Not Giving a Rat’s Ass and Being Horrible
No one’s perfect. A story in 100 words.
No one’s perfect. A story in 100 words.
“My mother just died, the last fucking thing I want to talk about is children!”
Loving her wasn’t the issue.
Being in synch was.
I wanted kids before.
Not now.
Returning home from the funeral, I walked in.
Too clean.
Too quiet.
Much too quiet.
Something was missing.
Someone was missing.
A letter, on the table, “Dear. . .”
Ignoring her texts for weeks, she begged:
“Talk to me!”
“You said enough.”
“I haven’t.”
“Talk then.”
“I’m outside.”
Opening the door, she had tears rolling down her cheek:
“I had a miscarriage.”
I closed the door.
My phone vibrated again.
Fuck her.