“Rolling Down an Endless Hill” by Jeff S. Stinson


I roll down the hill – not because I want to
Because I was pushed
Not literally, but pushed none-the-less
He tries my patience and I want to hit him in his head
Like I’d play Whack-a-Mole

He is better looking than me
And I hate him for it
Younger, stronger, but not smarter
I bruise as I fall further down the hill
Grass stains invade my clothing

In my fantasies I whip out my gun and watch him beg
He breaks out in a sweat, like he has fever
He trembles only slightly less than if sitting on an ice block
I watch him wither
And it makes me smile, then makes me laugh hysterically

I reach the bottom of the hill and look up
He stands at the top of the hill, staring down at me
To him I am nothing, He calls me by that name

There are so many things in life I hate
And I hate many other things as well
Tell me how to be happy
Right now - If I start screaming will you help me to stop?
Will I be able to?