I Write Sins... Not Tragedies 27 - The Great Pretender

I am so done with this, she says as she locks her phone and throws it on the bed. I need something to drink. Her thoughts wandering about love. If destiny exists, after I die, I’m going to kick it in the dick. It’s not fair to let me look for my soulmate for two years now and not find him. And if I wait any longer, I am going to flip. Hear that, you prick? She screamed as she found something to drink her sorrow away. I don’t know why I’m talking to these walls. The apartment gets silent and lonely quite quickly. She turns on her TV, puts on some Netflix, and looks and looks and looks for something to fill the quiet loneliness with at least some background noise as she continues to ponder. But there is nothing that captures her attention, so she switches to YouTube where she puts the first video about something or other, she doesn’t know what since she wasn’t even bothered to read the title. The volume, too loud, scares her as she pushes on the remote to turn it quickly down. Now, she melts back into her couch, thinking.

Why is this so hard? I don’t understand it. You can’t take it too seriously, because if you do than you are a creep and what do you mean you want to get married in the future? Pfff… And if you don’t take it too seriously, you are just playing with them and hurting their feelings. Why can’t they just say what the fuck they want? But they all want sex. Oh please, show me those that just want sex, at least they know what they want. Her ramblings continued like it was just another Tuesday, because it was indeed just another Tuesday where she would get drunk after a bad date or after getting ghosted by a Tinder match. Frustrated and under the impression that she is already tipsy after the first few sips of alcohol, she turns back to YouTube to put on some music. She starts dancing through the night as she thinks of happiness and her place in the world.

A knock on the door, getting louder and louder. She stops from spinning and dancing bewildered by the 11 PM knock. She stops the music, goes to look who it is at the door. Hello? She asks. Can I help you? She continues as she peaks through the viewfinder. Seeing a young man, she quickly opens the door. Hey, she says with a dumb smirk on her face. What can I do you for? He looks at her up and down. Can you please turn it a bit down? She looks flabbergasted at him. The music, ma’am, the music. She starts laughing, I’m not that old, l o l. He scratches his brow looking at her. Listen, I have a PhD to write and your music is really loud at this hour, so let me give you a life hack. You can use your headphones. Same volume, but just for you to hear. She laughs at him before turning serious. Fine, this old lady won’t bother you anymore. Disappointed she closes the door behind her. And here I thought this was going to turn erotic and fun. But I’m guess now I’m just old independent strong lady. Someone should sue the porn industry and Hollywood with their romantic comedies for creating unrealistic expectations. But then, another knock at her door…

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I Write Sins... Not Tragedies 26 - Otherside

Peaceful I sleep, as there is nothing around me anymore. No light, no sound, no fear around. The heartbeat in my chest is a soothing rhythm as I seem to float down this emptiness. As I open my eyes, a gentle breeze passes my cheek, yet I can’t see anything. The breeze turns into a strong wind as I catch my breath and feel myself falling. Though there is nothing around me, I feel myself catching more and more speed. Free falling into a pit of despair as the rapid currents of air make me choke. Unable to breath I start to flail, to claw, to try to grab something, anything. Yet there was nothing. My skin started to hurt as the wind started to hit harder and harder. My arms, now numb, unable to move. Eyes are watering as I fall deeper and deeper, faster and faster. I want to scream, but I hit the ground and wake up screaming.

What is it? What’s wrong? She asks. As I stand there, looking down at bed, hands shaking, mind empty, I try to respond somehow. I don’t know. I think I had some nightmare. I can feel her hand on my back, as she is slowly moving it up and down. It’s okay. You’re here now, she says as she grabs me in her arms and hugs me. I love you. I grab her arm and lean with my head on her chest as I exhale a simple ‘you too’. She starts to giggle. What? I ask, surprised at her reaction. Nothing. It’s just that… She stops. What? She gently strokes my hair and kisses the top of my head. It’s just that you finally said it. You said that you loved me. As she holds me even tighter at her chest. I stop breathing as my eyes widen. I try to gently pull back, but can’t. I am so happy that you finally said it. I’m glad that you feel the same way I do. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t said that you loved me. Her grip on me, stronger than before.

