Saturday, January 4, 2014

Like Losing A Piece

So, that thing I was writing is going to end up a lot longer than I originally planned. A LOT longer, as in "Too friggin' long to keep posting 1,500 words at a time". So instead, here's a self-contained short story, to apologize for the loss of the other one.

            Claire walked through the door, slamming it behind her. Sam was there, waiting for her, legs hanging off of her sink. The dorm room was small, like all dorm rooms, and covered in old carpet remnants. To the left of the door was Claire’s roommate’s futon, and she sat down heavily with an angsty sigh. Just as quickly, she hopped back up, and began to walk around the room. From window back to the door, she paced. Luckily, her roommate was out, so they had the room to themselves. Sam watched her pace with a growing look of frustration on his face. Finally, he rolled his eyes and slid off of the sink.
            “You’re going to say something, so say it already,” he said, crossing his arms.
            “It’s not fair!” Claire yelled immediately after he finished, almost cutting off his last word. She threw her hands in the air and continued to pace. “It’s- they can’t- who…”
            Sam smiled his wry smile, saying “I agree completely.”
            She glared at him, her overly mad face that she only put on when she needed to make a point. After a beat, her features softened, and her eyes welled up. “I don’t want them to take you away,” she said.
            Immediately, his smile disappeared, and he wrapped her up in a massive hug. She didn’t cry, but still buried her face into his neck. She felt his arms squeeze tight, two or three times. She didn’t pull away, and Sam began running a hand up and down her back, like she had always liked.
            “But I need to go,” Sam said, finally pulling away far enough to look into her eyes. Claire just shook her head, without saying anything. “It’s past time, and you know it.”

Wednesday, January 1, 2014

Our Empty Streets (pt. 4)

No, I don't know how long this is going to be. Part 3 is here.


            The next day, Marilyn and Erin showed up in Marilyn’s SUV, with bags galore in the trunk. I, freshly shaven and showered, felt I should play the host, and had been sitting in my building’s lobby for fifteen minutes, impatiently tapping my foot. Now at the sight of all of the luggage the girls had brought, I raised an eyebrow.
            “Well don’t just look at us like we’re crazy, help some ladies out!” Marilyn said, a large duffel bag around her shoulder. I hopped to, always the chivalrous gentleman, and took Erin’s heaviest-looking bag out of her grasp. I was too old for a part-time job, but in this moment I felt like a bell-hop.