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…

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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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I Write Sins... Not Tragedies 19 - Duality

Why? She asked again like none of my words meant anything to her. Frustration started to take a hold of me, as more and more of my questions, my insecurities weren’t getting any satisfying answer. Because I don’t get it, I said as she surprised looks at me and leans back. I know that it shouldn’t matter, yet it matters. Because the way we live is rather dumb. We all know the same rules of wash your hands, when you yawn, you put your hand to your mouth. These weird fucking rules that came out of necessity. Yet, here we are. In a nebulous cloud without any real rules to follow, even murder is not really frowned upon in the right context. But as I writer there is one thing I don’t have. One thing I will never understand and it doesn’t satisfy me. Because either something has rules, or it doesn’t. Having your cake and eating it doesn’t cut it for me anymore. I want something more.

She looks at me with bewilderment as I light up and continue to rant. Art, my art, writing… What’s the point of all those rules only to break them? What’s the point of the internet? What’s the point of free access to information if we can’t use it properly? What’s the point of helping anyone if they don’t want the help, even if they are a danger to themselves and others? There isn’t any! What is your responsibility to do anything in this god forsaken world? None! Because you have the freedom to do so? But what good is freedom if you hurt someone? What good is freedom if you can’t take advantage of it? And put yourself in a cage then blame others? All this life is to me, all this life will ever mean to me is a joke. Because I can’t have what I want. Because either I write what I don’t want, but the audience wants, which they don’t know what they want. Or I write what I want, but the audience doesn’t, because even thought they don’t know what they want, they know that they don’t want what you are offering. Fuck!

She lights up another cigarette and looks at me smiling. How am I supposed to know who I am? What am I to do in this life? When most of them don’t. And you know what they do because they don’t? They stand in your way, because they can’t fucking fathom the balls on you as a human being to be happy, and to pursue something you want to fucking do in your life. And even when they don’t, change scares them. So, you scare them. Because you have good ideas, you have potential to make it big, kid. To change what needs to be changed in a broken system. But they won’t let you, because it’s the norm, and why change what works. But does it actually fucking work if you want to change it? Of course not. All I wanted was to be happy, with you, with my fiance, with anyone for that matter that would have given me the light of day. Yet I don’t have that luxury, because I can’t have you, I can’t have what I want. And I don’t know what I want, because no one does and even if I did, no one would actually give two shits to read what I wrote. And that’s the truth. Instead of doing what is right and necessary. Instead of actually changing something, we’re just moving along because change scares us, no matter how good it would have been afterwards. With big eyes, she looks at me and…

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I Write Sins... Not Tragedies 18 - Wish You Were Here

She slowly moves her hand towards my crotch. Listen here, she says as she grabs my junk. That’s no way to live life and you know it too. There are way too many things that you could have done in any other way, but this feels like nothing but pure childishness from you. She slaps me, before moving back on the other side of the table and drags another smoke of her cigarette. I know! You’re disappointed. This isn’t what you thought I’d be after so many years. Don’t look so surprised, I’m not entirely a moron. She starts laughing, covering her face with her hands. I have no idea what I saw in you, when I fell for you, she says. Without thinking I interrupt her. Me neither. Her hand shaking as she puts out the cigarette, her face with the most bitter of smiles as she looks at me. I never thought I’d see you, nor did I ever want to see you like this. A slight chuckle from her after hearing that. Me neither….

We looked into each other’s eyes, the chocolaty brown color of her eyes, drew me into the dark of her pupils as she used to do with her puppy eyes. I thought she thought what I was thinking, thoughts of what if’s and maybes. You know… I have two kids now. They’re absolutely wonderful. My husband sometimes can be a dick, but you know me. I always used to do shit for myself, never needed him, you or anyone for that matter. She stops there to light another cigarette as the bartender brings us another round of beers. So, if I can do all this, you can too. And let’s be honest, I’m not the first to tell you all this, right? I nod without saying anything else. But, it’s good seeing you. Glad to see you’re handling life somehow. Even if it’s somewhat poorly. We both take a drink at the same time and stare at each other once more without saying much else.

