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Old Oct. 12, 2008, 11:36 PM   #1
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Default Fuzzy's Short Stories Thread

Yeah. I figured I'd make one of these since I have a few short stories that I'd like to post in the future. But, for now, here's one that I started a while back and just recently finished:

Waxen Love

Saul was a simple man. He held an average job and his thoughts weren’t more complex than deciding which pair of socks to wear and what to eat for breakfast. Everything he did was predictable; he had a habitual schedule that he never faltered from. He was a man who played it safe and never aspired to be anything greater than he was.

His most cherished habit and pastime – something he would never not do – was sitting on a burgundy aged recliner in front of the single window in his apartment. He’d sit for hours from the time he got off work to the time he retired for the evening. Saul could be described as a people watcher, but there was really only one person he waited for when he looked out on the streets below each day.

Her name was Sara Lee. She was twenty-four years old and had recently graduated from a university she attended overseas. She had shoulder-length brown hair, fair skin and inquisitive green eyes. Sara Lee got off the city bus at around three p.m. every other day and walked one block to the flower shop to buy a single flower. Saul didn’t know what kind of flower it was though; he didn’t know much about flowers.

The two of them had never spoken, but Saul fancied they did quite often. He spoke to friends who had friends who spoke to her. Through them he learned that Sara Lee had two older siblings, that she had a monarch butterfly tattoo on her lower back and that, underneath her gentlewoman appearance, she was partial to horror flicks. That was what sparked his fledgling horror collection. But it sat on the shelf collecting dust because he wasn’t one who could stomach that sort of thing. All the blood and dead bodies gave him nightmares.

It was through those friends of friends who knew Sara Lee that he learned the flowers were lilies. Who they were for, remained ever a mystery, but finding out was on his list of things to do. Just like talking to her face-to-face.

He liked to imagine she was doing some sort of altruistic duty to a sickly friend and that her increasingly pale complexion was due to her many hours spent indoors keeping that friend company. He loved that she had such compassion. Every day that her shoulders were more stooped forward, he noted how dedicated Sara Lee was to her sick, bedridden friend. How noble a woman she was, he thought. He loved that about her. That, and just about everything else.

One Thursday afternoon he took his same seat at his single window, predictable as ever. The weather was rather gloomy; thick grey clouds plastered the sky and no breeze touched the streets. Hardly anyone was about, but no matter, Sara Lee always came in any kind of weather. The city bus rolled up at three, just as expected. Two people got off, both men.

Saul’s heart skipped a beat, but he quickly caught himself. She would come, she always did. He knew his Sara Lee and could predict any move she’d make. He’d wait, even if it meant turning to stone where he sat.

Five o’clock…. Seven…

With each passing hour the tick-tock of his wristwatch grew louder, until it felt like a gunshot into his brain each second. At ten o’clock he launched it across the room. The wristwatch exploded on impact, tiny pieces of metal scattering across the floor. It didn’t matter; Saul had never liked the watch anyway.

The street lights flickered on as he continued to sit there, waiting for his Sara Lee. In the quiet of his apartment, his mind started to wander. Why hadn’t she come? Where was she right now? Was it that sickly friend who kept her away from him? Was she just out with friends? Saul’s knee started to bounce up and down as his thoughts trailed on to something less pleasant. Was she with another man? Was his ever-loyal and beloved Sara Lee cheating on him? No, he reassured himself, she would never do that. He knew her, didn’t he? Yes, and better than anyone else, he liked to think.

All the same, even if he did know all about her, his nerves grew and grew until he thought his heart would shut down from them. He couldn’t control it anymore. What else would keep her away?

There, all alone in the dark, Saul started coming up with ideas of how Sara Lee was going behind his back like a harlot. He tried to picture the man who had stolen her so that he would know whose ass to kick the next day. He also guessed that man was the person who she was giving the flowers to. The devotion that his Sara Lee exhibited for that person was disgusting now. He couldn’t believe she was doing that to him, that the devotion he deserved in return for his was being thrown at some jackass. She belonged to him – him and no one else.

For the first time in years, Saul got up from his recliner without having seen his Sara Lee.

The next morning Saul woke up with the resolve to find what the hell was going on. He skipped work and didn’t answer the phone when his boss called. He dug through his closet to find the phonebook he never used to look up Sara Lee’s number. If she wouldn’t come to him, then he would go to her and it wouldn’t be pretty. Every part of his mind was alight with the thoughts of telling her off. He’d show her that she couldn’t just take everything he’d done for her for granted without so much as a ‘thank you, but there’s someone else who does more for me than you, Saul.’ Who the hell did more for her than him? No one, that’s who. When he found her number in the phone book and started to dial it, he paused. For a split second he wondered if he wasn’t jumping to conclusions. He spoke to friends who had friends who spoke to her; they would have known if she was seeing someone. They would have told them.

