FicWad

I hold your very life in the palm of my hand. It's so small that if I closed my hand, I'd obliterate it entirely. I've nearly done it once before, I can do it again.

Your life takes the shape of a tiny bird, maybe a humming bird. I've broken it's wings. It has no direction anymore. Neither do you. A paradox, isn't it? But that doesn't matter now. All that matters is how pathetic your life is, and how easily I can snuff it out. Recently, I tilted it oh so slightly, and everything just went downhill from there. It's only gotten worse, never better. It's barely recovered since then, nearly 8 months ago. I find it amusing. YOu didn't.

But I don't care what you think. I don't give a damn about you. You're just something for me to play with. When I tire of you, I'll kill you. Simple as that.