Tuesday, November 15, 2005

From the novel I'm not really writing

Allison looked at the ring one last time before tossing it in the toilet of a public restroom near Main Street. Where had she gotten the ring? Who had given it to her? She hardly remembered now.
Of course she remembered.
Those were good times, she thought. She laughed at the possibility he might still be lingering the halls of her old apartment building. Still drunk. Still passed out on her welcome mat. Still sexually addicted to the sound of her voice saying dirty words. But, he was gone.
"Allison! What the fuck dude?"
"Sorry, I spaced out."
"What's the matter with you? You've been in here for over half an hour. It's fucking freezing outside."
"Eh, I feel kind of sick."
"Are you binging and purging again?"
"Shut up, asshole."
"Seriously, are you really sick? Can I get you something? There's that drugstore right up the street."
"Nah, I'm fine."
She flushed to toilet and opened the stall door where her best friend was waiting, looking flushed from the cold and slightly concerned.
"Valerie, I'm fine. Stop looking at me like that."
She washed her hands. Her left hand seemed enormous to her. She stared at it's vast open space.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

me likey. seriously.

- tawnya