Haus.

It started as a crack. A wallpaper scab. I would lie in bed and pick away at it. Before long it had spread to the entire wall, I was pulling out bricks and scratching at concrete. I’d fall asleep in a bed full of gravel.

I couldn’t stop. Had to get a ladder to reach the ceiling - I ruined a web and the spider crashed down and scrambled out terrified. I tore and peeled and pulled and broke before the whole fucking thing caved in. The light fixture hung from it’s wires like a loose eyeball from a socket.

If I believed in God, I bet I would have seen her up there sticking her beak in, wondering what the racket was.

I chewed my nails. They tasted like construction. I felt proud of myself.

I crawled up into the hole and started on the roof - that was easy enough. Nobody can be arsed making good roofs anymore. I just punched a hole straight through until I could stand on top of my house, looking down on all the people who didn’t feel the need to break things.

Fuck them.

It was a big house. I could reach the sky. I couldn’t stop.

I pulled at clouds - tearing at them like a butcher at a chickens feathers. Flimsy things, clouds. Warmer and wetter than you’d imagine, like kneading bread. I clawed at grey, at blue, at black, wiping the palette till it was blank and burning.

I stopped when I got to the sun.

Only an idiot would fuck with the sun.