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“He is distressed about the outcome of the poker game last Monday.” “Well, that’s because Mr. Murdoc is like a carpenter who misplaces his tools,” Kimrean said, sitting up, a stray right hand stealthily sliding toward the drawer on that side of the desk. The green and brown eyes checked for a reaction from the audience. “A saw loser…Really? Do I need to explain this one?”
God, or Mother Nature, or whatever there is, didn’t create siblings to keep us company. It did to make us compete and succeed at each other’s expense.
“Femme fatale? It’s an archetype: the devious, beautiful woman with a dark past and compromising knowledge, playing other characters like chess pawns and getting the hero into trouble. That’s who you are now. Innocent but dangerous.”
Only this time it was a true femme fatale: a deceptive, strong woman forged over fire and cooled in liquid nitrogen, escaping from a turbulent past and ready to dump her baggage on the first samaritan to fall for her charms. An angel of bronze skin and Kuiper Belt black eyes, whose sinusoidal silhouette on the door spelled only one word: trouble.
How confused they were when they saw how much I’d grown. Like, ‘Should we scorn her because she’s a kid? Or should we objectify her because she’s a woman? What kind of shit should we make her feel like?’ ”
You, and your family of amoral cunts, are accessories in my story, and I’m weeding you out!
Because adults are fucked up: we are so toxic that we ruin good things just by thinking of them, so nihilistic we wouldn’t know what to do with your kindness, so hypocritical we think the right move is to kick you out into the street, to throw you to the wolves before someone thinks we are wolves ourselves.
