The soft tap, clapping of six dollar slides against my heals is soothing to the point of making me resentful of the requirement of returning to my seat.

Her quick, bitter, over zealous anger aches dully, faintly, in my chest as I pretend not to understand that it is jealousy that drives her anger…and above all else fear.

And then we play pretend.“And what would you name it?” he asks in his acting voice. Playing out this “reality” all too close to my sitcom.

Her name would be Rain I believe.

I cannot wait to be free from here, forceful loss of control makes me hunger for the destruction of me, in effort of course, to save myself.

And the reflex in the back of my throat, now encased in glass, is the giant red button reading “DO-NOT-PUSH”

And we all know what that does to you…