Poor Me!

The androgynous figure sat at staring at the monitor on the desk. Stale light flickered from it catching her greasy not-quite-shoulder-length hair and reflected off broken glasses that had been jury-rigged with wire and tape instead of being taken to a repair shop. Thin lips incapable of smiling remained in their normal mode of obvious disapproval. Behind her, a half-torn poster proclaimed “I believe!”.

“Everyone will learn that criticizing me has consequences. I’ll hurt them where they live. I’ll be a thorn in their sides until the internet goes dark.” She murmured. It was a comfort to hear her own voice.

“Honey?” a man’s voice floated down from the top of the stairs.

“DAD! I told you not to talk to me. You can’t talk to me during the daytime.” She yelled back without looking.

“Oh. I uh, forgot.”

“Well I didn’t.”

“Dinner is still at six-thirty, okay pumpkin?”

“Close the door dad.”

The door closed gently, but even this kindness was lost on her.

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