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Like a rock cast in the sea [10/22/10 prompt: Artifact]

October 23, 2010

He’s lying on the floor where I left him, eyes glazed over, a smile on his face. I’m dressed, ready to go (to flee). I rummage through my bag, find the pair of tights I pulled off in the bathroom earlier, throw them on his chest.

“To remember me by”, I say.

Something flimsy, ephemeral, that won’t last long enough to cause trouble. Something that says “I was here” and then quietly fades away.

I try not to leave tracks.

“I like birds”, I tell him, and he grins that smarmy grin of his. The one that tells anyone watching that he’s one of those people who thinks he’s better than everyone else.

“I want to be able to fly away, never look back. Just pick up and go without telling anyone”.

“The problem with birds”, he intones seriously, admonishingly, “is that they always have to land somewhere”.

And for a moment I want to shatter that grin of his, wipe that look off his face, fuck up his already fucked up jaw for using that tone with me, for invoking such a tired cliche in the presence of a wordsmith such as myself. He doesn’t deserve the pleasure of my company. He doesn’t deserve that look on his face.

But I don’t. I don’t hit him. I don’t screech at him for being yet another disappointment in a long line of them. I just roll my eyes and shake my head.

It’s getting late and I’m tired. I just want to go home.

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One Comment leave one →
  1. October 23, 2010 11:46 am

    I love that I can hear you, that I can see this: “Something flimsy, ephemeral, that won’t last long enough to cause trouble. Something that says “I was here” and then quietly fades away.” I love that you immediately thought of tights when the prompt was “artifact” and that, somehow, to me, it can be easily personified…we can easily be left, we can fade, we can be found, we can be picked up and admired, placed into a fucking case like the oldin’ days, dropped, taken, let go of…all of these things and more.

    Artifacts can be worshipped. I’d worship you and them tights. To the fifth power.

    “i want to shatter that grin of his, wipe that look off his face, fuck up his already fucked up jaw for using that tone with me, for invoking such a tired cliche in the presence of a wordsmith such as myself.” You know I fucking love this. Love that he is dropped…the movement from his house to your own.
    Btw: definitely made me think of how I felt after reading James Franco’s tired fiction piece. Talk about perfect timing.

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