Who do you think you are? Touching me there! In my heart. Like that!

How could she have such power over me. She hadn't been in my life for what seemed like years, but there she was in my thoughts and in my dreams and then finally out on my lawn. The sky was Red. The sun just below the horizon. It was warm. Her spring dress was Yellow and she was staring up at me when she said, "Have you even thought about me at all?"

"Well, I've been doing my taxes, so I've been occupied."

She just wanted to come back and hurt me some more. Drain me. Weaken me. She was the mosquito that hovers near you, but when you reach out to grab it, she's gone.

Once when I was little, my oldest brother opened up my Silly Putty® egg container, stole the Silly Putty® and replaced it with a scoop of creamy peanut butter! 

Later, I paid him back by making a sandwich for him of jelly and Silly Putty®!

That was the first step I took in not letting anyone get one over on me. I will retaliate!

She would whisper in your ear that you are the only one, but you'd find out from the various detectives and the photos and videos and wiretaps they provided you that you were one of many. One in a long line of suckers. Amusements. Toys to torture.

She'd make you feel safe. Act like she trusted you. She wanted your trust, too. Tell you you didn't need a condom. Tell you she couldn't have a baby because of the accident. Tell you she would bring another girl into your bed with her for you two to share because she loved you so much she wanted you to be happy. 

You knew she was lying all the time, but you played along to see how the story unfolded, because you love a good story even if your character is the one that dies in the end.

At the sink, I heard the screen door slam. I didn't look, but it was her coming back. I shut the water off. Sat my glass down. Turned to see her in the doorway. Her long dark hair was wet. Crying. Her Barbie Red round purse suitcase sat next to her bare feet. "I'm sorry," she whispered. She undid some buttons and let her wet dress fall.

In the morning I awoke to find her gone. This was confirmed when I found the note she left on the mirror in lipstick that simply said, "I'm gone!"

I'm burning all my belongings, with only my jeans, Titmouse tshirt, Doc Martens, and Leather Jacket, I'm stealing the Purple Dodge Challenger SRT8 parked outside, with the cash from the liquor store robbery in a Gucci knapsack, I'm leaving the burning rubble behind and driving as fast as I can to get you!

While driving, in the rear view mirror I see the flames and think about my personal act of terrorism. “Jihad Jane,” my friends told me, was an "attractive" woman, so I was kinda let down when I finally saw her in the paper. Al Qaeda needs to attract US-born fashion models to terrorism. Because in my head, I pictured thin, long legged, hand on hip, runway models exploding.

I pictured her exploding. 

It made me hard, it made me smile and made the miles and the boredom pass by more quickly.

I pictured me pushing her against the wall, lifting her dress, picking her legs up, spreading her legs around my hips and shoving myself into her again and again until I come and then having her explode all over me and the White wall of the house and like the White walls of the small hospital room where she first found me. Blood Red streaks on the White walls radiating out from where my cock detonated inside her.

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