I love you so much. You’re everything I have ever wanted and more. An ideal, perfection incarnate, that’s what you are to me, my love. I am so glad to have met you. As your eyes flicker, they give me hope. As you speak, it soothes my soul. As you move, you give me life. As you are, you give me a reason to be alive. The fact that you are here, in my arms, means the world to me. And I am glad to have you, to love you, to feel you inside me whenever we make love. As there is nothing more beautiful than you are. She continues to speak words of honey, milk and sugar in my ear as she holds me tight. Her touch, careful as not to hurt me anymore, her words intoxicating. You are so big, every time I see you, I can’t help but crave you. You are so good, that my mouth waters at the thought of you. Her hands start to wander in all sorts of naughty places. As she grabs me, bites me gently, pinches me and drools all over. Disgusted, disturbed and afraid of her…

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I Write Sins... Not Tragedies 25 - Dance Macabre

Her voice turned to noise, as she held me tight in her arms. This is what you want, isn’t it? Her voice turned raspy, her nails deep in the flesh of my back. I gasp for air. I try to pull myself out of her hands by crawling out of the bed, dragging on the sheets. Say you love me, she whispers in my ear as she grabs my neck and squeezes. I open my mouth unable to breathe, as she shoves her tongue down my neck and wraps her legs around my waist. She lets go of my neck with a smile. Wasn’t that erotic? She asks as I cough, trying to get some air. Isn’t this just your dream? Unbridled lust, love, passion, sex and freedom of all responsibility. What a good time to be alive, isn’t it? I get up somehow from between her clutches and run into a corner, as she now stands on the bed marveling at me crawled on the floor.

What are you afraid of? She takes out from nowhere a chocolate bar and starts eating it. Words escape me, as I don’t know what to makes of what is happening in front of me. In size she grew three times, in the blink of an eye. And the she grew three times more and broke the bed under her. As she fell on her knees and arms, she looks at me. Come here. I look to my left at the windows with nothing but darkness, I look at my right, the kitchen and some wood. I slowly get up. Look at her. Petrified, I can’t move. Come here, she commands in a stiffer tone. I can’t, I simply can’t, as I can’t imagine what she will do to me. Tears start to roll down my face, as I brace myself for the worst. What’s wrong? What upset you? I thought that this is what you wanted. I am this, because I thought you’d love me like this! Why can’t you just love me? Even when I dress for you, cook for you, get naked for you… Even when I try to fulfill your wildest fantasies. This is how you treat me. You ungrateful asshole!

Her screams and wales, shake me to the ground, as I fall with her standing and screaming on top of me. I gave you the whole of who I am. And you are hiding in your hole like a scared disgusting mole. All I can think of is how I want to escape, and leave this place as my body is shaking in fear that she’ll crush me. What more do you want from me? Who should I be? What should I be for you to love me? Or are you just going to cheat on me too? I try to grow in size and rip this world apart, but can’t. I try to move, but with each word, she pins me to the ground as her screams send shock waves. My ears start to bleed. I scream, but to no avail, as she continues to wale. Minutes pass, but they feel like an eternity. Seeing that I don’t respond she stops and turns around pouting. I get up and run towards the door, I pull the door knob, and jump into the darkness as she screams after me.

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Men Eaters - The Pilot Program 2020

Welcome to The Pilot Program 2020.

Men Eaters is part of The Pilot Program 2020 of Short Stories One-Shots, where you with your likes, shares, comments can choose which short story becomes the next year’s 52 week short story series.

“BANG!” Rang throughout the house as the shotgun recoiled in my hand with my brother being the last of my family members that I had to kill. It’s not fair! I shout as I kick his corpse. Why do I have to survive and live in this world? But you… Get… To… Fucking die and escape? I sigh and sit down with my head in my hands. My phone rings, I take it out of my pocket, a friend of my brother’s. Did you do it? He asked as soon as I picked up. Yeah. A moment of silence sets before he continues. You okay? I look at their dead bodies. Yeah. I just need to bag the bodies and take them to a crematorium. He laughs. Always burn the bodies, right? I sigh. Right, if they’d come for them instead of having me take them there. Anyways, I’m taking them to the one just over the hill, you’re coming right? Without hesitation he tells me he’ll be there. Well, glad to hear that. See you there in like two hours. Still have some cleaning to do.

