For my secret Santa
Youâd think Iâd be over it? After all this time, I havenât really thought about it all that much. It was quite easy actually, I removed all the things that made me think of âŚher. I burned my bed, threw out every single mirror and slept on the floor for a few years or a few days. I bought a new bed after a while, of course. Rerouted my travel to not pass the antique store, stopped dining out and stayed far far away from the edge of town and any spire that may happen thĂŠ be there. But no, Iâm thinking about her and itâs not even a special day, just another Thursday(in the literal sense, because Friday is sick of being a stepping stool to the weekend, âwhy is it always âitâs Friday, tomorrowâs the weekend!â And never âitâs Friday! Can I just take a moment to tell everyone that I love this day, and donât care for any pesky other days that come after, I donât even remember what comes afterââ Friday hisses to Thursday â Iâm just so sickâ Friday complains, Thursday decides to take Fridays shift until you people learn to treat Friday with the respect they deserve) . There I am, watching the scorpions play, the new strategy is not doing them justice, Latrice might want to rethink the strategy of surprise. Then suddenly, the players are blurry, not the kind of blurry you get when the sheriff secret police messes up the brain tracker, but fuzzy like water over the eyes, because thatâs exactly what was happening. I didnât see how the match ended, I didn't even think about it as I ran past the antique store and back to my house. The faceless old woman was clearly in the middle of something because there was half a circle of dead rats, each head touching the other's tail. I walked straight past it and into the bathroom. I was over it, I must be. âBut you still canât look in the mirrorâ Ă voice said to me, it was unclear if it was my own thoughts or the faceless old women. I ripped the cloth from my bathroom mirror. I looked like a mess, my beard once evenly buzzed now sat uneven on my skin, my eyes were red and tears were falling freely. No second me, no Francis. I wipe my face. There is so much more to me than her. I daughter off strexcorp by showing them my tongue, I used to coach the scorpions for goodness sake. I take a deep breath and cover the mirror. This is not the time, I can panic later. âWhen is later? Iâm worried for yo-â I walk past where I assume the faceless old woman is continuing her âartâ project and back outside. Just jog it off. And so I did, ran for hours along the side of route 800, I Indy turned around when I saw this strange place called âking cityâ and a very recognisable man with a tanned jacket and a deerskin suitcase.
@wtnvsecretsanta
@nobodysyou




















