another day
By jamie
She wakes up at 4am and gets out of bed at 5:37. Every morning, every single morning, she wakes up, and her small little mind spins and spins and eventually it gives her a son, a thought. One foot slaps onto the floor, then the other. The cold tile sends a shiver from her toes up to her flat chest. Her room is covered, covered in posters of movies she know she likes but doesn't remember why. She should really rewatch them. Or something. Her morning routine is simple. Quick shower, brush teeth, brush hair, shave, bleed. Wipe the blood off her face with one gross, long finger and lick it up. It tastes warm and salty and has a hint of something else, probably oil from her greasy skin. Who cares. Her day is different, finally. She's going somewhere. She has a flight to catch, she's so ready. Finally finally finally something new. Its not like she hates her coworkers, or anything. They're fine people. They just cant understand, will never understand, never need to understand, how fucking tiring it is, listening to their bullshit all fucking day. It barely even helps the fucking time pass, stuck in that cold building, waiting for the hourly customer to come in and ask if they can substitute this, or that.
What's on the menu?
Are you illiterate? The menu's right there, glowing brightly above my head. Use your goddamn eyes.
Punch in the stomach. 10 dollars. Wow, you're such a good customer. Who's a good consumer? You are! You are!!! Click,
goes the toy, then the dopamine
hits, and you walk away happy. Great job, you pathetic little dog.
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Sweat drips down her tummy and into her bush. She can't be bothered to shave it. It's not like anyone's going to see that place any time soon. She goes faster and faster, her laptop just inches from her face, her eyes defocusing, struggling to pay attention to the porn flashing on the screen. Because who cares, right? Cum, or don't. Get it over with. Just another fucking doomer zoomer coomer gooning to whatever the fuck is the latest thing for degenerates like me and you to adore.
She does. Cleanup is nonexistent; deodorant is layered on top of it all, and nobody's ever the wiser. She thinks.
Jamie calls herself a stone cold khhv incel femcel depressed emo bitch. It's something to associate with herself, something to allow herself to enjoy, always. It's okay, this is okay, this is just who I am, being into this is okay. I'm okay. It's not like any of that really works though. In the end, the boys are always cutting each other up and licking up the blood. Drawings, of course, the real thing always makes her a little queasy. And drawings are good, they're kind, they don't actually feel any pain when you drive your knife deep into their beautiful toned tummies. Go online, learn a new word. Goon. Troon. Poon. Based. Chad. Stacy. Clicking through urban dictionary. Clicking through genius pages to understand songs she’s supposed to like. Jamie can barely keep up.
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A pile of half-read books are under her window. Sometimes, when she wants to jump out it, she grabs one and throws it out. Bonus points if it hits someone. Double bonus if you can duck and hide before they see your stupid face, all smiley and batshit insane, staring at them with a gleeful shiteating grin. The pile is all books that are full of metaphors, you hate metaphors, just speak plainly like a normal fucking person please, when I read your book I want to get fucking horny. I want your book to help me cut my leg one more time, lick the blood up again. Come on. What the hell. Kill the metaphors and give me the tea.
She picks up a crusty, sticky, disgusting remote, and turns on the tv that her mother so graciously gifted her. Thanks, bitch. Now I get a reminder of you and the world all in one spot. Then she says it out loud, to make it more real. If you don't say it out loud, then it's just in your head. if it's just in your head, it isn't real.
"Thanks, mom."
And clicks on the TV. A break-in down the street. A war finally ending, soon to be replaced by another. Another vigilante, begging for attention. A cop raping a little girl, caught and recorded in graphic detail. She bites her lip and turns the TV off. Why couldn't she just have been an abortion? Her mom could've yanked her out and eaten her. Nutritious. Fetuses are full of delicious, developing cells.
She gets tired. Almost falls asleep with the laptop on her chest. She jerks off again. She doesn’t cum.














