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Sensitivity

Lover boy found a raw and overlooked wound. This doesn’t go well…

Today, Lover boy hit a raw, yet overlooked, wound. I don’t know whether it’s in my heart, soul, mind, or what.

What I do know is that the moment he asked a question that made me think about the period of time surrounding the publishing of Warrior Crone (my second published book), my heart shut down, my mind raced out of control, and my chest filled with rage.

I wanted to kill. I wanted to mutilate and torture. I wanted the pain to stop!

I looked at the pile of papers not organized, the corkboard of organized papers, and something inside me exploded.

Hate. Pure, black, molten, thick hate blotted everything out.

A single word appeared in my mind.

Destroy.

DESTROY.

DESTROY.

DESTROY!

I flung the unorganized papers toward the trash, but didn’t care if they made it or not.

I wanted…

no, I NEEDED to destroy something or someone.

Yes. Someone. I wanted to destroy someone. I looked at Lover boy and images of his demise by my hands filled my mind.

I closed my eyes and turned my head.

I concentrated on my breathing. I became aware of how the air felt as it slid down my throat and filled my lungs.

I focused on gathering the gases in my lungs and pushing them out of my lungs.

I heard lover boy say something but the only word I understood was disrespectful.

I thought, “How could you ask me why I didn’t know the date Warrior Crone was published when I told you that shortly after it was published, I lost everything, including my freedom? How can you say you love me but not remember anything that’s important to me? How can you sit there and call me disrespectful when you have disrespected me on an hourly basis for the last nine months?”

DISCLAIMER: THIS IS NOT AN ACCURATE ACCOUNT OF THE ACTUAL EVENTS. IN SPITE OF WHAT I FEEL AND BELIEVE, I REALIZE THAT I HAVE A TENDANCY TO EXAGGERATE THE NEGATIVE.

Allowing the rage to fill my eyes, I looked at him and said, “Fuck you.”

I think there was more than that, but I don’t remember anything else.

A few moments later, I picked up the papers and put them away. I don’t know if I will be able to return to writing tomorrow or not, but I’m going to try.

Until next time…

By Jen Christopherson

Jenna (Jen) Christopherson is a person of dreams, realistic and extraordinary. Her favorite hobby is to read and her passion for writing is unparalleled. As a child, she read a library and then wrote a library.

"In the heart of what is good there is a storm of sinister proportion." As said by the very same.

Nothing is without balance.

Josh Prugle