What do you want to do in this life? She asked. Don’t ask me that. She smiles. Why? Head in my hands, looking down at the table. You know why. I can’t… I don’t know. How are you supposed to know what the fuck to do in a lifetime when… I start to gesture broadly at everything around me. Oh you absolute weakling, she says with disgust. How have you lived life like this until now? You really haven’t grown up in all these years. Glad you’re not the father of my kids. I with a bitter smile look at her and grind my teeth. Me too, at least now we see something eye to eye, right? She scoffs at what I just said. I’m sorry. It’s just that I can’t do anything about the decisions I already took. There’s nothing I could do right now to do better what has already been done. Nor can I ever prove to you or anyone that I wronged anything, because by the time I’ll do it, you won’t be there to witness it. That’s why when I saw you, for a moment I was happy. But then, I remembered that I’m not who I thought I’d be when I’d see you again…

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I Write Sins... Not Tragedies 17 - Breaking The Habit

Her voice soothing, like something I haven’t seen before. That hello felt like a touch to my feeble broken soul. Hope once more in my eyes, I turn to see her, the one speaking to me. The smile I had on my face turned to shock as another ghost from my past has come to visit me. Why was she here? I never thought I’d see you. I never thought I’d see you, she says as I finish the same thought. What are you doing here? She asks as I was about to ask the same question. Out, with a friend. She just left, I respond with the most broken smile. You haven’t changed much, have you? With a nervous laughter I nod. How are you? What are you doing here? How’s your child? She smiles as she sits down in front of me. Fine, she is fine. Same, here to meet a friend, but by the looks of it she is late. She pulls out her pack of cigarettes, a lighter, a lights one up. Do you want one too? She asked. No, I quit. She starts laughing. Well, look at you grown up and all, she says while laughing.

The black nail polish, scraped off by the edges, her hands shaking, cigarette in mouth she taps on her phone with the speed of light. With one drag she sets her phone down on the table firmly and looks at me smiling. Married? She asked. No…. Not yet at least. A bit surprised she looks at me with the weirdest look. How so? What have you done to not be married by now? Nervously I laugh one more. You know me… Dumb shit. Tried stuff, didn’t pan out. Trying stuff, still doesn’t pan out. She sighs. Don’t worry, you’ll figure stuff out. Look at you, you still look fine, like you haven’t aged a single day. So, are you single now? Unable to look her in the eye, I respond. No, engaged. Without even finishing the sentence. Wow, congrats. Glad to hear that. See, you’re not such a loser after all. I’m afraid. You’re afraid, she says on a serious tone, after once more saying what’s on my mind.

How? She smiles.You’re the worst, you know that? Always so idiotically honest. You’re as mysterious as a carrot. Embarrassed, I look down at her hands as the smoke floats and draws in the air. It’s scary. Can you blame me? It’s forever. Without thinking she once more interrupts me. Who says it’s forever? Show me. Let’s be real, you aren’t that dumb to get engaged to someone you wouldn’t think to love and want to be with, right? She asks as I sit there feeling once more like a child in front of her. You’re overthinking it again. Such a horrible trait of yours. If you could only see yourself how others see you… In a whisper I tell her that I know. Then you’re a dumbass for not doing anything about it. Her words like a hammer to my ego, whatever is left of it. This is so frustrating, she says in an annoyed tone looking at me. She gets up, sits next to me and she puts her hand on my leg then…

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Don't Sleep - The Pilot Program 2020

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

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 twisted short story about what lies beyond sleep. Enjoy.

