MUSHROOM m i n d

By Steph Raymond All Rights Reserved ©

Other / Poetry

16/06/2012

16/06/2012

The sun hung at its highest in the brightly lit sky and only a handful of clouds drifted about lazily

above.

Gemma enjoyed watching them hover over the fast moving trees out of the car window.

“That prick is gonna fucking pay.”

She sighs and resists the strong urge to roll her eyes at this childishness,

“Okay.”

She doesn’t even attempt

to hide her unimpressed sarcasm.

There was always something wrong, and it was always someone else’s fault with him.

Joseph bangs his fists on the steering wheel before shouting

“Why do you always have to be a

fucking bitch to me?

You don’t give a shit about anything I—”

his voice becomes muffled

as she raises the volume of the music playing,

only angering him further.

He shouts some more, his voice like

nails

dragging

s l o w l y a n d d e l i b e r a t e l y

down a chalkboard.

Her pulse quickens with her breath and she begins to shake.

She blocks out the music along with his voice

in order to focus on imagining what it would feel like to jump out of a moving car.

She looked to the trees.

If she survived, she could live in the woods,

in isolation and elation.

She is pulled back to reality when they park in an unfamiliar driveway.

She looks carefully at the shabby,

looming house before them.

This would be the first time they stay in their rented home together,

though

they still wouldn’t be officially moved in for another two months.

They simultaneously got out of the car;

he threw her a set of house keys and mumbled,

“welcome fucking home”

before stomping into the house.

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