the last straw hit her like a tree. buckling at the knees, her pretense failed and everything came out. all of the horrible bile that had been burning inside her chest escaped in a sudden, wretched motion. insults and annoyances had matured into elaborate reasons of distaste and scolding words of melted truth. she tried to pick up the last straw again, in an attempt to take everything back, to wear the fake smile again. but she stumbled every time, hindered by the continuation of the unheeding release of fermented emotion. the somewhat guilty party just stared and eventually turned away, this wasn't their problem, what could they do anyway? the final straw disappeared in all of the commotion and she was left alone to sort through and clean up the disgusting remnants. she doesn't carry straws anymore, just glazed, empty eyes, indifference winning over as an easier standing point.

and he just waits, to externally combust, so his outside can be more like a window, and less like a front.