I can’t believe this has been going on since 2010, I say as I start talking to myself in an empty house whilst moping the puss and blood off the floor. Why… Are you… So… Heavy? I mutter to myself as I try to drag my brother into the body bag. Well, fuck. Looks like we’ll have to cut you into piece. Seems like this is my last resort, I say as I rev up the chainsaw and start cutting off his limbs. Blood and puss starts flying everywhere, pieces of his bones too. Suddenly I realize what I’ve been doing and stop. Why the fuck did I mop if now I’m doing a bigger mess? I ask myself as I look at the splatter on the walls, sigh, and continue. Why did all three have to do this at once? Unbelievable! I start preparing the bags in the back of my car and bringing limbs and pieces of their bodies one at a time. A neighbor spots me and approaches me. Fuck, say under my breath as I see them get ever closer. He puts his hand on my shoulder and looks me in the eyes. Sorry for your loss, he says. I thank him and to my surprise he leaves without saying anything else. I look at my phone and see that it’s already been an hour and a half. I get in my car and drive off…

What did you do to their bodies? Why did you do this to them? Asks in a revolted tone the man at the crematorium. Listen, I say barely catching my breath, you take three people and carry them to your car by yourself. Why do you care? Just burn the damn things. He looks at me with distaste. They were human once. But they’re not anymore, now are they? I ask as he leaves. Yo, how are you? Just you and me? He asked. Yeah. He looks around. What about family? I start to laugh. Well, they’re dead. And those that aren’t dead, I don’t have their numbers. So it’s just me, and you, his old friend. He looks at me, puts a hand on my shoulder and says that it’s going to be okay. I look back at him smiling. Don’t worry, I don’t even feel guilty, we all fantasized about at least beating our siblings at once. Besides, since we’re not american, well, not me, but most of us kill with swords, axes, weird improvised weapons. Saw a guy the other day with an ax that had basically a shotgun welded to it. He starts laughing. Isn’t that just fucking impractical? I start laughing too. Probably, but it looked fucking cool. He gets serious. But who would have thought that we’d actually get to live with zombies. Actual men eating zombies. I start to rub my eyes. Yeah man. I know. But I swear it’s like nothing changed. You just have the right to kill the undead. You shoot their brains, or bash, slice, dice, cut them and then bring them to burn. Since burying them might just fucking bring them back to life… He looks at me once more. You did the right thing killing them so fast, if you didn’t, they might have become more dangerous. I interrupt him. Or, they would’ve died on their own. He interjects. That’s true, but then again, that’s just another risk we’ll never take. The man comes to tell us that their bodies will be put into the furnace. We both look up at the furnace as black smoke starts to rise, and we both sigh.

Hope you liked this other type of zombie story that’s part of The Pilot Program 2020. And if you did, remember to like it and share it. The more people read it, the bigger the chance that it will be turned into the short story of the year. And if you want to support what I do and these free short stories even more, you can always help by donating to: https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO

I Write Sins... Not Tragedies 24 - Still of the Night

She pushes me on my back and gets on top of me. Her tears hit my face, as I look at her face, I see her eyes hidden behind her hair, her smile big and tearful as she whispers something I don’t hear. She lays down on me, with her head next to mine, taking in a deep breath. I missed this smell of yours, she says while biting my neck. I can feel her hands on me, grabbing me, scratching me, enjoying every last bit of me, as she looks into my eyes with pure burning passion and her makeup ruined. I love you, she says whilst holding my hands down tightly. Speechless, I only look at her eyes as she awaits me to respond with the same feelings. Yet there’s something heavy on my chest that chokes me when I try to speak. Tears start flowing down my face, as I turn my eyes away from her. Why are you crying? I don’t know how to answer her. Since I don’t know what is happening to me. She lets go of my hands, and simply lays her head down on my chest. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.

I blink and wake myself up at the entrance of the house. Welcome home, she says with a smile as she comes to kiss me. I kiss her back and look around, outside still dark and foggy, inside warm and cozy. I look at her. She’s dressed in a apron, some warm socks, a pair of short shorts and a flimsy top, telling me to sit down because the food will be done in a minute. I look down at the table, what looks like a gorgeous hand-crafted wooden table, and see that it is not set. So, I get up, feeling guilty for having her cook again for me, to set the table, at least. No! She exclaims as she pushes me back onto the chair. You sit. You’ve worked hard today and I want to do this for you. So, please. Sit down. And if you’re going to be a good boy, I promise you for desert, something very special. I don’t know what else to do, but sit back down, and simply look at her. Who are you? I ask. She starts laughing. Good joke. Sorry, I forgot to laugh. Ha ha. A silence sets between us as she continues cooking.

