Viewed Apathy and Ulterior Motives Leads to 3 Murders - News at 11
That blood started to rise to my face. That bad blood that I beg to get massaged out of my body was working it's way through me like venom. It's that vile cruor that brings with it an acid feeling to my eyes. My hair starts to burn at the root and my stomach feels as though it's falling from the top of a building. I can't control my knees as they bob my leg up and down. My ankles hitting the floor repeatedly as the terror in front of me continues. I put my fingers and hands compulsively near my mouth and start to chew on my fingernails. I couldn't take this rotten hot claret steaming through my body. Then comes the cracking of the neck and back and I knew I couldn't take this carnage anymore.
The carnage? What is this carnage?
"I got you a beer. Oh no wait, this totally stupid woman was like, waiting for this other totally stupid woman in line. And they were like, where's our hot dog? And we were like, OH MY GOD, hurry the fuck up."
"Oh no way?"
"Seriously." The 28-year-old girl spit this retort back. Something was amiss with her. There was too much make-up on for a Sunday afternoon out in the sun. Her belt looked as out of a place on her cheap designer jeans as her chipped painted fingernails looked wrapped around a soon to be flat and warm American symbol of apathy, the light beer. But, you could tell she was taken care of. She had those darting private school eyes. And the men both this girl, and her attempting twin, were with were tall, disease free, hygienically intact, and adorning current fashions, which placed them in jobs of ease attained by an upper education degree.
"So anyway, I heard Mary bought a house in White Marsh. I heard it was nice too like 400 grand. All tiled out and they said they are going to get really pretty furniture from Ikea."
"That's cool" burps back the man in the conversation. I see something swiftly glaze over his own body as if some sort of coating found on Krispy Kreme Doughnuts and on the corner of a Bum's mouth had been poured over him. It was the malaise of the nothing that had become him. He didn't strive to either attain goals for this girl or care about what she was saying. The least he could have done was to throw his beer in her face and tell her to close her mouth. Women get confused if you let them ramble on.
Her eyes move to her friends eyes and they rolled them together. Time after time they rolled and looked out over the people in front of them and at the men to their right. They are sitting at a baseball game and they are concerned. They are concerned about their lives as women. Women with initiatives and intentions unknown to men are what make up our world. Women hurl subtle hints, mute jabs of the tongue, and nudges of pain to subconsciously place trail marks in a man's head of what it is they want out of life. They are drawing a map by pursuing their own intentions. Those eyes were darting. They had no interest in the game. They were only there to gather information. Unbeknownst to her own mind she did all this. It is instinct for women. It is instinct to covet, claim, and then destroy what it is they have come to know. This is how she was raised. This is how she will survive. This is her death.