Fiction Exploration of Writing with 2nd person

Your Bedtime Story

This whole concept of living becomes too tedious too often; you’re quite frankly just over being in this world enclosed and burdened by circumstances that just seem to increase as time goes by. You are tired. More so, you go about wondering when eventually you would decide to end it all, in order to escape; the monthly breakdowns and changing depressions. Sometimes, you ponder the idea that beyond this place in heaven somewhere; god is perched on his throne head flung high, mouth opening and surging from his gut is erroneous laughter: Laughing at the misfits called humans. But even these moments of daydreaming and mental drifting cannot become a constant practice, for they themselves will eventually pose a threat to your existence. 

Again this morning you spent two hours hunting for four dollars and 50 cents. After emptying shallow money banks, diving into sofas, leaving upturned cushions and sifting through the various crevices, you just managed to gather half of that amount. But at least; it’s a trip to school. So you resolve to walk the twenty two blocks back home. You ponder and curse yourself for quitting the lesbians. Pretending to be a sex slave perhaps was not so bad but then again turning into one is another story. Three hundred and fifty dollars a week cannot compensate for the energy that is put into faking those orgasms: Contorting your body to fit the molds of strange flesh. Who are you down there? Yes, down there, your pussy, do you even know what’s going on. When was the last time you took a deep look into that space? Or have you really become comfortable ignoring and pretending it does not exist, while demons violate and defecate within your space.  However, choices weren’t necessarily given to you and empty mouths would not feed themselves, tuition has to be paid, shelter to maintain and the never ending to do list continues. Welcome to the life of an immigrant.

What you wouldn’t do to at least get a position at Burger king, these Americans turn their noses and spit upon what they consider modern peasant work but for only you had the choice of reciting; “Hello welcome to Mc Donald’s may I take your order please” instead of making mental notes of Karma sutra or the money shaker moves of a exotic dancer.

At times you think of champagne sunsets, strong coco man trees, fresh grass and the Atlantic Ocean at night; sometimes, you think of home. Maybe you’d marry to the love of your life, with two point five kids and a career that you’d actually be able to brag about. Instead, you’re a belly dancer slash, naughty nurse slash, poll master slash, broke student and not to mention you’re months away from your twenty fifth birthday. You’re running out of time. You should of at least been happily married by now. Patrick means well but you cannot see yourself married to him. He’s ambitious wealthy and charming. He would treat Monica Bradshaw like a Queen but he’s never met Roxanne Charles. Why the hell did your mother give you that man’s name is beyond your comprehension. It’s not like he contributed a nickel to your name, god knows if he is dead or alive.

You have two hours before you start your shift at the club. Two hours to get home freshen up, hell who are you kidding you don’t need a bath, not like you’re sleeping with anyone, tonight. Grab your stuff and you’ll get Akeim in all his queenly glory to drop you off at the club, these thoughts must go to bed now.