Here’s your food. She grabs my head with her hands and kisses me. Please don’t play stupid games with me. You know that I don’t like it when you do things like this. It’s hurtful. I look at her, yet I still can’t recognize the face that is talking to me. My head starts to hurt badly, I turn around, put my elbows on the table, head in my hands, looking at the food. I try to smell it, but I can’t. So I pick it up and bring it to my nose, but still no smell to the food. Stop smelling the food. What the fuck is up with you today? I put the plate back down and start eating. The food has no taste either. I quickly gobble up the food, get up from the chair, go to look out the window. What are you doing? But I see nothing. I run to the door, try to open it, but can’t. I try to unlock it. Hey! What are you doing? I finally manage to unlock it, open it. And there is absolutely nothing in front of me. Are you okay? She whispers in my ear as she drags me back a step and closes the door. Come to bed with me…

If you liked today’s chapter of I Write Sins… don’t forget to like it, share it, and spread the short story as far and wide as you want. And if you want to do more to keep the short stories free, you can always donate at: https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO

I Write Sins... Not Tragedies 23 - Lady in Black

My head hurts and everything’s a bit blurry. Good morning darling, I hear from next to me from a familiar voice. She gets up to kiss me on the cheek, I raise my arm thinking to push her back down onto the bed, as my hand goes through her and she disappears in smoke I hear “Fine, do as you please”. Alas, quiet, I think to myself as my eyes close once more to fall asleep. Drifting into nothingness, my mind blank as any synapses that fire in my brain bring it pain. Hey. Wake up. You’ve slept enough. A strange voice wakes me up in a strange place. Windows with brown wooden frames to my right, walls and ceiling made of wood. The smell of freshly rained on earth all around me and outside the view almost non-existent due to a thick fog. A white bed with same color sheets and next to me a strange little woman I have never met in my life.

I look around, yet, nothing seems familiar. I try to look at her, but before I even get the chance, her arms are on my shoulders wrapped around to the back of my head. Her big brown eyes, are hypnotizing as I try to look away. I get a glimpse of her cute little nose, tanned skin and brownish red lips before she tries to kiss me and I fall on my back. How did you sleep? She asks as she puts her head on my chest and starts to gently move her arm up and down on me. Fine, I guess. I think. She starts laughing. You’re cute. You know that, right? I nervously laugh. Yeah. She looks at me with this serious look, which worries me. Hey, she says before kissing me. No, not like that, she exclaims before jumping on me and french kissing me. I pull myself back from under her and her kiss. Where are you going? She asked annoyed at what I did. Do you hate me? Did you hate that? She asked with the most adorable and sincere look on her face. I start to scratch my head. No, I didn’t. It’s just that… I don’t know what the fuck is happening, whether it’s for real or not.

I get up to put my pants on, as she drops on the bad with a sad expression on her face. You hate it. I’m sorry, she says on the most heart wrenching tone I have ever heard. Guilt starts to bubble up inside me, as I sit topless at the foot of the bed, looking at this gorgeous woman with slender legs, nice round ass, cute flat belly and perky little… No, I didn’t. Why do you keep saying that? I ask as I get onto my knees back in bed. Because… If you didn’t you wouldn’t have pulled back like that. It feels bad. It feels like you don’t want me. I thought you liked me. Now, feeling bad for what I have done, I put a big smile on my face, grab her one of her legs and bite it, right under her ass cheek. She screams and starts laughing before she even gets the chance to scold me as I start to tickle her. Don’t be sad. Of course I like you. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here, now would I? She wraps her hand around me, as a tears flows down her face and brings me closer to kiss me. And as I feel her lips on mine…

Hope you liked this new chapter of the short story I Write Sins… And if you did, don’t forget to like it, share it. If you really are feeling generous and would like to, you can always help by donating in order to keep the site running and the short stories free: https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO

I Write Sins... Not Tragedies 22 - For Those About To Rock (We Salute You)

