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Three loud raps at the door. Korras must be here. I rushed down the stairs and opened the door. "Thank god you made it", a tear rushes down my cheek past my mouth as the I murmur the words with what little energy I have left. He looks the part. Heavenly white stripes run the lengths of his track pants, somehow untouched by the mud below, caked on the soles of his new balance sneakers. A matching blue jacket and, there it was, the final piece dangling around his neck. Some say his stainless steel whistle could pierce the heavens. Tonight, this ended. "Show me to her", Coach Korras boomed confidently. I led him up the stairs to Regan's room. Coach stopped me outside the door, slowly resting his ear against the oak as he heard muttering inside. He nodded to me and cracked the door open. The door squeaked as Regan stopped cold immediately, flinging her slender frame around from her desk. "Coach Korras is here, Regan, and he's here to help you", my voice cracks as I force a smile. Regan pauses, a slow grin creeping onto her face as she speaks, "Finally, you came. You just caught me planning meals. Maybe you can convince my mother to buy ACTUAL grass-fed beef, my body is practically screaming for adequate levels of vitamin E". I snap at this slight, "I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT, REGAN, I BUY ALL THE GROCERIES I CAN". Regan quickly replies, "You don't understand, MOM, do you have any idea what industrial farming has done to our food? Do you even know what's going on with omega 3 content in eggs? You think I can deal with the generic garbage when I need grass-fed butter" I'm losing it, "FOR THE LAST TIME, REGAN, YOU CAN'T FEED BUTTER GRASS, IT CAN'T EAT. I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU'RE SAYING" Coach has seen enough, he holds his arm out in front of me. He swallows loudly, his arm shaking only slightly, hiding his fear, "I-I've heard this before", he turns to me, piercing my eyes with his terrified gaze, "...s-she's speaking paleo" Regan chirps in aggressively, "Uh, excuse me, I do not harbour unrealistic fears about the nutritional value of saturated fats" Coach inhales sharply, "By god she's worse than I thought... she's speaking primal" |
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Oct 3, 2016 19:25
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| # ? Apr 25, 2024 14:32 |
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My sculpted forearms and biceps strapped tightly to the bedframe using fitbits. They have turned my own tools against me. My family members crowd around me, shoving Chips Ahoy! into my mouth as they chant, "The power of Mr. Christie compels you". |
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Oct 3, 2016 19:37
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S-she bends her body in ungodly ways while praying to her unholy prophet Bikram |
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Oct 3, 2016 21:02
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