Like her mother before her, Bambam had inherited an umatched inner strength and propensity to attract absolute anarchy and turmoil. It made for a long and hard existence.
She was lost inside her head watching herself from behind a screen. This shitshow of an existence that she didn’t ask for therefore should be destroyed
What the everloving fuck was wrong with her?
The sunshine slid across her wall as it moved west distracting her.
Her mind went elsewhere.
Bambam’s life was also filled with bullet holes of laughter, joy and seconds of unabridged perfection.
She had her mother’s sarcstic wit, clever intelligence and malicious mouth. She spoke cutting words in strong and smooth yet delicate tone that made them that much more sharp.
This last year had been a doozie. She had been blessed to have had the opportunity to showcase all of her many inherited traits,, and some she had acquired all on her own.
And she had next to no control over any of it.
She was locked in her body.
Merely a spectator.
Watching the shit show whoever the fuck was running the show was creating.
Chaos ensued.
So much fucking chaos.
Some times the apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree.
This apple rolled down the trunk of the chaos tree and just kept rolling on choosing violence and starting fires in this overwhelming storm that is part of the journey that the tale of Bambam the brave.
On it rolled, just fucking her shit right up.