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Before she knew it, she grabbed the knife and saw a pair of sad bleary hazel eyes, bewitching and beautiful otherwise, on a freckled pale face looking back at her. She looked terrible. The knife, too, seemed to tell her off, pushing her into a deeper slump, 'You don't belong up there girl. I'll show you your place, down below the cuts and bloods.'
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Multitudes of shapes were adorning the sky that night. A blue sparkling fountain, a yellow palm tree and a crimson chrysanthemum sprays emitting whizz and whistle sounds were shooting across the sky in quick runs, followed by a torrent of lights, a trail of bright sparks and a chain of loud bangs. Over 400,000 people gathered in downtown Columbus to celebrate the Independence Day with the most spectacular fireworks. They were cheering and chanting; partying all night in the streets.
Alone at work, Wendy Lane barely watched the celebration as it unfolded soundlessly on a muted television on the wall. Instead, she was checking emails and muttering curses under her breath. It was an email about how she was fat and ugly and a tease, and a whore. It was from a sick man she met from online dating. In the pub, while having some drinks, she had noticed something weird about his expression. She hadn’t been sure which part of it, perhaps his eyes. They appeared wandering, and half opened. What was more, his right hand was under the table, with suspicious motion. Something stupid crossed her mind. It couldn’t be. Oh crap, it was. He was touching himself! Apparently, she was turning him on so much that he couldn't help himself. She ended the date abruptly there and then. And the email she just read, was his follow up.
Wendy closed the email, sighed, grabbed a half-smoked cigarette between her long fingers from the ashtray and took a deep drag. It was dead quiet in the room. Emptiness and loneliness merged with her racing heart as she looked around.
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