See also my previously posted original short story, "Sanctum". Here is a short story I just wrote today:
"Something about Mary"
Mary was waiting for destiny. Maybe it already came and left. She twirled around the drink in her hand. The stem of the martini glass, dangling between her index and middle fingers, felt as smooth as the as the dark bar counter — and cool to the touch. He was standing there, talking to the woman in red. How could he move on so fast… how could he just forget me? These questions Mary asked herself. Destiny never came; Mary's former love never again looked at her. She walked the road of the anybody, the everybody. She forgot she was a somebody, an individual, a person. Saturated in society's expectations — of marriage, of love, of wealth; becoming a gray in the poles of black and white. Forgetting about the past, not caring about the future. Mary lived a life not even fit for a looter of happiness. She drank herself to death; drove drunk and the police didn't care, oblivious to the legal violation as long as her top buttons were undone. Countless messages left on the answering machine of alleged friends and supposed family. No answer, no call back. Mary sat there, wallowing in her self-hating delusions, waiting for even one call or one buzz; just waiting for a sign that someone, anybody, gave a damn about her being. She died eleven flips of her floral monthly calendar after that day at the bar, aged thirty-two. Nobody cared.
Technorati Tags: short story, story, work, in perspective, clearthought, fiction, drama, blog, blogging, blogger, story, weblog, sanctum, something about mary, writing
"Something about Mary"
Mary was waiting for destiny. Maybe it already came and left. She twirled around the drink in her hand. The stem of the martini glass, dangling between her index and middle fingers, felt as smooth as the as the dark bar counter — and cool to the touch. He was standing there, talking to the woman in red. How could he move on so fast… how could he just forget me? These questions Mary asked herself. Destiny never came; Mary's former love never again looked at her. She walked the road of the anybody, the everybody. She forgot she was a somebody, an individual, a person. Saturated in society's expectations — of marriage, of love, of wealth; becoming a gray in the poles of black and white. Forgetting about the past, not caring about the future. Mary lived a life not even fit for a looter of happiness. She drank herself to death; drove drunk and the police didn't care, oblivious to the legal violation as long as her top buttons were undone. Countless messages left on the answering machine of alleged friends and supposed family. No answer, no call back. Mary sat there, wallowing in her self-hating delusions, waiting for even one call or one buzz; just waiting for a sign that someone, anybody, gave a damn about her being. She died eleven flips of her floral monthly calendar after that day at the bar, aged thirty-two. Nobody cared.
Technorati Tags: short story, story, work, in perspective, clearthought, fiction, drama, blog, blogging, blogger, story, weblog, sanctum, something about mary, writing
2 comments:
congrats on RTM
What is "RTM"? 'Ruining the mood'?
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