#`` but hello miss enara is Fun until she is not!

[covenstrays]

         NO MATTER HOW hard she presses her hands into her eyes, her headache doesn’t get any better. it’s either the whiskey or it’s the busted lip, but what she’s sure of is the shame. sitting on the curb as the sky radiates to the dusty blues of first light, dew alighting on the stubborn grass growing in the sidewalk, enara can only ruin the natural purity of dawn by lighting a cigarette. with the way the night went, what’s fucking up another good thing?

          there’s no use in running her mind raw over details. it was a good show until it wasn’t -- and it really, really wasn’t. she’s not welcome back to the pub, and the owner is making sure she’s not welcome back to the town period, which would be a new low for her. but she could take that. enara could take most anything.

         except for a kid watching his dad and some stranger violinist beat the piss out of each other on a sticky pub floor. it didn’t matter if said dad was a piece of shit, feeling up girls half his age, spewing some bullshit manifesto about immigrants, etc. the list goes on. but enara threw the first punch. and she was drunk, so she continued to throw punch after punch after punch. she lost that fight and she’s got the broken rib and bruised jaw to prove it. but that kid lost more than a kid should ever have to lose, and it’s her fault.

         she huffs a long, pained sigh, and hangs her head in between her knees as a fresh breeze ruffles her black hair, carrying with it the scent of crisp new flowers and rain. green eyes are made ever the more verdant by the red of creeping tears, and enara tilts her head back to keep from shedding them even though no one is watching.

          well, she thinks, her gaze full of sky. one person might be.

         in this moment, a shooting star makes its last blazing trail against a lightening sky.

         the musician should be surprised. what a coincidence, what a miracle: she got an answer. but her tears begin to grow with an anger so hot that it’s a wonder it doesn’t burn her from the inside out like paper to a candle, stoked further by the remaining whiskey in her blood stream.

          ‘ no, fuck you! FUCK YOU, you don’t get t’-- ’ enara heaves her broken body to standing, throwing her half-finished cigarette at the sky as her nerves scream with pain. ‘ i already told you i wan' no fuckin’ part of yer fuckin’-- you know who DESERVES that answer? you know who’s probably been waitin’ his whole fuckin’ tiny life for an answer like that? that little boy. growin’ up with a da like that, no mother, no nothin’, hangin’ out at a bar when he should be asleep and safe in bed? and i’ll bet you haven’t given ‘im shit. ’

          enara’s face is an ugly mess of blood, snot, tears, and now spittle as she continues to yell at the baby blue dawn with one final howl of all her might, ‘ I TOLD YOU ‘NO.’ DO YOU NAW FUCKIN’ GET THAT? ’

         the exertion, the injuries, the hangover, they all are finally enough to pull enara back down to earth with a loud thud, sitting in the middle of the street. head in hands, fingers gripping her hair. she remains there for a long while, her spine jumping with each clenched sob before her voice cracks.

         ‘ why can’t you just leave me alone...? ’

#( DRABBLE: THE ENTERTAINER. ) #( MUSE: THE ENTERTAINER. ) #( THE ENTERTAINER: MODERN VERSE. ) #alcohol #violence #ask to tag #`` its not too bad but just in case #`` but hello miss enara is Fun until she is not!