If I sleep now, I’ll lose everything I have. That was my first thought every morning I woke up in this world after surviving another night. I can’t remember the last time I was glad to fall asleep without any worry of what might wait for me on the other side. I can still feel the eyes of that creature on the back of my neck, ugh, maybe I need another cup of coffee. Three days, fourteen hours and roughly twenty two minutes, I need to do better. I have to figure out a way to prolong the waking hours without hurting myself. If the record from what I gathered was somewhere around eleven days of not sleeping, I should be able to at least push four days without any sleep. But with only sleeping for five hours, I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it. I don’t want to leave…

The warm coffee in my hands brings a nice soothing smell, as the thoughts that I will need to go back to work creep behind me. Looking around, I notice that the drugs are almost all gone. I’ll need to go and get some more, if I want to survive another week here. Pants, shirt, jacket, boots, wallet, phones and then house keys in my hand as I set foot outside the house I grew up in. The sun is blinding today, but the most irritating thing is the overwhelming noise everyone makes in the first hours of every single day. With people screaming as they don’t know where they are, who they are with. Hey, neighbor, says a voice from my right. I turn I see a new face I don’t recognize. Hey, new neighbor. He starts to laugh nervously. Listen, since you seem to be a bright young man, can you help me? Already knowing what he is going to ask I simply give up and nod.

Where do I work? He asked with a puzzled expression. What’s my name here? He asked with the same expression. Do you know me? He asked exasperated. The fucker left me nothing to go off. No ID, no journal, no nothing. Please. He says as others get into the street looking around, trying to find some information on who they are. Since they too, had the same fate, losing their fights and getting forced to now live here by some assholes that couldn’t handle it anymore. I don’t know, sorry. He rarely left home, so I didn’t interact with him. Hearing this the man goes into a panic and runs back towards his house. I can’t afford to make him my enemy, I can’t afford to waste any energy on anyone. I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to sleep. I want to live in this world, not another, I’ve seen much worse. So when I fall from exhaustion, from whichever parallel earth or dimension a new me comes to fight me and take my place, I’ll beat him, like I beat the one from last night.

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I Write Sins... Not Tragedies 16 - Comfortably Numb

I can’t stand you anymore. This is said, she says as she goes back around to her place. You’ll regret it. Her look turns to disappointment once more as she gathers her things. Even if I am going to regret it, at least I dodged a bullet with you. She says softly under her breath. Yeah, sure you did. when all you’ll do is be alone and sad all the time. At least I have someone I care about. She let’s out a sarcastic little laugh. Is that what this here is? You caring for your fiancee? After all you said here… She goes silent, sits down and lights up another cigarette with her small black lighter. She spots the waiter and asks for the check. Maybe this all was a mistake, she says while dragging from her cigarette. Maybe, I reply. I don’t think it would have worked, even if we tried, she said with a sad look in her eyes. You were always just someone precious to me, but I… She stops once more. You can’t know any of that! Maybe you would’ve been happy for once in your life. Feel at home, at ease. But, maybe you would’ve fucked it all up, because it wouldn’t’ve been as toxic.

After hearing this, she gets up and leaves. Alone with my thoughts, with my new found regret, I try to erase everything I just said and done and move on. Yet the only thing I can think of is how much I’ll miss talking to her as another person leaves my life like it meant nothing to them. My phone buzzes with a message. You should have kissed me and you could have had me then and there. I could have made your dream come true. You coward, the message wrote. How did she know of… I scratch my head and ask for another beer, as I sit lonely at this table surrounded by strangers. Why does this happen? I ask myself every single day. Why can’t you just be a normal human being for once? I whisper under my breath as I look into nothing. Feeling like the world is crashing around me,

Why can’t you love like a normal person?

Why do you love?

Who do you love?

What is wrong with you?

What do you want from life? From them? From us?

Who are you doing this for?

What do you think is happening?

Don’t you think this will come back to bite you in the ass?

How?

What is your logic?

Who are you thinking about?

What are you thinking when you’re thinking?

Who is in there?

What are you doing exactly?

Are you trying to ruin your own life?

Is this how you want to enter your married life? With regrets?

What are you doing?

Do you hate your life that much?

Can you not?

Why can’t you just be happy?

Have you tried enjoying the life you have for once?

Can you please stop?

What or who are you afraid of?

Hello… I hear…

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