It’s as clear as a photograph on a sunny day that you hate me. You say things to shame and devalue me but all I hear with these great, big ears is what you are so desperate to conceal.
Your lame attempts to hide your real motives under a veil of disgust may throw your friends off but I can smell the fear, as potent and rancid as sour milk. It seeps out from every forced chuckle and fake grin.
These big eyes see that behind the macho facade there is a little boy trying his best to mimic a man. So, when I saunter in unapologetically, flaunting my large frame as a feminine triumph, your tiny ego can’t handle it. A large, powerful woman has always been a threat to the manhood of the miniscule.
You can’t walk by a single store without some grotesque pink and red tribute to the vilest holiday ever to be spewed from the festering underbelly of hell. Worse yet, you get to see happy couples frolicking about blissfully unaware that they are making people ill with their toxic cuteness. I’m sure that’s what people must feel when they see Bill with his whore. God knows, it makes me want to retch every time.
Like me, Bill was never big on holidays. I never received so much as a card on Valentine’s Day. Not that it bothered me, mind you. We had plenty of ways of expressing our love without overpriced flowers, crappy chocolates oozing with unidentifiable fillings, and sappy Hallmark cards. Love doesn’t come from a store. All that mattered was that we were happy. Or at least I thought we were.
The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman is the chilling tale of a doctor’s wife being driven mad. The tale is set during an era when conditions like depression were treated with extended periods of bed rest and a pronounced lack of stimulating activities. It’s not hard to fathom how this could have caused many people to fall into a state of psychosis. The story reads as journal entries that become progressively disturbing. This short story is highly recommended for those who like a darker, moody, creepy tale.
English: American feminist poet and writer Charlotte Perkins Gilman (1860–1935) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
This 100 word story is a continuation of The Escape – Friday Fictioneers. If you want a better idea of what’s going on in this story, I suggest you read that first.
Eric was startled from his slumber thanks to someone pounding on the door to his suite. With a yawn he threw on the silk robe he had taken from a naive tourist. He didn’t normally steal from his victims but it was of his refined taste and he’d hate to see it go to waste.
He opened the door but no one was there, just a letter at his feet. He caught the faint trace of a familiar scent as he bent down to pick up the envelope. It couldn’t be. Eric swallowed hard when he saw the handwriting. Elle?!
Some trolls live under bridges and others in mommy’s basement.
This guy’s video sums up how I view internet trolls. It’s actually a pretty interesting subject if you are into psychology at all. Fast forward 45 seconds in to see the start of that subject.