Dramatic Scene…?

“I know what you’re thinking,” shot Max at Deirdre. “You’re always thinking the same damn thing. You’re thinking that I shouldn’t go. You’re thinking that I’m being stupid. Just say it already!”

Deirdre looked coolly back at Max’s angry expression. She could have scratched her face off, for plainly showing her thoughts and emotions as it so clearly was. It was too late to fix the expression that had jumped unwillingly to it when Max had told her he was going out. She settled for pretending innocence instead.

“I’m not thinking a blessed thing, boy.”

“The hell you’re not,” Max spat back.

“Well, I’ve got nothing to say to you when you’re in such a foul mood,” Deirdre didn’t give up her act, but gave Max a bland look before turning her back to him. He knew everything she could say to deter him already. It was true that she thought him a fool for going, yet again, and there was no point in having another argument on the subject. Max would do what he wanted, and that was that.

A few minutes passed. Deirdre sat at her vanity, staring blindly at her own reflection. Finally, she heard the sound that she’d been expecting. The front door slammed with a force to shake the very panes of glass in it. She shut her eyes tightly for a moment, screwing her face up in pain.

 

Max waited outside the front door, wondering if this time Deirdre would come after him. But no, the minutes passed and still there was no sound of footsteps inside the large, boring suburban box of a house. He sighed and ran a hand over his face. Taking his car keys out of his pocket, he strode off down to the curb and unlocked, with an unobtrusive beep, the luxurious car parked in front of the closed garage door. He climbed into the front seat, put the key in the ignition, and turned it.

The effect was immediate. His seat bent down all the way back, several contraptions started moving around and making metallic noises, and the car began to pull out of the driveway and zoom down the street on its own.

When Max’s seat came back up, he was dressed in a black, skintight outfit, with a white mask covering his entire face except for a slit for his eyes.

Off to save… someone, Max thought, tiredly. Damn it.

He thought of Deirdre, her shimmering blonde hair running down her back in dripping strands as she took yet another hot shower. She always took showers when he went out on jobs. She seemed to like the sensation of heat when she was upset. Max took cold showers when he was upset. It was one of the many ways in which they differed. Another, rather crucial, point of difference, was that Deirdre wasn’t a superhero. Max was. He was really very tired of it.

Yeah, Ok, And I’m Queen Elizabeth

Liars, unreasonable liars, make me cringe. Everyone tells the occasional white lie, either out of politeness [“Oh, that hat is so cool!”] or out of laziness [“Yeah, I promise I’ll clean my room today.”] But people who lie to impress give me shivers of such intense annoyance, I can’t even explain it. I know my response is exaggerated – let them lie, right? Let them tell me whatever they want to impress me, I can just smile and nod and know it’s not true.

What gets to me, though, is that I want to shake them until they tell me WHY they’re lying. I had a friend in junior high who used to tell me and my friends that her uncle knew the whole cast of this Argentinian soap-opera that was big here. She went on and on about how they’d come to Israel just to meet her in a hotel in Eilat [it’s the supposed “resort city” of Israel.]

I’ve known other people who do this since then as well. But WHY must they do it? I don’t CARE if your uncle knows someone famous, it’s not going to make me like YOU any better! The world is a cruel, cruel place if people feel they need to lie and brag about their family connections just to give themselves worth.

But then we all know that already, I guess.