Shortcomings
He stared at her face, nervously seeking a sign that he could read and understand. So much effort, so much time had been spent locked away in a room to himself, so many hours he absorbed himself into his own little world that didn’t include her or anyone else that he knew. He just had to know it had all been worthwhile, to justify the means to the end. Everything he did had to be worthwhile. “Do it well, or don’t do it at all,” was his motto.
‘So, what do you think?’ he asked finally, after noticing her eyes stop moving from one edge of the page to the other.
‘Well…’ a pause filled the air, her hands falling to her lap holding the pile of papers. ‘Could you make it more obvious? I feel like a two-cent whore now. Not my name, I know, but it’s not hard to tell who partial truths are taken from.’
He stared at her silently, searching wildly within his mind for a defense, some kind of rebuttal that would override her statement. Every writer took something from their actual reality and transferred it into their writing – that’s what clearly defined it as their own, as a story about them, a more personal piece as opposed to the simple carbon-copy generated stories you find on shelves these days.
‘You know that I love you, don’t you?’ he asked, as he always did whenever he needed her to remind herself.
‘Yes, I know you do… but…’
‘It’s just a story. If I really felt that way about you, would I be keeping you around? It wouldn’t be you I curl behind in bed and hold in my arms. It may not be anyone.’
You were provoked by Vittra at 10:32 pm | Comments Off