Choice and Exposition

Posted on: March 17, 2011

“Oh my god, did you hear what she said?  What nerve!  She never pulls her weight.  She is such a little tattle-tale and a liar.  Ugh! I just can’t stand her!”  My co-worker slides a silver cup towards me, offering me a drink.  I hesitate only a moment, a very brief pause before greedily drinking down the murky water.  The mystery brew that stinks like sulfur tastes surprisingly sweet even though the texture is gritty, slimy, it sticks to your tongue; the thin-film floating on top clings to your upper lip, and the only truly identifiable element of the contents is hair.  The metal of the cup pings as I set it back on the counter-top.  What is that among the dregs of this sweet concoction?  Could that be… a rotted out human tooth?  Surely not.  I look up at my co-worker and open my mouth to speak.  “*Resounding Gong*”  My co-worker grabs her hears. “STOP IT!” she shouts, attempting to speak over the deafening frequency of my altered voice.  I try again to speak and tell her I can’t help it. “*Clanging Cymbal*”  Glass objects all around us start to shatter.  I feel as though my brain might burst through my skull at any moment, the pain is so intense.  My co-worker screams.  The overflow of my filth-filled heart has become evident to all.


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