RBHE Short #1 : Inelastic

The harder your stand...

This is a story of Elizabeth. Not Elizabeth of England, or any other Elizabeth for this is the story of no other than this Elizabeth.

Elizabeth was an enigma. No one could unravel the source of her unabashed self-confidence. Principals she called it. Values. What she would stand for and be remembered by far after her physical form decomposes; food for the Earth from which she was born. 

And that was exactly what I remember of her as I stand here over her final resting place; a slab of stone we humans carve up to remind us of the memories of our lives. 

I stood expressionless; a façade to the theatrics playing over in my head; a full feature, nay an episodic epic. 

I hated Elizabeth. 

I could not honestly said we gotten along fine. A clash of opinionated titans. I was coffee to her tea, Republican to her Democrat, Catholic to her Protestantism, Shia to her Sunni; well you get the picture. 

She was a real hard-liner, launching ultimatums like the releases of new iPhone models; unending. It is to no wonder that she had no friends. Disgusting. 

Tears rolled down my cheeks.

I can already hear her annoying voice, stating how I would one day succumb from caffeine poisoning and that I would burn in all 7 circles of hell for being in league with the Anti Christ (Read Pope)

But I supposed that is to no surprise where it came to friends. People love being validated; and she provided nothing but questions and insecurity; and god forbid they be told off for supporting Donald Trump over Clinton. 

The video continued playing in my mind. I did not ask about her childhood or her upbringing. I could not care less yet I would imagine that it was bound to be hard. I imagine this girl in the merry go round insisting that it be spun clockwise. I imagine this girl insisting that she be the captain in all her football games. I imagine this girl getting into a fight over how chicken should be cooked. Toxic. Simply toxic.

Well, how about work? Oh god no. God forbid she be permitted to be employed in a corporation. Why should she comply to the traditional Standard of Practice set by a group of suited up boardroom junkies? How would they know what is best on the ground. No, she would know better than all of their knowledge combined. Utterly revolting. 

And relationships? Well, f**k me. There is a special place in the abodes of Tibet for the man with patience enough to deal with her. Asking for her favourite Horror movie and insisting on that 5-star buffet. Let's not go into how she would dictate what you would have to wear. Psychotic. 

Someone should really tell her off. Put her in her place. Well, someone finally did. 

Young Leeroy, barely 21 in age. Multiple stabs. Judges ruled it a crime of passion; murderous intent from unabated rage. Leeroy was her fresh graduate hire. 2 years and no one saw it coming; the seething hate from a quiet introvert. 

I threw back my head, gazing up to the sky. Is this karma? Sweet sweet karma? Nay, it was nothing but bitterness. Empty. I wanted her gone, but...

I needed her alive. 

My hand trembled. I knelt at the piece of lifeless stone before me and laid my present. Roses, 12, arranged in a bundle, Bourbon; she wouldn't have it any other way. 

The movie was gone now. I was left alone in the crowded graveyard. 

Stupid girl. Going to get yourself killed like that. Havn't I told you to tone down? All 7 times a week? 

A new movie would start playing soon; I know of it. My movie. 

My childhood. How I would insist the merry go round be spun clockwise. How I would always wanted to be the captain of my football team. And fried chicken is the only way to eat the chicken. How I would flip my supervisor with my ideals; insisting on new procedures and breaking old ones. How I would insist on Silent Hill even knowing how afraid she was of the dark. How I would want my night to end with a perfect meal at Apsleys. How I would chastise her for wearing that experimental top. 

I hid my face. She was gone and I was right. No one was left to say I wasn't so I must have won by default. I was right. I should be happy. 

She was gone and I was right. No one was left to say I am wrong, and now I am empty. I was wrong. I don't want to be right. 

I felt a hand on my shoulder, comfort from her pastor. The crowd would remember her for that; being the one who always wanted to be right, the d****e. 

But not me. 

This is the story of Elizabeth, not Elizabeth of England or any other Elizabeth. This is the story of my Elizabeth. Please don't ever change.