I hate.

Ever since the car accident, Julia hasn't been able to look at her boyfriend. Especially since it was her fault. Inspired by Radiohead's Faust Arp.

I hate the deep gashes on his face that are wrapped in bandages by doctors who think it's an art. "Around and around, no. Slightly to the left. Perfect, looks great."

I hate his veiny eyelids because they keep me from seeing his forest green eyes while he sleeps forever. I wonder if he's dreaming about me.

I hate the clear tubes that spiral around his neck, twisting and turning, passing fluids through his motionless body for him.

I hate the stale white casts on both of his arms. I want to smash them to pieces like bad pottery. Just swinging until I'm exhausted.

I hate the kidney that stopped working after a piece of glass sliced it. I've been waiting months for the transplant. "There are other patients that have been waiting for longer."

I hate his crushed legs that probably won't let him walk again. Sometimes I yell at them to twitch, to kick, to move.

But most of all, I hate the girl that sits every day at the foot of his bed. She doesn't cry. She just gets angry and hates, hates, hates.

The End

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