play dates with madmen
It was evening, though she didn't really pay attention to the way the park lights had begun to flicker on. She whirled her tire iron around in her hands, the hard edge of anger boiling like a beacon. Her fingerless gloved creaked as she flexed them around the iron, slicing it through the air with precise, sharp strikes, working through the white hot fury. It didn't die.
It would never die.
Everything she'd lost, everything she'd gained.
What she'd seen and what she'd become.
For John, for Kyle.
Slice.
She was repressed, Silberman had said. Angry. He didn't know the half of it. How could he know? With his charts and histories and motherfucking diagnoses? He didn't know jack. Neither did this dumbass Vader who couldn't keep his mouth shut if it had been welded. She'd watched him. Kept her eye on his metal head and his big mouth.
Swing.
She was looking forward to denting him. If anything, the purge would be a good one. She didn't give a flying fuck if she wound up with a few herself.
It would never die.
Everything she'd lost, everything she'd gained.
What she'd seen and what she'd become.
For John, for Kyle.
Slice.
She was repressed, Silberman had said. Angry. He didn't know the half of it. How could he know? With his charts and histories and motherfucking diagnoses? He didn't know jack. Neither did this dumbass Vader who couldn't keep his mouth shut if it had been welded. She'd watched him. Kept her eye on his metal head and his big mouth.
Swing.
She was looking forward to denting him. If anything, the purge would be a good one. She didn't give a flying fuck if she wound up with a few herself.