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tanagerTitle: Smile
Warnings: Graphic violence, strong language
Word Count: 407
Notes: Please heed the warnings. This doesn't really have a plot or purpose, other than to capture an impression. Written for the theme "incite" on this bingo card.
“Smile.”
“If I have one goddamned thing left to say, smile. Smile when they smash your nose and crack your head against the wall and shove you down to pound you into the dirt, even if you can’t stay on your feet, smile. When they’re looking down on you to see you looking up at the maggots they are, when they want to drink the tears rolling down your cheeks, don’t look the hell up.
Smile. They’ll beat you—not often, and don’t look at me like that with your head about to burst—they will beat you. And you won’t let yourself be beaten. If they take every damn thing you have, they can’t take what you are—and if you give it to them then you never had it. I’m counting on you, kid.” Wolfish grin, ready for the indignant snarl. “And when they’ve trampled you into the mud and they think you’ve given them everything you can give, when they’re walking away to let the breeze finish kicking the dirt and their spit into your eye, because you don’t have enough left for them, don’t cry then either. Don’t pray, don’t curse, don’t glare your promise to tear them apart-from-muscle-to-sinew-to-marrow. Don’t look up. Smile. They’ll look back. As far as they’re concerned they haven’t beaten you unless they look back, and you’ll look forward and
Smile.
And then you don’t have a goddamn thing left to fear from them. Maybe you’ll want to laugh if they kick and punch again, like a tot in a tantrum, because imbeciles can’t stop banging their heads against the wall. They kick and they punch and then they leave, unless they die first.
But you hope they don’t, of course. You hope they hit it big and live a long, rich life and peer back around plenty of corners. And everything they win will weigh down on them as something more to lose. And when their knees are shattering under the pile, when they catch themselves praying that you’ll visit soon—you’ll answer their prayer. They’ll invite you in with every lock they leave unlocked. You’ll be their honoured guest; you’ll carry yourself accordingly. You won’t glare or sneer or spit in their eye, even—especially—
as you rip out their hearts, you’ll smile.” She smiled and, almost as an afterthought, tossed forward the heart-shaped locket hanging on a silver chain from the bedpost before she sank down.
Warnings: Graphic violence, strong language
Word Count: 407
Notes: Please heed the warnings. This doesn't really have a plot or purpose, other than to capture an impression. Written for the theme "incite" on this bingo card.
“Smile.”
“If I have one goddamned thing left to say, smile. Smile when they smash your nose and crack your head against the wall and shove you down to pound you into the dirt, even if you can’t stay on your feet, smile. When they’re looking down on you to see you looking up at the maggots they are, when they want to drink the tears rolling down your cheeks, don’t look the hell up.
Smile. They’ll beat you—not often, and don’t look at me like that with your head about to burst—they will beat you. And you won’t let yourself be beaten. If they take every damn thing you have, they can’t take what you are—and if you give it to them then you never had it. I’m counting on you, kid.” Wolfish grin, ready for the indignant snarl. “And when they’ve trampled you into the mud and they think you’ve given them everything you can give, when they’re walking away to let the breeze finish kicking the dirt and their spit into your eye, because you don’t have enough left for them, don’t cry then either. Don’t pray, don’t curse, don’t glare your promise to tear them apart-from-muscle-to-sinew-to-marrow. Don’t look up. Smile. They’ll look back. As far as they’re concerned they haven’t beaten you unless they look back, and you’ll look forward and
Smile.
And then you don’t have a goddamn thing left to fear from them. Maybe you’ll want to laugh if they kick and punch again, like a tot in a tantrum, because imbeciles can’t stop banging their heads against the wall. They kick and they punch and then they leave, unless they die first.
But you hope they don’t, of course. You hope they hit it big and live a long, rich life and peer back around plenty of corners. And everything they win will weigh down on them as something more to lose. And when their knees are shattering under the pile, when they catch themselves praying that you’ll visit soon—you’ll answer their prayer. They’ll invite you in with every lock they leave unlocked. You’ll be their honoured guest; you’ll carry yourself accordingly. You won’t glare or sneer or spit in their eye, even—especially—
as you rip out their hearts, you’ll smile.” She smiled and, almost as an afterthought, tossed forward the heart-shaped locket hanging on a silver chain from the bedpost before she sank down.
