NEW WRITING:

He stabbed at his phone with his long drawn finger, stopped, clenched his jaw so tightly it flickered, and then stabbed it again. Fuck technology, fuck the hell out of phones! Where are they? He threw the phone down on the bed with a thud, a decisive satisfying dumb thud. But then he instantly picked it up again. He stabbed, and stabbed again. He hated people - always...sometimes. He hated so-called friends and lovers most of all. What was the point of friends and lovers if they weren't there - always...sometimes? He threw the phone back down on the bed, with another pleasing, dumb thud, and hugged himself, his long thin fingers digging into his tender sides, that place just below his ribs, his comfort zone, his punishing, hurting, stupid place - he rocked to and fro, to and fro. He waited a moment, then another, then another. He glanced at his dumb, stupid, obstinate phone through a cornered glance. He sighed, rolled his eyes, picked it up one more time, and stabbed it again and again with his long drawn finger.