She flew out the front door, shrieking and arms flailing. Inside her car, flying through the burbs, she was still screaming out her blind rage. They should just listen to her and do what she tells them to do.
She never saw the cement truck.
Lying, silenced by tubes, in a hospital bed, she was alone. There was nothing for her to do, but think over the tumult of her life, steadily cultivating a bitter gnawing anger.
By the time the tubes were coming out, she was on a steady diet of hate. She had lists of how and why she loathed each and every person in her life.
There were the casual acquaintances that had somehow slighted her with words or actions. She had her husband that failed moment after moment to rise up to her unspoken whims. There were those she once called friends but they had let her down when they failed her drama demands. Churches just simply never came close to measuring up. The children’s teachers and coaches were unorganized incompetents. The children themselves gave her nothing but fleeting seconds of near pleasure or happiness. Her office simply couldn’t function if she wasn’t there.
Able to sit up now, she flipped through the paper, reeling at all the stupid people and their bad behavior. Tossing it down on the bed, she noticed the date.
According to the paper, she had been lying in this bed for weeks, not hours.
No one had been to see her or called to get the schedules and instructions from her to keep her life running. How could they possibly know what to do or where to go without her?
This was a classic example of how they couldn’t do anything without her, she thought, growling and dialing her office, and where was that damn doctor, he had only just shook his head at her when she demanded to be released.