Thursday, August 3, 2017

Writer's Workshop: Can It Be Saved?

Still. Motionless. Tears flowing down my face.

I stood there, holding my hard work in my hands.

I cannot believe this. I cannot believe she would do this to me. How competitive does one have to be to intentionally ruin someone's life-work? Seriously? I mean, seriously. She knows. She knows how important these pages are to me. Never mind the mess I am stuck with cleaning up. The amount of damage she has done. But this, this is unforgivable. Irreplaceable. Completely horrible.

What a bitch.

I looked up as she opened the door of the apartment and came storming in, chatting on her phone, plopping her bags and umbrella down near the front door. I watched her toss her keys onto the table, start skimming through the mail. She didn't even look over at me. Could she not see me? I was standing right there. Bitch.

Finally, she looked up. I watched the color drain from her face. I'll have to call you back, I heard her say, slowly closing her phone as the mail fell from her hands.

What the hell? What the HELL?

Exactly, I thought. EXACTLY.

What the hell happened here? Oh my G-d. Oh my G-d!

I felt myself smiling bitterly. Yes, yes, YOU did this, you bitch. You did this and now you will have to pay.

She fell to the floor in front of me, sifting through the papers. I heard her start sniffling. Why, why, why? Why would this happen? What was she talking about? SHE did this. That's why. Was she kidding me? I watched her feel the breeze coming through. Smelled the rain. She looked to the window, started laughing and sobbing all at once.

Seriously? SERIOUSLY? Thanks, sis. Thanks. Thanks a lot,
I heard her whisper.

ME? You can't honestly be blaming me for this. It's you. You did this!
She ignored me. Are you listening to me? It's your fault. You ruined all my hard work. You always did hate me, wanted to be better than me. I'll pay you back someday, sweet sister.

She picked up page after page and started to place them gently on a cookie sheet she set up on the radiator. Why was she helping me? What was wrong with her, anyway? I slammed the window shut.

Thanks, sis. Too little too late, I suppose.

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