A Steady Situation 3, Part 1

An overall moribund dusk. The sun had never arrived to burn the dew off of the grass, and the trees were hanging with water, the wind having split some of the branches.

The facts are: your grades have not been good, you have no friends and you’re completely incapable of taking advice. Are you paying attention?

Yes, mum.

No, you’re not, and I know that because your pupils are wide, and dark. Can you think of a metaphor for that?

I don’t know, I’m a teenager, and I’m not a writer. They’re so dark and wide because they’re trying to initiate an eclipse. On everything that’s you and you’re part of. She didn’t say that.

They’re pissholes. Dingy pissholes that’re just begging, ‘Please, I’m such a depressing loner, and no-one cares about me, would someone just piss in my direction to make me feel better about myself’.

She was well past the point of being provoked when her mother would do this sort of thing, but it still made her angry. Nevertheless, she still found some pleasure in making the connection about the endless bottles of piss her mother would drink. Or better yet, that she was the bottle that was pissed into, and was just waiting for her droves of readers to drink out the authoritarian dribble so her mother could experience a temporary feeling of cleanliness. Or better yet…

The conversation went on, but the thing they had in common was neither was listening. At least she wasn’t for a good reason. She hoped.