Little things like the fact that I haven’t finished my summer homework assignment. Little things like my imperceptible SAT score improvement. Little things like not being able to run for a single morning. Little things like not getting to eat pancakes for dinner.
These little things.
Little things like having cake shoved in my face when I don’t feel like sticking down my throat a pound of sugar. Little things like the bubbles of oil slipping around on the surface of my chicken soup, taunting me. Little things like Mother not hearing it when I say no, thank you.
Those little things.
They accumulate in the depths of my mind as scattered bits and bobs of irritation. They aggregate within me, growing, becoming bigger and more difficult to deny. They build up into a mini mountain, or volcano, expanding from my core and straining against my skin, threatening to protrude and tear apart my greatest sense organ so to rage red-hot, flaming frustration. The skies would turn black and oceans would overturn. Letting such a thing happen would be infelicitous.
At last, emotions are freed. Release of pent-up ire is carried out by glistening teardrops, squeezing their way past my eyelids. Done.