Part 10

i was having some difficulty with the spelling of the word "vacuuming" so i decided to use the spell check.
when it got to the word "voidlike" it suggested i replace it with "poodle's". now you know
Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, and ummm Part Nine.

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A smile would have cost too much and none could be spared. The ugly barrage of words pounded arhythmically, dissonantly against the protective wall, chipping it, leaving scars. Tears burned, looking for air and trailed down cheeks, salt in wounds. I watched as forgiveness was strongarmed into a waiting van, realizing at that moment that even the lies were lies. As the chaos of the last 72 hours began dropping out of my mind I realized an emptiness had taken residence somewhere inside me and it would be there for a long while. Eventually, it would at times become a peculiar salve that would heal jagged wounds in haphazard stitches. Other times it would grow and gape, voidlike, and I would see it deep in my eyes if the lighting in the mirror were angled just right.

The day began with the police vacuuming the carpet in my parents living room with my face. The silent stares of 6 eyes bearing down on me. In nothing but a pair of sweats and handcuffs I was carried out to a police car, bare feet dipped in dew.

A good portion of the day had me fastened to a wall. Hours were spent catching insults and threats or being dissected by questions whose answers I may or may not have known. Charges were reeled off in a litany, and I almost laughed at 'assaulting an officer' but I didn't because I was terrified of the other charges. The word "felonies" caused my muscles and my brain to tighten, the word "kidnapping" clenched my teeth, the words "aiding" "abetting" "deliquency of a minor" each lashed me and I winced in spite, of me.

In the course of the day, a voice spilled lies into my ear through the phone. I had no way of knowing this at the time, but in retrospect it seems almost obvious to me. He said he was a lawyer. What scum lies about being scum?

My father came to my aid this day. Or he tried, there was no aid to offer. It was an odd feeling that I couldn't quite settle with. Add this to the pot of frustration that had been brewing all day and I was in a thick, panicky stew. Thing is, I had no idea how I would feel the next day, not an inkling. And so it was a with sweaty palmed desperation that I picked up the phone and made the call.
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i just realized that it's been exactly a year since the Hall of the Monkey King came into existence.
is there some sort of cyber-celebration i should be doing?