There once was a stick. A stick in the mud. He’d thrash and splash only to create a rash from other sticks and stones. Yet no one dared to say anything to him, afraid that he might thrash them too. No head or tails to make of his appearance, as stick wouldn’t have such a thing as a head, maybe a tail… After weeks of thrashing and splashing in the mud, the stick had stopped. With the other sticks and stones, curious, they came to see what he had done. It was not a work of art, maybe something you’d call abstract, but the stick was now full of mud. Covered from tip to toe, blinded, he couldn’t see what he had done or those around him watching him. He wanted to say something, but no mouth. Trees speak, but a stone that broke away from its mountain, a stick broken off a tree, a bush, does not. As water flows through mountains telling the tales the giants have seen, wind does not pass through sticks as it would through the lush pins of pines or the branches and leafs of the trees.

Muted, blinded, all alone, in the land of any and all. A stick stands. The earth he stands in shakes and quakes. All the stones and sticks have fallen down. A large shadow is cast upon them, and a large eyes appears above in the skies. He looks with precision around the stones and sticks, until the eyes stops upon the stick in the mud. A flash blinds them all, the light gets through even to the muddy stick, scaring him. Scared, confused and lonely he starts to jump and thrash in the mud once more. Seeing this, the eye got closer, he could not believe what he just saw. A claw descending from the clouds grabbed the stick. Seeing this, the other sticks and stones attacked the claw to stop trying to hurt the muddy stick. But, as it’s nature’s will, they could do nothing to help him. Now mudless in the eyes, up in the heavens above, he could hear the talk of the trees through the wind, he could see the eye that was closely inspecting him. That which scared him even more.

After another flash and another claw appear from thin air, to take him by both ends. As the eye drew nearer, through one of its greasy claws, the stick escaped free to poke the eye. A thunderous scream is heard by all the sticks and stones on the ground as they see the muddy stick falling down from the heavens and feel the ground beneath shaking. The stick has fallen back where it was taken from, and all the other sticks and stones jumped in to get him. The eye returned, but red, to see all those sticks and stones muddied and dirtied. With a giant swing of his claw he hit the rocks and stones and threw them far away. You see? Where sticks and stones may break your bones, ‘cause they don’t see nor hear, eyes and claws may break you all. I see to you all this, as I sit here, drinking a beer. Alone, at a sit in some random bar in the middle of this town. Make of this story what you will, not like my will will persuade you otherwise. And now I go home to sleep next to my angry wife.

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I Write Sins... Not Tragedies 21 - What A Wonderful World

It was her. And I was afraid to answer, I always felt like she knew what I was doing. Afraid she’d scold me, afraid she’d get sad or worse, leave me. The phone stops ringing. I don’t if what I feel is right, as soon as those words escape my mouth, my phone starts ringing again. Hello? A brief pause. Hey, are you okay? She asked already knowing the answer. Yeah, I’m fine. How are you? I hear a noise of something moving about around her. I just got home, can you wait a bit? Soft whispers and a sound like that of a jacket hitting the floor, and I remember the last time I called her and she said something about me not knowing. I can’t be jealous, I don’t deserve to even think or feel like that. She’ll never know what happened today or who I was with or why. My thoughts are overwhelming me and distract me from listening to whatever is happening on the other end of this phone call.

Hey, you still here? I was wondering why you’re not home. I sigh as I lied through my teeth telling her about my day meeting an old friend from school and then having to go all around the town in search of something or other just to bump into another friend and going for drinks. With every sentence of mine an ‘aham’ of hers as she is clearly not interested in what I have to say, but patiently awaits me to finish my story. And when are you coming home? Soon? She asked with impatience in her voice. I don’t know. Why? You have any plans? Hearing this she gasps. What? No. I’m tired from work and just want to know when you’ll get home. Are you sure there’s nothing wrong with you? I interrupt her. That’s not how I meant it. Why are you like this? I simply asked if there is something you want to do tonight. Like watch a TV show, a movie, take a long bath, stuff like that. What’s wrong with you? Cause I am fine. She goes silent, and I look at my half empty beer, wondering if I should order another one.

