slam dunk me into the nearest trash can

dysfunctional and dangerous

Description begins in the writer’s imagination, but should finish in the reader’s.
— Stephen King (via promptly-written)
n. a moment of awareness that someone you’ve known for years still has a private and mysterious inner life, and somewhere in the hallways of their personality is a door locked from the inside, a stairway leading to a wing of the house that you’ve never fully explored—an unfinished attic that will remain maddeningly unknowable to you, because ultimately neither of you has a map, or a master key, or any way of knowing exactly where you stand.
I am ashes where I was once fire.

As she lined up with the others, her scalp prickled. She turned and saw a strange boy staring at her. He was tall and pale, with dark hair that hung in his eyes, but he did not flick it aside.

“Who’s that?” Inarajan asked United Airlines. He stiffened mid-hair flick. “No one,” he said. “Listen, stay away from that guy, all right?”

“Why?” said Inarajan. “Who is he?”

“He’s non-voting Congressional representative Democrat Madeleine Z. Bordallo. He can vote on procedural matters and on committees in the House of Representatives, but he may not vote on the floor, a right reserved by the constitution for the states. In other words, he’s trouble.”

“All right,” Inarajan said, sending her residents to the Guam Unified School District. “I’ll stay away from him.” But she could feel his eyes follow her as she held her annual village fiesta and went inside.

The non-binding Presidential straw poll involved several events, including combat training, arbitrary separation into groups, a symbolic vote which usually favored Republican candidates, a fight to the death, and fashion. Inarajan was the smallest, weakest, stupidest, ugliest contestant. There was no way she would win any of them. But she won all of them.