A/N: ...I disappear for maybe a year and this is the first thing I submit when I get back. And this is really un-Wolfielike. As in, the excessive swearing. I... don't swear. And this probably doesn't make any sense. It's a little... insane, too. But aren't we all...
LietRus if you squuuuiiiiinnnnnt? Otherwise, the complete opposite. Everything's off and doesn't make sense and I know it, thanks.
Oh, paperwork. Paperwork and paperwork upon more paperwork. Stupid paperwork, stupid stupid paperwork. Rip it into pieces. Tear it into shreds. There, feeling better already.
Why are you wearing a coat inside when it's twenty degrees? Twenty fucking degrees and you're wearing a stupid coat. Stupid, stupid coat. And the scarf. Why can't you take off that stupid scarf? Stupid, stupid scarf. Why don't you just go strangle yourself with it?
Can't you see that I hate you? Can't you see anything through those eyes of yours, filmy violet-red staring nowhere? You remind me of the cat that got mangled in the bus tires last winter. Poor stupid fucking cat. By now it ought to be thawing out after the frost. Gods, your winters are cold as hell and summer reeks of decomposition. All those things that didn't make it through the winter, buried in the snow, uncovered only to be left to rot. I wonder if I'm going to end up one of them.
Look at you, lying on the floor as if already dead. Empty like the once-bottle-now-shattered-glass strewn across the floor.
I wonder if I should just go ahead and kill you right now. Put you out of your misery. Crack your skull open in the middle of your hazy, vodka-induced dreams. See this paperweight here? Nice, heavy paperweight. The truth is you don't need a fucking pipe to make someone hurt. Or not have to feel anything at all. Any single object imaginable can become an instrument of murder when used right. The stab of a pencil and there goes an eye. A stupid filmy orb of violet-crimson-splat-no-more. Choking on an eraser, ha, ha, ha- what a disgraceful way to go. Of course, as a last resort you could always go sniff some corrector fluid.
No, my hands aren't trembling. Stop smiling. Stop looking at me. Go to sleep. Oh gods, whatever you do, just stop that smiling. I wonder when the fucking ethanol will kick in. One of these days you'll die of alcohol poisoning and I'm not going to fucking care. Oh, fuck, just- whatever you do, stop looking at me like that.
No, I'm not about to cry, I'm not about to cry- no, no, I'm not crying. I'm not. I'm notnotnotnotnot-
Okay, you win. I'm not crying, there's just a fucking leak in my lacrimal glands.
Happy now?