Easter story by Jessica Singleton

Shot of Whiskey 
By
Jessica Singleton 


" Through the eye of a needle, you can see the crumb of what no one talks about. Great for tracking and better for sound. It echoes."

I don't talk much. People expect that. Sometimes they attempt reverse psychology to worm the words out of me. Funny how when that doesn't work, they run straight for manipulation and bull shit.
When I can or as I should say when I want to- I talk. 
Here lately I have not spoken much at all.
The last ten years have hurt more than the silence that jigsawed itself to decade marker.

I have always had a sarcastic tongue for a shy person. It is vulgar inside my mouth. 
Most people are scared of me. When they are not afraid of me, it's usually because they assume I'm retarded just because I don't want to communicate with them.

I get mocked a lot because I suffer from mental illnesses but I'm not crazy.
The only time my mental stability plays into a conversation is usually when I don't like someone or I reject them.

Most people in the world are just pathetic and full of shit.

I have spent most my life alone and regretful of the memories. 
None make me feel guilty because I did nothing wrong but it haunts me.

I don't meet a lot of people who understand me.

I have gotten used to that because I don't enjoy them either. 
I can't be lonely if their company makes me want to run away and hide. 
They laugh in the shadows because they don't have what it would take to speak up.
I think most of their own thoughts are just a reassurance to themselves. They need to feel like they are not so obnoxious and pathetic. 
So they laugh at their own jokes like a freak show in an asylum.

Once I met someone. It was a long time ago. He was a sad sack of shit with a lot of his own issues. I assumed that is why he picked me. He probably did not feel like he could do better. 

That did not make me feel better about myself.

But I was so happy to have him. 
I don't like people usually.
Usually I have to settle. 
But he was actually my type and 
he actually acted like he loved all of me.
He made me feel happy. 

No one has ever paid much attention to me. 

He paid attention to my wallet.
He paid attention to my eyelids.
He paid attention to what my work could do for him.
He paid attention to everyone in my life.