“This War Is Ours” is Escape The Fate’s new album and also happens to be the title for my new post that fits quite well.
Last Friday my house guests were gone. Staying with friends or a grandmother, I think. They hadn’t arrived nor called since yesterday night. Monday night. I heard someone at the door and the terribly strong smell of cigarettes. I glided to a window to see if it was really them, how could it not be? I ran back to my room hoping Layla wouldn’t see me. Layla brought back a box covered in blankets. One of their kittens. After thirty minutes I was already back to wanting to take a daily dose of cyanide or a lethal injection.
Today I was downstairs practicing guitar, scales to be exact and Layla comes into the room. I say something random, “I got to see my homie at Hot Topic last Sunday.” She replies, “I walked past there, but didn’t go in. Though I did go to Spencer’s.” I go on, “The Spencer’s at the mall is sectioned. There is a big wall with the “stuff” on one side at all the T-shirts and junk on the other half.” Layla responds, “I saw this maternity shirt there that says, ‘Don’t worry, it’s not yours.'” UGH. Is all I could think. So I tell her, “Once I saw this nasty shirt there that said ‘I’m not fat I’m just knocked up.'” “How is that nasty?” Layla asks. “Who would want to wear a shirt that says you’re knocked up on it?” I ask with a hint of attitude in my voice. “It’s not nasty, that’s what you are when you are pregnant.” I didn’t say anything. If I had the guts I’d tell her off. Scream in her face and maybe throw a punch or two, but that’s just my imagination, right? I ignore her and she walks out of the room. God, I’m going over the edge I swear. There are worse things my mother has pointed out. Like being a visitor at someone Else’s house.
We are babysitting a guinea pig over winter break. Our visitors Abby, Layla, and Lacey have had loads of stray pets, of course guinea pigs as well. The day our friends dropped the guinea pig off I walked over to the girl who owns it and said, “Hey, you want me to make sure they don’t touch it?” A sinister grin spread across my face. “Yeah.” she replied back. Yet Layla keeps making kissy faces at it and it drives me nuts! I stare at her from behind as a short film goes on inside my head. “Sorry, you can’t touch the guinea pig. Her owner told me so.” I say with a smug grin. “I’m sorry, but you’re just rude.” Layla says to me. I smile, give way one laugh and reply, “I never said I wasn’t.” I get up close to her and give her a good shove, then turn and walk away. She grabs me by the arm as I scream for my father, I bite her wrist so hard I tear through skin like a vampire (RAWR). Layla lets go and cries. Except that didn’t happen.
When I’m extremely mad my hands shake, I clench my jaw, and produce a look in my eyes that burns with hatred. My dad can barely accept that I don’t like these people or even know them. HA! The next time someone asks me, “What are you doing?” I’ll probably say something like, “Waiting to rot.” and go back to whatever I was doing before.
Let the war begin.