Pissing on Fate

I reach between my legs, past the thick black fuzz and probe between, in the hot, secret place. There it is! There's a knack. To release the pressure so you can pull it out easily. It slides out, and I angle it so that the contents plash on the white toilet bowl. Hitching up my knickers, I peer at the art I've made. It's a good one. I'd left the cup in long enough to get a good amount, but not so long it lost its colour. It's rich in detail, and I drink it all in. Metaphorically, obviously. Its consistency and colour, how far it's spread, where it's thickest, or brightest. How it moves down the sloping porcelain, too. Each clot Tells a story. Tea leave are for noobs. This is so much better. I will of course still pour my clients tea when they arrive, and peer at the leaves, like I'm peering at this right now. But I'll mostly do it for the look of the thing. Wait... that can't be right.

My forehead tightens in a frown. I'm not even forty, and I feel perfectly fine. Everything normal. Yet...

Looks like it'll be today... Before sunset? Before midnight? In the next 24 hours? Will it be quick? Painless? I'm tempted to snap a picture so I can keep returning to it... but I know that'll be useless. Have you loved someone who died? Looking at a picture of them just isn't the same as them standing in front of you, is it? People forget that in the current age. Ceci n'est pas une pipe. I'm still puzzling over it when my first client knocks, taking me by surprise. A thing which doesn't usually happen, by the way. I leave It, my fate, unflushed. Hurry to the door. Open it without first checking the peephole or making sure the chain is on. All things I never normally do. The moment I see him, his hand in his coat... I know. I panic, and push at the door, but he's too strong. His fist flashes out. There's a glint of metal.

Now I lie here, blood seeping over my fingers, determined to piss on my fate and live.

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Word count (excluding note): 366

Submitted on 10th March at 20.20

*Quick Author's Note*

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