maddgazz
She didn't think about it, she just hit him. I mean, he deserved it, right? Cheating on her with that young little bitch? She was no saint either, and she knew that, but she had to hit him. She had to pay him back for the assaults he had thrown on her.
It was something he couldn't quite comprehend, the idea that newer is always better. His seven-yet-old microwave worked absolutely fine, so why should he invest in a new one? Modern appliances had little function these days.
So she plucked her lucky penny from in between the railroad's broken tracks, soiling her pudgy hands and the hem of her cotton dress. You might think she lived in the 1800s or something, by the way she dressed. But Frances-Jane was your average, modern 14-year-old. She thought about boys and gingerly pressed the "Friend" button on Facebook. She snuck Mom's Cosmo in her free time, and pestered her friends about the meaning of some words she found in there. She thought she was too fat. And maybe she was. Maybe, she could've used to lose a few pounds. But that didn't warrant the amount of self-hatred Frances-Jane possessed, nor the number of calories she'd consumed that day and then thrown up later.