I am fine. I told you, just tired. My mind goes blank for a moment. What should I not know? Silence once more. I asked what I shouldn’t know. I hear her take a deep breath. I don’t know what you are talking about, okay? Just, please… I had a long day too. So, have fun, take your time to do whatever. But try to take care, and I’ll see you later, okay? She hangs up without saying any other word. See? This is where relationships go bad, usually. One says one thing, the other understands something else. Usually there’s nothing there, but a silly misunderstanding. But the thing that is at the core of it all is a seething hatred for ones self. And not that I know what to do with myself. I’m just curious if after so many years it will come crumbling down like everything else in life. Entropy at its finest. And then I tell myself…. What a wonderful world. But, then again, I can’t do anything, but head home and face whatever has happened.

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The Falling Tower: The Bloody Anthologies of London - The Pilot Program 2020

Welcome to The Pilot Program 2020 for the month of May.

If you don’t know how The Pilot Program Works, it’s quite simple. You read, like, comment and share the short story you like and thus casting your vote on which short story you want me to turn into a 52 long short story series for the next year. And this month we have a retelling of The Falling Tower from last year, but of course, better written and more interesting. Enjoy.

In a house in the parish of Saint Michael there’s a dead man, the sheriff, the coroner, the jury and I. ‘Twas Wednesday morning ‘ere after Lady Day, when I got caught in front of the house Walter of Moden, which he had leased from Geoffrey de Warde, by a man that introduced himself as John Cotton, saying he’s the sheriff. He had asked me if I knew who lived there. Without a thought I nodded. He then said to me to join him inside. There, he introduced me to Benet of Fulham, the coroner who helped ‘im investigate the matter at hand. He then asked me if I know where Walter be at. I told him that I couldn’t tell ‘im since I don’t know which he was referring to. And ‘cause all I knew, was everything that had happened that Sunday. The sheriff looked at me up and down, from close and from afar. He then turned to the coroner and told ‘im to tell me everything he knew. After telling me about how the man had died, what Benedict de Warde, Geoffrey the Brewer and Robert of Moden had said to ‘im. The sheriff told Benet to take out his bible and have me swear in front of the jury on God. And so I did…

“I swear to God, I’m ‘ere to do justice. ‘Cause I ‘member it clearly, the previous Sunday, ‘cause I, Walter de Ardene, an’ ma wife carried ‘im to the St. Michael’s lane, there we sat him down, stood all night with ‘im. These here folk need to know what Walter of Benington and his posse did. You all did not come ‘ere from three neighboring wards just fo’ a walk. ‘Twas them there at the alehouse of Gilbert of Morden, where they’d come to drink four gallons of beer. Him and seventeen other men. They’d come with stones, knives, swords and other weapons, wanting to kidnap poor Emma. That girl already lost ‘er father, Robert Pourte, not too long ago. Then Gilbert, a simple, honest stockfish-monger, took ‘er under his arm to protectect ‘er. Knowin’ that such worms would crawl out of these ‘ere earth to come and pray on the young lady. And right he was. These folk wanted to kidnap and rape ‘er, from what ma wife, Christina, told me after. Mabel, Gilbert’s wife, and Geoffrey, ‘is brewer, after they figured out what they wanted, they had asked ‘em to leave. But they told ‘em that’d remain to spend they money however they like, welcome or unwelcome, ‘tis a public space. Now, this is where the trouble started…

