Pixelart Zaerisfade

is it coffee time!? 

mushroom: can you feel your heart burning? can you feel the struggle within? the fear within me is beyond anything your soul can make. you cannot kill me in a way that matters

Like no, if I liked a book I also “honestly” liked that book, and not having found a lot of problems doesn’t make me any less honest of a reviewer.

But this time, this time you’ve got him beat.

“It’s empty, bitch!” you say, spreading your arms wide and grinning maniacally. Every piece of furniture in your apartment is gone. Your flatscreen TV is bolted to the wall, preventing any tunnel from being dug and concealed behind it, your cabinet doors are gone, leaving you an unobstructed view of your spices, and you’ve replaced the chairs with flat cushions from home depot. 

Your bed is a blanket on the floor because you know from experience that Bruce Willis can make himself thin enough to fit in the mattress. You filled the small space left when you open a door all the way with foam and you’ve triple-locked your front door and patio door. You don’t have curtains and you’ve polished the window glass so that there’s no way for him to hide behind the dirt.

In the middle of your living room, where the coffee table used to be, is a jar of nutella and a single spoon.

“It’s you and me,” you say to the nutella, rubbing your hands together. Your therapist thinks your obsession is unhealthy and wishes you’d let her recommend you to some good inpatient programs. Your therapist has never been through what you’ve been through.

You combat roll across the floor because it’s kind of nice to have so much space. You scoop up the jar in one hand and the spoon in the other, lifting both to the sky as a sign of triumph. The Circle of Life plays in your head and you have to hold back tears.

It’s a powerful moment.

Finally, you can’t take it anymore. You rip off the lid and use the handle of your spoon to punch a hole in the seal over the top. You pause as it goes through, dunking the metal in the delicious chocolate hazelnut spread.

You’ve never gotten to the point of actually touching the nutella.

Joy floods your veins, making you feel light and beautiful. You withdraw the spoon and you begin to salivate at the sight of the creamy chocolate adhering to the handle. You can smell the chocolate and the nuts and this is going to be awesome.

You open your mouth, bringing the handle to your tongue and–

“YIPPEE KI-YAY, MOTHERFUCKER,” Bruce Willis screams, dropping down from your ceiling. He’s dressed in a tank top and jeans. He’s always dressed ina  tank top and jeans.

Bruce Willis slaps the spoon from your hand, inadvertently slapping you in the process, and then round house kicks the jar out of your other hand.

You fall to the floor after your precious Nutella and choke on a sob as Bruce Willis gets there first. “No!”

Bruce Willis puts the top back on the jar and pockets the spoon, uncaring that it’s probably staining his pants. “My work here is done.”

“How’d you even get in?” you ask. You don’t bother getting up. it’s over. You flop onto your back and blink at what you find on the ceiling. “Did–did you come through an air vent.”

“No,” Bruce Willis says sarcastically. “I came from the coast, had a few laughs and thought I’d drop by.” He rolls his eyes and starts heading for the door. “Smart ass.”

That’s another thing about Bruce Willis. He always seems to be in character as McClane from Die Hard. You used to ask him why. Now, you’re too broken.

“Air vents can’t support people,” you whine. You squint at the open hole in your ceiling. “And I’m pretty sure that there wasn’t an air vent there before.”

“Welcome to the party, pal,” Bruce Willis says. He gets frustrated with the locks and kicks your door out.  “Merry Christmas.”

“It’s April,” you say, but it’s too late. He’s gone.

flawed characters are important, esp if they grow from their mistakes and tragedies.