Marcrutio
My fingers danced on the strings of my guitar, strumming another love song. Another one for her. My beautiful, beautiful love. Not as if I had much else to do. I had just been fired, again. It wasn’t my fault, though. It was never my fault.
“Marcrutio” I dropped my guitar. Oh no. The voice always ment bad news.
“What do you want?”
“Don’t talk to me like that!”
“What do you want!?”
“YOU WILL TREAT ME WITH RESPECT! Now APOLOGIZE!!!!!”
“You just lost me another job! I will never apologize to you!” I didn’t care if it killed me. Not anymore. I just didn’t want to live anymore. I made this life miserable. So miserable.
Oh crap. I was walking toward the oven. It was making me.
“Apologize!” I wouldn’t. It hasn’t ever done anything to deserve respect. My hand wrenched itself on the oven top.
“Apologize!”
“No!” My other hand flew to the switch.
“Fine, don’t, but after I make you burn your hand off, There are others I can make you hurt,” I knew exactly who he meant. Not because she was closest to me, although she was. Because she was the only one I’d ever cared about. It’s not as if this voice would let me have a family, and it’s not like I was born with one. I was orphaned.
“Well?”
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. My body crashed to the floor when he released his grip on me.
I’ll be back tomorrow, Marcrutio, and you will be much more polite. I felt him leave me. I was slumped on the floor, my head bowed. He can’t hurt her. He just can’t. In that one horrible horrible moment of total defeat, I cryed.
Email this story 
Print Story 
Add to reading list