From what I understand. Then Mabel took Emma upstairs, then Walter of Benington and his friends started getting frustrated and angry from waitin’ to see if she came back down. Before long they started creating commotion, assaulting the people living in that ‘ere house and Robert and Geoffrey too. ‘Twas a mess, you can only imagine what eighteen of ‘em armed people can do to a place like that on a Sunday, where everyone just sitting in piece drinking after church. I mean. on the Lord’s day to do that there? Shame. Shame, I tell you. Somehow, they struck Robert on his head with stones in all that commotion. Here’s where we came in, ‘cause Robert fled into High Street raisin’ the hue, crying, screaming with Walter racin’ after ‘im with a knife and a stiletto in his hands, tryin’ to kill the poor bastard. Benedict de Warde and some other neighbors got there first, tryin’ to calm ‘em down, but you already know that this ain’t the end. Cause the men started fightin’ in mid street and Walter chased after Benedict tryin’ to kill ‘im too, the mad lad lost it at that point. So, you know, Benedict was bare handed… He had to find something to defend himself with. So he took some ballstave thing from a stranger in the street. And Walter threw himself at Benedict, tryin’ to stab ‘im and shouting. A crowd drew itself at ‘em windows and doors to see what was happening. ‘Twas then we got ‘ere, and just as we did, Benedict raised his hands and he laid one onto Walter so hard, that the bastard fell down to the ground at the entrance of the lane. Once the mad lad was down, ‘twas quite easy to get the rest of ‘em to calm down. Ma wife then came too, and until they left, she told me the whole story. And after they all had left, me and my wife carried Walter into the lane, by the fountain, where we stood on the pavement with ‘im ‘till morning. The next day after he laid by St. Michael’s lane, we took ‘im to Geoffrey’s house. ‘Twas there he died instantly. Now, here’s the thing, I don’t know how he died there, ‘cause I went out to wash my hands of blood and left with Christina by ma hand. And ‘twas the last day we saw both Benedict de Warde and Walter of Moden too. But, at least I can say that at least no one was raped, abducted or killed, I mean, besides Walter here. But then again, he started it.”

And all ‘twas ereyesterday, but they didn’t want to let me go, saying that I should’ve had come and told them ‘bout what had happened. I told ‘em that all I did was what anyone with a decent heart would do and help a wounded man. Luckily the sheriff believed in me, after I told them everything that had happened that Sunday. So then after, the jury had given the sentence and the sheriff told ‘em to arrest Benedict when they find him in their bailiwick. But from what I heard, the jurors, the day after, said that he had absconded, whatever that means. And they can’t find ‘im, ‘cause he had no goods or chattels, so ‘em people now tryin’ to find if someone is hidin’ ‘im. And all this happened in the past seven days. Can you imagine what happens ‘ere in London every single day? And ‘em say that we civilized now in the year of our lord 1325.

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I Write Sins... Not Tragedies 20 - Never Too Late

And for what? She asks. I… She starts laughing. See? Whether they read what you write, like you, dislike you and what you do. All that doesn’t matter. Nor are they your problem. I don’t know what you expected to be or to become. But this is fine. Without thinking I cut her off. It isn’t. We need to do better. I need to do better than this. With a bittersweet smile, she reaches out and holds my hand. It’s fine. You are doing fine. You can’t control everything, right? Then how can you do better when you are already doing everything you can? She asks on the sweetest of tones. Her words were like a warm hug, yet in my mind, the disappointment I felt was immense at the thought that there is nothing I could achieve or do. The same applies to love. You can’t expect everything to be perfect, nor should you. But that doesn’t mean that it isn’t worth it. I try to stop her, but the words escape me as she continues.

Her voice echoes through my brain, but they don’t make any sense. Stop it, please, I say as I look at her with a pitiful look on my face. I’m sorry, she says. I couldn’t love you enough, teach you enough, help you get over whatever it is that you were going through. I reach out and grab her hand. Stop it. There’s no reason to apologize, you did nothing wrong. She looks at me like I dragged her out from under a a collapsed building. With a smile she looks at me and says… Glad to see that you’ve grown a little. But if I did nothing wrong, you shouldn’t burden yourself with all these questions and problems. They’re not all yours to solve. Just do what you can, and try to enjoy life. I nod, without being able to say anything. I’m sorry, I don’t know what else to tell you. I look at her and I choke on my words. I did love you back then. You know that, right? She asks. Unable to keep my tears back, I nod once more.

Her phone rings, she dismisses it. Shouldn’t you answer that? She shakes her head. Give me your phone number, she says. I tell her my phone number, she thanks me. What a day, huh? She asks while laughing. You have no idea, it’s been overwhelming. And I couldn’t think I’d ever see you again, or hear your voice outside of a the video I have of you. Quickly she picks up on what I just said. Video? I nod. What video? I don’t remember videos. I start laughing. Don’t worry, nothing like that. It’s from a party we went to once, a long time ago. She looks at me confused. I don’t remember us going to many parties. I laugh once more. Well, of course not. It’s been ages ago, and many important things happened to you, right? She smiles. Yes. Thank you for this. Glad to have seen you. And stop overthinking so many things, you’re ruining yourself, she says as she gets up and leaves me alone once more at that table. And then, my phone rings…

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