would never cry.

Mark could do nothing of the past. It was of no use to him now. Now he must focus on the present. What was Mark going to do? He sat on the dirty wooden bench in the holding cell. One knee supported his chin as he bit his nail.

A harmless bump. That’s all it was. A man, infested by a drunken stupor most his life, stumbled as an octopus would into the very edge of Mark’s vision. Tripping over his own feet he bumped against Mark’s shoulder.

“Sorry brother,” The man stood and looked down at him through filmed eyes. “Didn’t see you there,”

“It’s alright.” Mark looked the man up and down before returning to his musing. The man continued to look down at him however.

“What’s wrong brother?” The man reached forward to grip the same shoulder he’d assaulted. “Ain’t I said sorry?” He gripped Mark’s shoulder tighter. “Why you want to ignore me like that? Think you’re too good to rise when a man such as I speaks to you?”  

Mark looked at the man with serious confusion and contempt. Why was he doing this? Any other man would have risen up and punched the offending man square in the jaw. Mark had hardly even noticed him. Why would purposefully pick a fight with someone who didn’t mean any harm? He thought he’d given him what he wanted. Apparently he wanted the opposite.

He wore a smirk on his face as he grabbed Mark by the shirt collar and hauled him to his feet. Mark didn’t fight against the pull. He really didn’t like to fight. But he supposed that, while he was here, he would have to put that personal distaste aside if he wanted to stay alive and with a shred of pride intact.

“What you going to do brother?” The waft of deprivation engulfed Mark’s senses as the man whispered closely. He glanced around. His other cell mates were not looking, not listening, but were very much paying attention. In this small of a place nothing goes unnoticed. No one rose to aid either man in their conquest. This suited both just fine.         

Without another word the man swung back to hit. Quickly, as one who has done the move before, Mark ducked out of the way, feeling the breeze over his head as a fist parted the air where his nose had been, and lurched forward, knocking the man off balance. Training kicked in and before the blink of an eye could be finished Mark had the man in a choke hold. Moments later he passed out.

A minute later a guard passed by. “What’s wrong with him?” He asked, motioning to the motionless body left lying in the middle of the floor.

Mark shrugged and the guard moved on, little concern on his face. Mark leaned back and rested his chin on his knee again. His father had always told him to make the best of any situation he found himself in.

Mark would try.  

I Need You

“Come home. I need you. Now.”

Male Version:

“Who is it Steven?” His co-worker asked. The two men sat in Steven’s office going over the schedule for the week.

Steven looked up from his phone. “It’s my wife. She just texted me.” He smiled. “She says she needs me.”

His co-worker smiled a sly smile. “You dog,” The two burst into laughter.

“Oh, you know how it is. I really am lucky she still loves a guy like me. Honestly, she can hardly keep her hands off me!” His co-worker nodded in understanding. “When I walk through the door at night I have to practically fight her off me. It’s like “Jesus woman, let me at least get my shoes off!” You know?” The two laughed again.

Sighing, he shut his phone and put it away, content to know his wife could wait until his work was done.

“Silly women.”

Female Version:

Abigail cured her husband. Why didn’t he answer her text? Hadn’t he read it? Didn’t he understand her urgency? Her need?

A robber pressed the gun harder against the back of her head. What misery. There she’d been, going about her day as usual; she’d stopped at home on her lunch to pick up some things. Standing in the bedroom she’d heard a quiet commotion downstairs. Instinctively, innocently, she’d gone to investigate. She saw the robbers before they saw her, thankfully, and she’d dashed back into the room. Shutting the door, she quickly hid in the closet. The robbers must have heard something however, for no sooner had she crouched amongst some clothes than she heard the bedroom door open.

She couldn’t call 911, they would hear her voice. Panicked, she did the next thing that came to her mind; she texted her husband. Fighting back pants of hysterics, she waited. Suddenly the closet door swung open. Looking up into the cold eyes of a man she didn’t recognize, Abigail screamed. He reached out and grabbed her by the hair. Fighting hard, she was drug out of the closet and down the stairs to the living room. Told to keep quiet, a gun was drawn.

This is about the time Abigail began to curse her husband. She watched as men stole everything. Car keys, TVs, clocks, watches, the new crock pot they’d received for Christmas, even their daughter’s piggybank. All gone. Finally, ten minutes later, she was thanked kindly for her cooperation and knocked unconscious.

A few hours later, Steven would come home to this scene, left completely surprised. Once she came to, Abigail would set about berating, both emotionally and physically, her husband for his ego. Then, much later, they would finally call the police.     

“Stupid men.”

Crash

“Are you sure this is ok?”

“Sure we’re sure.” Mike assured.

“Would we risk your life like this if we weren’t?” Michael asked.

“Yes, yes you would.” Shirley answered.

“Maybe, but all for the sake of science and glory!” Mike exclaimed as he applied more duck tape.

The three boys, ages 10, 11, and 12 respectively, known collectively as “The…”, only because the three couldn’t come to an agreement on a name (“Yet”, Michael would be quick to add) were young entrepreneurs looking to make their fortune in aviation. They were hoping to retire early and live on an island you see, and the best way for them to accomplish that was to invent a new form of transportation. Unfortunately, none had the funds to support a proper jet pack investigation, so they settled on attachable wings instead.

“But I don’t think—” Shirley started.

“We’re not paying you to think.”

“You aren’t paying me at all!”

“Hold still,” Michael adjusted the right wing, made from some random cardboard pieces and the occasional streamer. For looks.       

“Ok!” Mike took two steps back to admire his work. “I think we’re ready.”

“I’m not,” Shirley looked below. The trio stood atop a small drop off near the edge of town. The fall was only a few dozen yards really….

“Oh come on,” Michael shoved him playfully. “You volunteered, remember? Think of all that publicity you’re gonna get!”

“For dying?” Shirley panicked.   

“There is absolutely no way you could die from this height.” Mike chided. “We figured it.”

“You did?”

“Of course.” Michael dusted Shirley’s shoulders. “Now off you go.”

Tenderly, Shirley inched his way to the edge of the cliff and took one last, long look ever. “If I die,” He said, looking back. “I’m coming back and haunting you.”

“Yeah, ok, now get on with it already!” Mike said. Michael folded his arms. Both were ready to see some action.

Shirley breathed in and out, spread his arms just like Mike and Michael had shown him, and jumped. He had a strong, overwhelming sensation of falling.

Falling

F A L L I N G

F  A  L  L  I  N  G

F    A    L    L    I    N    G

Mike and Michael heard a loud THUMP! below. Glancing at each other, they quickly ran down the hill. At the very very bottom they found a pile of rubble, smoking slightly. Where the smoke came from, neither to this day could guess. They heard a low moan and rushed forward, piling a bit away here and a bit away there until they unveiled their friend.

Dazed and confused, Shirley focused his eyes on the two figures standing above him. “Am I dead?”

“I don’t think so.” Michael said.

“Oh… Let’s never do that again.” He croaked.

“Only if you don’t tell your mom.” Mike piped up. Michael elbowed him and shook his head.

Pulling their relatively uninjured friend from the crash site, the three left their invention where it lay and walked home peacefully, already discussing plans for the next weekend.