Raindrops – a microfiction

And that broke me, but I didn’t snap. Like breaking a big stick, it makes a loud CRRRRACK and splinters fly everywhere. There were no splinters; I didn’t snap. It was more subdued. More of a crunch. Like stomping on a towel-wrapped glass. Muffled. Contained.

I followed her off the bus. Stood near her, making eye contact this time. When would she hit me? Would she even hit me? I waited for it. I wanted her to. She was mentally ill enough, apparently, so I knew it had to happen sooner or later.

It happened sooner.

Better let her make the first move, I thought. Give myself the chance to claim “self defense.” 

She didn’t hit me. She grabbed my arm. And just like that, I pulled my water bottle out of my bag. Stainless steel, almost a foot tall and 3 inches across, and full of water.


She broke my spirits, so I broke her arm. Like a big stick.


It was incredible! She had grabbed my right arm, so I had to hit her with my left, though I’m not left handed. Yet the blow fell as naturally as could be.

I wanted to hear it again.

Instead I turned and walked away, imagining the sound of my water bottle falling into her skull. I saw it, too, her skull falling into her brains. As I crossed the street the rain glowed red in the streetlights, and I imagined it was drops of her already cold, dead blood caressing my face in a gentle mist.

Mario Badescu doesn’t have shit on Mary Bathory.

It wasn’t fair. That woman, she didn’t have anything to lose. At least, not that I could tell. By the way she was acting earlier, she was clearly out of her mind.

Dirty, greasy, covered in layers, and asleep on the bus not even a minute after a violent outburst; definitely living on the streets.

It wasn’t fair. What would she get from attacking me? Jail time, maybe. A roof over her head, if only for a night. Food, too. And hell, maybe even medical help.

But me? Jail time means I could lose my job. If that happened, I’d lose my house. Well, the room that I’m renting. And how hard would it be to find a job after doing time for assault, I wonder? I’m young, and I’m healthy, and have a reasonably sound mind. If I end up on the streets, how soon would my health fade, how quickly would it age me, how fast might my mind deteriorate?

I’m not living on the streets, but it’s already happening. I’m already losing my mind.

Thank you for reading! 🌞


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