Bleeding

I didn't know my updates was in that high demand.
So, before I probably go off on an unannounced hiatus, here's the small piece I've been promising.
Enjoy.

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Bleeding

The sun shone down hard on the poor earth below, baking the ground until steam poured forth and ants nearly died of heatstroke. The shadows were as hot as the outdoors, and the cool afternoon breeze had just decided to die. Cloudless day, the sun reigned supreme in the sky, and what better way to celebrate your time on top by showering all that was below you with unbearable searing warmth?

Soon it’ll be a barren land with nothing to reign over, I mused.

I walked in the intolerable heat, trudging one foot in front of the other. My skirt flapped lifelessly about my legs as I aimed to get to the sheltered bus stop as fast as I could – and as far as I could tell, I was losing to an ant with heatstroke. Shuffling slowly, minding my own business, I managed to make it to the bus stop, where I quickly realized was not much cooler than anywhere else under the sun.

With sweat trickling down the back of my collar, I seriously wished for a fan, a portable fan, the one that shampoo models on television held off-screen so as to create the “wind-blowing-in-your-hair” effect that people so desired. Unfortunately, I was no shampoo model (I was lucky if I remembered to use shampoo) and my childhood dreams of making it on TV were brutally dismembered at age twelve.

I mentally slapped myself – the documents my boss had given me yesterday would make a perfect makeshift fan. Plus, the poor sheets of paper would finally think that their life would have a purpose. I started to browse through my briefcase before realizing something: I'd forgotten to bring the briefcase.

One dreary trudge back and from my apartment later, I found myself sitting at the bus stop again. This time, I discovered that contrary to my hopeful fantasies, paper did not trump the heat. (In fact I think the ink ran.) Fortunately, the bus arrived soon enough, and I stepped onto it, relieved.

Unfortunately, the air-conditioning unit was busted.

When I arrived at my workplace, I was bedraggled, wet (with sweat, of course), my hair plastered randomly on my face. I had a mild temptation to undo a button to fan myself, but I stepped into the office and saw my boss, and all desire for that suddenly and miraculously evaporated. He grimaced at me as if looking at an unwanted baby, obviously deciding to choose his words very carefully.

“You don’t look so good… You better go home and rest, okay?” He laid a hand on my shoulder, hitting my soaked clothes with an uncomfortable squelch. I took his hand and mechanically pulled it off, pulling off a simpering, disgustingly affectionate smile – “Okay.”

Five minutes later, I was walking back to the bus stop outside my office, about to once again await a bus in the sweltering heat. The combined factors of the sun, the heat, and my hot body temperature left me sweating, and kind of dazed. So dazed, in fact, that I didn’t see the little kid running towards me at top speed, having the time of his life as he weaved in and out of pedestrian traffic.

Funny thing, life. He didn’t see me either.

We collided in a bear hug, his head burying itself in my abdomen and his foot firmly planted on top of my high-heels. I felt a sharp surge of pain as I suddenly fell backwards, the surprised kid landing on top of me. Idiot, I thought, wincing, as he got off of me and happily ran off once again.

As I stood to my feet, dazed and hot as I was, still feeling the pain from the blow to my stomach, when I suddenly felt something different. That idiot kid had hit me, and now I felt something else, more than just the pain, a sticky feeling that had nothing to do with the sweat –

Oh shit, I was bleeding.

I slowly hobbled to the bus stop, hoping that the flow of blood wouldn’t be exacerbated. Passersby looked at me strange, I simply glared back at them for the rest of the wait, and all the long bus ride back. All along, I was vaguely aware of the bleeding getting worse, and the red, red blood seeping into white fabric.

Oh crap.

When I finally reached home again, I gingerly took off my shoes and stepped into the apartment. I closed my eyes and breathed in a deep breath, then bent down to examine the damage.

A dull red splotch had appeared on the once-white fabric, as I had feared. An ugly blemish reminding me of a dull pain and the bleeding and the idiot kid. No amount of washing would take that out, but that was fine, seeing how I wasn’t planning to keep that anyway. I sighed, wondering why these things always happen.

I peeled back the sock cautiously, revealing the fresh red bleeding wound underneath the white, ruined sock. I held the sock for a moment, then threw it aside and fell back on my bed.

Just how did that idiot kid step on my freaking shoe?