I stared at the wooden cross that hung on the wall. It was relatively simple, plain wood. The man who hung there, Jesus, was gaunt and under nourished. I could trace every rib in his ribcage. He was mostly naked, except for raggedy cloth that hung loosely on his hips. A crown of thorns, sharp and dangerous, was shoved down onto his head, rivulets of crimson pouring from the wounds they made. He was nailed to the cross, through his hands and feet. Yet, as he hung there in pain, he didn't become angered. The thought of him forgiving all those who hurt him made me want to roll my eyes. Slowly, I lifted the cross off its perfect perch upon the wall, cradling it in my hands.


"Oh, how I love you, Irony," I murmured.


"What do you love?" Sneered a voice behind me. It was that voice. The voice I despised with all my being, the voice I hated. I could just picture her standing there, perfectly manicured hands perched on her hips. Her glossed lips would be forming a disappointed pout at my lack of an answer right about now. Her blue eyes are probably as narrow as they can get. Any minute now, she would flick her long blonde hair and demand my answer. I waited, not answering. I was trying to imagine her exact position behind me. From where her voice came from, I'd imagine she was right behind me. Before she could open her mouth, I whirled around almost silently. The cross in my hand made a quiet thunk sound as it collided with her face. A barely audible crack resounded, probably the sound of her nose breaking. The force of the blow sent her careened backwards. She stumbled over a nearby chair, her legs tangling. She went crashing to the ground, jarring her side against the metal desk. Her face was the perfect picture of shock. Her lips parted as she stared up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. I believe everything came as a surprise to her. Her surprised look twisted into one of agony as the shock subsided and pain took its place. Her body writhed in sporatic movements, jerking, and causing herself more pain.


"I love Irony," I repeated.


She stared up at me, a mass of questions flooding her mind. The place in which I had hit was bleeding freely now, blood mingling with makeup and tears. It all cascaded down her face, like a polluted river. I wrinkled my nose in disgust. Her breaths were shallow and quick, trying to subdue the pain coursing through her veins. I already knew what her next action would be. That much was obvious. Swiftly, I knelt beside her battered body,


"Jesus is with you," I cooed as I brought the wooden cross down, smashing into her face.~