Ambiguous Spurrings of a Passive Aggressive

Somewhere during my journey home, something inside me spurred. I just got so frustrated. I tried to control it, but my eyes blinked with a certain force at a man who just happened to exchange glances with me. Boarding the bus, I tapped my card on the electronic sensor with impatience and my feet took charge, stomping the ground with an unexplained anger. I crossed the street rather recklessly while a car zoomed by, glaring its headlights as a warning, my stance exuding such hostility. The buttons in the lift retorted with an agitated click as I punched in my level. I need to breathe, I told myself. This is absurd. The lock to my gate almost turned an impossible extra round with my thinning tolerance, and the door to my room closed before my family could even get a glimpse of my return. I took to my bed. My sanctuary. My confidante. With my face buried in the pillow, I tried to relax, but my heart was still racing. I tried to force sobbing, but no tears wanted to flow. So my hands took charge by punching the pillow. Punch the fucking thing, and the friction from it felt like sparks were coming off, starting a fire. I imagined someone, something I was so pissed off at, and scolded its non-existence, "FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKIN FUCKA!" It didn’t help. In fact, it let out more rage, I could see my fist meeting the wall, ending in a limp, but instead I clenched my teeth so so so tight till my jaws hurt and my brain rebelled. Nothing I did helped. Walking to the bathroom with a forced pace, I showered with vengeance, scrubbing my skin like the dirt is glued on me. For that moment, my frustration calmed down a decimal. But it was short-lived. The blood was rushing on a hyper, and I needed something to distract me after my bath, so I picked up my book, but my eyes sped through the words just to satisfy the action, after one page, the attention span was reduced to nothing, so I switched my computer on, waiting for it to load up with such purposed calmness, it felt so straightjacketed. Finally, finally, I could pound out these unexplained emotions, trying to beat the rush hour traffic of my adrenaline.

Lady Lace

I was walking along the short pathway connecting my block to the shop under the next block when I noticed a very faint shadow overcast. Looking up, the immediate sky was shrouded in the most delicate web, spun in an organized intricacy, sheltering the entire pathway, using the few spartan trees alongside as an anchor. The web looked divine, illuminated by the afternoon sunshine. It was curiously bedazzling. And then, along the edge crawled the spider, the homemaker, a very average-sized red one with a round bum. In its little leg, it carried the tiniest white lacy egg sac spun from the most delicate of spider silks. It carefully inched along with that one raised leg, and as I stood to observe, as if it knew I was watching, the spider started to swing the tiny sac like a rodeo swinging his lasso. Out from the spaces of the lacy pouch flung the eggs of the spider. I was rained on by these specks and I started cringing from getting spider seeds in my hair. The red spider continued to empty the sac by swinging and swinging it. In time, the egg seeds would sprout from the ground tiny red spiders, all waiting to do the same.