HOME | DD

Description
The night is nothing but shadows and scarce light. My nails are digging into linens as I approach his bedside. I think over what would happen to me if I went through with this. The truth would finally come out, people would cheer me on. I'd go to Juvi until I turned 18.

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I am standing a short distance away from my dad's bed. As he sturs in bliss, or perhaps terror, I dig my nails into linens and watch the moon hug his skin. He is a scoundrel... but at the moment his face, at rest, could fool even me; I see the worst in everyone.

I take a step closer; I have my worries, but they're only fragments of glass in the fabric of a dangerous idea. They're pieces of lint on my sweater; ghosts darting through shadows in parts of my brain that I abandoned months ago. I have put a perpetual evening to test on that side of me, and it has been tattooed there against my will. I don't feel anything except the thrill of revenge to come, or the anticipation of him struggling beneath me... that mother fucker among mother fuckers. I feel like his reflection, would that mean that I would be killing myself? No... it's like breaking a mirror, isn't it....

This is what it's like being the devil's daughter...

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It's one of those days when all I can do is drink coffee and push. My whole life feels like pushing. Perhaps I'm an unbalanced force; inertia without a soul. Blah blah blah.

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Description
The night is nothing but shadows and scarce light. My nails are digging into linens as I approach his bedside. I think over what would happen to me if I went through with this. The truth would finally come out, people would cheer me on. I'd go to Juvi until I turned 18.

-----------

I am standing a short distance away from my dad's bed. As he sturs in bliss, or perhaps terror, I dig my nails into linens and watch the moon hug his skin. He is a scoundrel... but at the moment his face, at rest, could fool even me; I see the worst in everyone.

I take a step closer; I have my worries, but they're only fragments of glass in the fabric of a dangerous idea. They're pieces of lint on my sweater; ghosts darting through shadows in parts of my brain that I abandoned months ago. I have put a perpetual evening to test on that side of me, and it has been tattooed there against my will. I don't feel anything except the thrill of revenge to come, or the anticipation of him struggling beneath me... that mother fucker among mother fuckers. I feel like his reflection, would that mean that I would be killing myself? No... it's like breaking a mirror, isn't it....

This is what it's like being the devil's daughter...

-----------

It's one of those days when all I can do is drink coffee and push. My whole life feels like pushing. Perhaps I'm an unbalanced force; inertia without a soul. Blah blah blah.

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