Thursday, August 18, 2016

‪#‎TheLostRoadtoHope‬ ‪#‎DontSurviveLive‬ ‪#‎Dreamcast‬

‪Chloe Grace Mortez as ‪#‎KaylaYoung

‪#‎wearebeggingyouamell‬ ‪#‎whynotamell‬ ‪#‎roadtoamell‬ ‪#‎doitfortheartamell‬

From The Lost Road to Hope
Chapter 2: Pretty in Pink

What a douche!

I act like I am reading but I want to get up and smack the shit out of him.

What a fucking jerk!

Like his life is any worse than mine. I slam the magazine on the chair, fold my arms, and glance up at the TV. Great all they show here is FOX News, like they need to add insult to injury.

“In other news, another suspicious suicide in a small, rural Mexican town, the details when we return,” the closed captioning scrolls across the bottom of the screen.

They muted the volume again. I guess they don’t want to disturb us sickly freaks as we wallow in our misery. They could have least ponied up and got some new magazines. Lord knows they make enough here nursing us sick freaks.

I look up at the clock at the wall. They’re not coming, again. Why would they, after I unloaded on them like I did. She just had to nitpick again, trying too hard to be the mother she never will be. She is still upset that she got stuck with the cancer kid, a little too much than she bargained for.

What a bitch!

I know it’s the new, big, hip, thing to show how wonderfully selfless you are by taking in troubled kids. But heaven forbid, not one who is terminal. God, I hate her, with her perfectly poofed, died blonde hair.  She thinks she’s a real fashionista. I wonder what her desperate housewife friends would think about all of her trips to Wally World.

Just another fucking wannabe!

And don’t get me started about her robotic, ball less husband, I bet she keeps’ em in her imitation Gucci purse.  I look back at the TV as the captions continue to scroll.

“The seventh alleged suicide in as many days occurred in a small rural village deep in Mexico. Another individual was discovered, this time, the result of a single gunshot wound to the head.”

What’s this trash about?

The words continue to spew across the screen.

“Authorities believe the deaths may be related, neighbors and family of the deceased report the same strange behavior prior to the suicide that was eerily similar to that which was exhibited by the other victims. In this most current death, the male victim whose name has still has not been released, told anyone who would listen about seeing strange creatures at night that tried to attack him on several occasions, appearing out of nowhere and then disappearing just as quickly.”

Couldn’t be drug related could it, I mean not that Mexico’s known for that type of thing.

“The prior victims also allegedly conveyed similar comments. Some accounts told in even greater detail and even providing illustrations of the alleged creatures.”

Enough of this shit!

I pick up another magazine.


I fumble around in my pockets.

Where the hell is my iPhone?

Not in there, instead I find an old brush.

Won’t be needing that anymore!

I fling it at the trash can. It misses and ricochets off the wall.


Where the hell is it?

I continue to search. She had to pick a fight right as I woke up today! She knows how I get every time I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror first thing in the morning. I get to start every day with this
thing I have become starring back at me.

What the hell is wrong with her?

Is she that clueless?

It’s not here!

Damn, I forgot it again.

I hate this stupid sweat suit.

I hate pink.

I look like a big bottle of Pepto.

But this is all she could find in my size, she says.

Such bullshit!

Why in the world would I trust her fashion sense, I see the disaster that it is on her every day.

“You look so pretty, baby,” she tells me before we leave.

Yah and you must be stoned bitch!

When you drink as much as she does, your judgment is a bit impaired. But if I was married to ball less I would drink constantly too. If I woke up every morning being her I would hit something harder. I then realize my body language is not as private as I thought it might be. Everyone in the lobby is staring at me.

Oh well!

My face must be red as all out. Maybe it will distract everyone from this fucking stupid flamingo suit. He’s glaring at me again, that Jackass.

You guys want to stare at me!


You want something to really look at?

I rip of my bandanna so my melon can shine brightly under the fluorescents. Take a look freaks, behold the bald, pink, princess of cancer kingdom and go straight to hell!

“Ms. Young,” the nurse sighs as she stands before me.

Damn she’s getting’ quicker!

“Now let’s stop that and settle down, the doctor is almost ready to see you,” she ever so gently corrects.

What a patronizing bitch!

She smiles at me making the desire to slap her almost unbearable.

“Yes madam,” I concede as I flash her my infamously plastic smile. “Sorry about that, must be a mix of the pain killers and anti depressants acting up again.”

She can easily sense my thick, relentless sarcasm and insincerity but she doesn’t miss a beat.

“Well dear that may be true but we can’t have you disturbing the other guests,” she says sternly but patiently.

What is she, fucking Mary Poppins!

These people are not guests, were fucking patients. No make that dead men walking.

You fucking plastic android!

That’s what I want to say, but what came out was something like, yes madam I apologize or okay, thank you, some shit like that. What’s the use of standing up anymore for anything? Who would care, or remember?  She walks away.

The others have stopped starring and have returned to their own wallowing. Maybe they think if they act like I’m invisible, I will just go away. Yah, good luck with that, idiots! I’m as real as it gets, beauty slowly transforming into decaying beast. I don’t know what hurts more the pain or the anger.

There’s that stupid guy again and he’s still starring. As much as I want to kick him in crotch until he can taste his testies I have to respect him. At least he has the courage not to look away. Maybe he
actually gets it or maybe he’s just a mega freak.

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