Writing Wednesday: A blog and some Sad

First off, I blogged for The Class of 2k11 this morning, check it out here.

Secondly. Here is a snippet from the book formerly known as Sad, which for now I'm changing to FML.  It is unedited, R rated, and not for the faint of heart.  You may leave comments if you wish.

     Speak of the devil.  Tammy walked in humming some sickingly sweet love song, looking way to peppy for my tastes.  Instead of punching her in the face I only glare in her general direction.  She stops in her tracks, looks over at me and lets out a little yelp.  I can’t help but giggle.  “Jesus, Syd, you scared the shit out of me.  What the hell are you doing home?”

     “Brooding,” I said and went back to looking out the window.

     “What are you brooding over?” 

     I looked back at her.  She didn’t give a shit, that much was certain.  She stood there with her stupid messy blond ponytail, hand on her jutted out hip, her legs shooting out of her boxers like sticks.  She made me sick.  “Fuck off, Tammy,” I said.

    “Jesus, you kiss mom with that mouth?  I’m trying to be nice here.”

    “Go be nice somewhere else?  What are you even doing here?  Out of places to bed hop?”

     Her face fell.  I’d hit her where it hurt.  But everyone knew she was a slut.  She rarely spent a night at home.  Still, I’m sure she wasn’t proud of it, and I felt guilty.  I shouldn’t take my frustrations concerning David and Haley out on Tammy.  Even if she was a major bitch.   “Hey, Tammy, I’m sorry.  It’s just . . . David and I broke up.”

     She gave me a puzzled look and then asked, “Who’s David?” 

     And this was why I hated her.  She cared nothing about the world around her.  All she cared about was how she looked and who she was going to lay.  I went from remorse to rage in two seconds flat.  “My boyfriend.”

     She stared at me as if I was speaking a foreign language.  Then she said, “You have a boyfriend?”  as if it was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard.

      “Had,” I said.  I stood up, bumped into her as I passed, nearly knocking her against the wall, and went to my room.

     She called after me, “How the hell was I supposed to know?”

     “Open your eyes,” I yelled back right before slamming my door so hard it knocked my framed picture of me and Haley off my wall.  It crashed to the wooden floor, which was fine with me.  I walked over to it, grabbed the frame and threw it in my trash can.  I started picking up the big chunks of glass when one sliced into my finger.    I automatically dropped the glass, but then just stared at my finger, mesmerized.  Why?  I’m not sure.

     Watching the blood as it dripped from my finger to my wrist, down to my elbow and then to the floor, was serene in a strange way, like sitting on the edge of a stream of blood, watching as it twists and turns over the terrain of my arm.  And I felt this release as if everything that had happened the last couple days was oozing out of me, becoming nothing but a pool of heartbreak on my bedroom floor that I could wipe up and throw away.

  For the first time in the last twenty four hours I felt . . . a kind of peace.  I also felt like I was going to pass out.