Rolling My Eyes

Samantha always hated going to church. 'Thou shall not this' and 'Thou shall not that'. She felt it was pointless to be told not to do what she wouldn't do anyway. And since she turned 13 and officially too old for Sunday school, there was no escaping Reverend Patrick's rants. His very long, very loud, two-hour rants. Not that Sunday school had really been any better. Everyone was loud there too. Poor Mrs. Chute’s voice was so high-pitched, when she yelled "Quiet!", she just blended in with the screaming kids. Samantha felt bad for her, so she hid in a corner pretending to read her Bible; a pocket-sized copy of Huckleberry Finn or The Swiss Family Robinson tucked neatly inside, while the other kids ran dizzy around the room wearing the plump, little woman out. Mrs. Chute also came to teach religion class twice a month at the school. Mostly she would teach songs and read the stories she was never able to during Sundays' classes. At home, Samantha...

Sissy threw her cereal around the kitchen from her highchair. Milk and Cheerios hitting the kitchen cabinets, before sliding to the floor. "I want a cookie, Tommy, I want a cookie," she wailed over and over again. But Tommy was late and he did not answer her. Instead, he wheeled the highchair into the living room and flipped on the television; finding a cartoon. "Let Momma sleep awhile," he warned his little sister. Momma was still asleep on the couch. "O-tay, Tommy," she replied, and Tommy reached over and took the two-dollar bill that was on the coffee table, and he ran out the front door and to school. The big green doors of the school were pretty big compared to Tommy. He looked up at them and then down to himself reflected in the dark glass. Maybe I won't go to school today. Tommy had thought this before. Sometimes as a daydreams and sometimes as bed dreams and sometimes at times like these. Tommy hated walking into class late. Everybody sta...

She could not taste the gin, but she could feel the gin and the slow burn down to her belly every time she took a swallow. She looked around the room and noticed her half-read Emily Bronte. She wanted to be like her. Just like a man. Maybe, if she were just like a man, maybe then she could forgive herself for wanting to do this. For allowing her heart to be part of this. And then she threw out the thought completely. Stupid, men are always right; therefore, never in need of forgiveness... “What is the matter with you?” Her mother asked her twice through dinner and Becki had been Emily Bronte then. Stone-faced, she had stone-walled her mother’s questions and asked others. “Mother, are those new shoes?” Edward Julian Watson had let the cold water run hard and fast earlier, so he could make juice, and now much later, he was trying to fix the kitchen faucet because it had never fully shut off after. The big drops of water hit the sink loudly,interrupting his reading now, but had n...

As the tears dripped down her cheeks, she looked up to find Tommy standing over her, with his hands held securely at his sides. She could see that one fist was more bulged than the other, and before she had time to think of the trouble, he stabbed her in the chest, taking the baby, while she and the pillow fell to the floor. There was no crying, and no gasping for air, only running out into the cold January air where Tommy slipped on the ice, landing on the same knife he just stabbed her with. The baby could never withstand the cold, she knew this, when she looked through the window. He was only wearing his diaper and undershirt and the wind was whipping. She turned on the outdoor light, watching Tommy for the next hour, to make sure he was still breathing. He had stabbed clean through her left tit. No real damage done. When the rain started coming, thick with frozen ice, she turned it off and went to bed. She set her alarm for 4:30 in the morning. And Tommy was easy to wake-up then,...

I feel lonely. She thought it to herself for the 100th time that day. Even amongst the stuff of others. The stuff she would trip over. The stuff in every freaking corner. Even amongst their mutters and moans, their words, their letters. Alone. She rationalized. She generalized. Of course, everyone secretly feels this way. Of course, they do. Tommy didn't pay his half of the rent again yesterday. Of course not. She saw it coming, watching him pretending it was not. He tried to give her 100 dollars. "Way to go, Mr. Coporate Confrence-Call." She was disgusted with him. With herself. She had seen it coming. An apple a day keeps the doctor away... She remembers the chanting voice of her first grade teacher. Mrs. McDonald. She was so old and she would move around the classroom so fast. She would go home and ask her grandparents why they did not. She believed in that little rhyme. She knew she was human. She knew she had to eat. And she hated the doctor. Tommy ...