Reaper's Touch

Hex: The Storm

This was not the plan, you fucking fuck.

None of this was the fucking plan.

Fuck off.

Seriously.

Fuck ALL the way off and outta my thoughts!

Fuck right off to the BOGO deal buy one fuck get one free. And after you've fucked off until you feel like you can't anymore, some inspirational music will play over a montage of scenes with you training to fuck off stronger and better. Keep that goddamn Eye of the Tiger blasting 'cause you're gonna KEEP fucking off, motherfucker! Did I say you could stop? No I sure as fuck did not!

You're tired? FUCK YOU!

You don't get to stop until you come to a door that says, "No fucking off past here." Then you're gonna kick that door open and hold it so the other people fucking off behind you can go in first, 'cause you should be last. Then go through it yourself and if anyone stops you tell them to fuck off too.

I hate you so fucking much.

FUCK.

That last fuck broke the pencil, and Hex cursed out loud. She began frantically digging through her bag but found only pencil shavings and a lipgloss with the lid off, its pink creamy surface marred with purse grime. The search was pointless anyway. She knew damn well she didn't have another one.

It was the only thing that helped though.

Writing was the blade that opened the infected wounds in her heart and started the healing she desperately needed. Now, she couldn't finish today's surgery. The patient was on the table unconscious with its insides out. Gross.

An elderly woman looked up from her book and glared at her. Hex gave her the middle finger in response. Old people could be such fuckers.

The intercom fizzled with an announcement from the driver. The interruption gave both the old woman and Hex a reason to look out the rain-spotted windows of the bus just as the Chicago skyline appeared on the horizon. So familiar. Each glittering silver point of architecture pierced the morning sky like the facets of the diamond in the wedding band she never took off, even though she wasn't married. Never had been, in fact. At the thought Hex used her pinkie finger to grab the diamond and spin the ring around. With her hand closed in a fist around it, she felt the diamond poke her palm. The pain was a sip of water.

Hex was trying really hard to keep her anger up. She could feel it teetering in the wind about to break and plunge down into the ocean of sadness beneath it. And she wanted to stay dry today, so she battened down the hatches of her rage and prepared to ride out the storm inside of her.

She had seen a hurricane once when she'd lived in Florida. The wind had sounded like a freight train all night, which made her curious enough to want to see it. In the early morning before everyone else was up, Hex had gone outside into the destroyed backyard that was littered with shredded palm branches. There, the wind instantly grabbed her by the hair and flung her into the wet concrete side of the house. Rain and debris pelted her face, and her scream was swallowed in the roar of the storm like a tiny candle flame blowing out. No one was coming to help. That realization came quickly, as did the fear of what would happen next if she didn't keep moving. To save herself she'd had to inch sideways along the wall to get back to the door before the wind could grab her again.

Never in a million years did Hex think she'd see another storm like that. Then he'd gone and created one inside of her even bigger. So big it scared her. So big it was the whole horizon. This time, there was nowhere to hide.