I take another sip of my glass of shitty $4.49 Riesling as another carpenter ant crawls up my unshaved shin. Is this what I’ve become? I think to myself. I sip once more, knowing fully well I will have heartburn in 20 minutes. Damn this wine is shitty.
Last night was supposed to be fun. I was supposed to be fun. Instead, I found myself covering my crotch when he went for the tie on my shorts. I wouldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it. The last time I did it, bad things happened to me. Very bad things.
His mouth felt the same as all of their mouths: taut and wet. It was as if when I kissed him, I was kissing all of them. Every guy I had ever been with. Which, for your information, wasn’t actually that many. But they still remained, despite that.
My phone dinged and vibrated. “You have a new message from Carl.” I let out a sigh and force-touched the screen to open the message. I skimmed the speech bubble’s contents and replied with the usual “It’s going. You?” I wasn’t that original.
Another sip. I didn’t want to waste the nice bottle of Riesling from the local winery. That was too good. Too good for me. Here comes the heartburn, I shutter as acid from my stomach filters into my throat.
Knock, knock. My roommate was at the door. I put the glass of wine under my desk and walked towards the door.
Sorry I haven’t written in a while. I just started my summer class and with volunteering, it has been a lot. I plan on writing more flash fiction, maybe even a short story of sorts. There will still be poetry but I’m just trying to explore more with fiction.
I feel guilty. What have I done?
I think things are okay when they are not.
But that is all I do is think.
Think. Think. Think.
I make excuses for those who may not deserve them.
But that is all I do is make.
Make. Make. Make.
Yet what have I done?
Check out my story on Funny in Five Hundred: Fishy!
I’m not going to tell you he wasn’t meant for you; he was. But there are more. There are many more who are meant for you. You met the one that was right for you for that time. He was right for you, then. But there are many more who are meant for you, now.
There are three things that we are running out of: land, air, and water. We’re not going to get anymore. We’re just not.
I lifted my boobs into my sports bra and ran out the door of the mediocre Korean restaurant. It was raining. My browned Nike sneakers hit the soaked sidewalk to the beat of my heart: ba doom, ba doom. The rain continued to pour down baby hairs sticking out of my low bun. I must’ve looked rabid.
I had to charge my phone. When his name popped up with green for the first time in over a week, my chin dropped into the Bulgogi on the table. My heart sped up: ba doom, ba doom, ba doom. I didn’t know how to say anything. I didn’t know what to say. All I knew was that the 1% in the top corner of my phone was a problem. I needed my charger.
So here I was, running in the spitting rain. I hadn’t truly ran since high school and even then, I threw the shotput. I laughed. The street replied with an echo, reflecting from the puddles. After all these days crying to ABBA, into a bag of cool ranch Doritos, and with my therapist, he returned. After all that.
They’re that stain of spaghetti sauce on your white top splashed on after spooling noodles on your fork.
They’re that pressure on your cactus bladder full of solution after a day of ingestion.
They’re that black ponytail on your right wrist that leaves a fuchsia ring after hours of wear.
They’re me replying to you within our usual fifteen minutes after you haven’t been here.
I was not in love but
I would’ve been.