the bitch in the pit is on a rampage. she has no sense of reason and very little idea of patience. she looks for offense, so usually finds it. she’s rantish today. stalking back and forth in the corridors, snarling and daring anyone to as much as make a sound.
she’s all stiff, tense and energy coiled tight, waiting to explode. were you to listen, you could hear her grumbling, half-snarling, cursing. she is the keeper of anger, of course. protector who screams defiance at the world. unending strength but only because every moment brings fuel for it. she takes the brine and hurt and tears, carefully picks up all the shards of shattered things, lovingly collects it and presses it between her hands; making briquettes that go into the fire, her fuel, to do what must be done.
she notices the things i would not. picks each one up to stretch it, pull it taunt, raise it on a frame for observation… make it bigger than can be missed even by me. she wants me to see it, because if i do, it creates more fuel for her. she points at it and all but hisses to me, ‘look…. stupid thing, even YOU cannot fail to see it now. look!”
and inevitably, i do. and she smiles, all toothy, feral, knowing.
today, she shows me silence. she shows me she sent a message, all polite and proper and cordial. showing me how easily it would go unanswered…. now… chuckling in her ugly way as she reminds me, “you see? everything changes when it comes to asking for something for yourself, doesn’t it?”
she walks slow circles around me, letting the quiet underscore her question, not needing me to answer, the lack of my response being a response. i can see her growing bigger with it…. all smugly satisfied to know she’s right. how i would love to wipe that look from her face. but i cannot.
what it would take is more than i’ve ever had.
stiff-legged stalking. she is daring me to deny it. to give her a reason to prove it more forcefully. push the issue. she wants to fight.
i have no fight left in me. and i realize that she doesn’t understand that i need the belief. the hope. she thinks she is protecting me. she doesn’t see the blood.
just as well. i am no longer sure if it would matter, or just push her into a feeding frenzy.
she is dangerous. and i am not willing to see her unleashed. i sit quietly. hold back tears. let the crimson rain slip without note or notice down the side of me and make silent puddles on the floor.
she has always been right. i hate her for it. but more than this, i long for the day when i can prove her wrong.