I will sit
It is a quiet Sunday afternoon. Perhaps it is raining.
It can be a wealthy window that I glare out of, or it can be a council estate. It makes no difference where you find me.
Bored by the world, tired of my part in the imagined world, uninterested in anything, I will sit, listless, resentful, and ratty.
I will add extra touches: my foot silently tapping space, sighing heavily, fiddling with some piece of thread or a safety pin, between my fingers, I will take up space and do my utmost to make you feel uncomfortable, useless, defensive and on the back foot.
You cannot please me because I want to punish you.
What, which, heinous crime have you committed?
You cannot know because that would spoil the fun. I want to make you aware of me. I want you to watch how unhappy I am, how utterly poisonous I feel. And I want it to be your fault.
I am feeling sadistic, I feel it is my right and my pleasure to hurt you, to make you feel abandoned and uncomfortable and so I will do exactly that. Exactly as I please.
Have you decided my gender, my age, our relationship?
What made you decide all of these attributes or failings on my, our, your part?
Am I a cheap millennial in a dirty trackie, looking out of a grimy estate window on the 14th floor, chewing tired gum, listlessly? Wishing I was on a beach in Ebefa?
Or am I your gay male Tindr date from two weeks ago, bored by your Notting Hill apartment, bored by your endless supply of K and Charlie? The thrill has worn off and I want you to pay me to leave.
Maybe I am your wife. Menopause knocking at my jowls, beauty a long-distant memory, and you wont pay for my plastic surgeon, or perhaps you have offered me some, but not quite enough surgery. Hard to know, here, the small poo-type of fluffy dog is chewing a shoe, I am biting one of my plastic nails…
Or perhaps I am a nasty judgemental son, or your Mother, Father, Sister, Boss….