Unless they were all conspiring against him. The bastards. A person couldn’t trust anyone anymore.

With his new realization he dialed the number, pushing the buttons so hard that they almost got stuck. Saul had to check himself when the person on the other end answered so that he didn’t yell at them.

“I need to speak with Sara Lee,” he said in a shaky voice.

There was silence at first and then a weak, “Sara Lee?”

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

“Don’t you know?”

Saul was growing more agitated. What was this, some person covering for her? She must have known Saul was going to call. “Yes, of course I know. Put her on the damn phone!”

“If you know, then…” The person’s voice faded away and Saul thought he heard muffled crying on the other side. When it came back, the voice was all sobs and words in between, “You can’t… you can’t speak with her…”

“Why the hell not?!”

The crying was louder now and he had to hole the phone away from his ear so as not to deaf.

“What’s wrong with you? She died yesterday and you call asking for her. What kind of person does that?”

“She’s….” That was all he could manage to say before he hung up the phone so quickly it fell to the floor. He stood there, frozen and regretting every thought he’d had the night before. Saul should have known his Sara Lee would never cheat on him like that. He should have known no other person could ever come between them, no one except death – something that was entirely beyond her control. He fell back against the wall and slid to the floor.

He couldn’t leave things as they were. He had to fix the corrupted image he’d made of her with his own paranoia. Saul would see Sara Lee again very soon.

-----------------
Since it's getting kind of long, I'll leave it there and post the rest tomorrow.
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Old Oct. 13, 2008, 01:14 PM   #2
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Default Re: Fuzzy's Short Stories Thread

I see two ways this could go, and neither of them are pretty. Nice little study in obsession.

If I have to pick on anything, it'd be the phrase "something he would never not do". It's a nice concept you're conveying, but the phrasing feels awkward somehow. I don't really know how you could change it, though, and still keep the double negative which works so nicely, so... forget I said anything, really.
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Old Oct. 13, 2008, 01:21 PM   #3
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Default Re: Fuzzy's Short Stories Thread

You have no idea how long I stared at that wondering how I could change it. It didn't feel like anything else really fit right, but I know where you're coming from. xD
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Old Oct. 22, 2008, 06:57 PM   #4
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(continued)

He had planned to wait at least a day since the phone call, but that was too long for him. He couldn’t live with himself that long without seeing her face again. He rode the bus for the first time in his life, sitting in the very back so that no one would look at him and notice that he was just a shell of a man without the love of his life. There wasn’t anyone on the bus to look at him though, just him and the driver, but Saul imagined it was full of people. They all kept looking back at him and he just looked back with dark hollow eyes.
The bus came to a squeaky stop at the corner of the last block on the edge of town. He got off and walked halfway to the other side before stopping in front of the cemetery gates. They were at least two times his height and made of grey wrought iron and set the somber tone of the area. Saul walked in, taking a flashlight out of a small bag he’d brought with him. There were no lights in the cemetery because the dead didn’t need to see where they were going. He had only taken about a hundred paces in when he shined his light on the numerous headstones.

If it were anyone else looking for Sara Lee’s grave, they would have been there for the whole night trying to find it, but Saul knew exactly where to go. Sara Lee’s family was old and had their own family plot. He’d walked by it several times and knew that one day they would be buried there together.
He moved his light along a row of headstones until he came to one that looked new. It was a mourning angel kneeling over newly dug earth with its wings drooping on both sides. He smiled, thinking it was only fitting that the angels should over losing one of their own. He placed his bag and flashlight on the ground next to an array of flowers left by mourners. Saul got down on his hands and knees and started to dig up her grave. He hadn’t brought a shovel; he hadn’t planned that far ahead, but the earth was soft enough that it wasn’t so hard for him to do.

At first he was calm and methodical about the digging, making sure that none of the dirt fell back into the grave. But as he got closer and closer to her coffin – to seeing his Sara Lee again – he became increasingly frantic and threw dirt in every direction. Some of it fell back in and some of it went so far that it landed on other graves. He reached his hand into the dirt and it crashed into something hard. His heart racing, Saul jumped into the hole and started to claw at the side of the coffin. He rocked it back and forth until it rolled onto its side where he could open the lid more easily.

He tried to gather himself between ragged breaths, but gave up after two minutes. He placed his hands gently on the lid and pulled. It opened easily, and he tried to keep too much dirt from falling onto Sara Lee.

Saul held his breath.

His Sara Lee was still beautiful. Her skin was still pale and she was obviously not moving, but Saul could have sworn he’d seen her breathing. She’s just sleeping, he thought, sleeping and everyone buried her alive. She was white and glowing like the moon. He thought himself her savior, and the one true person who loved her more than anything. Saul wiped his hands off on his clothes before he touched her. When he placed his hand on her face, he could have sworn he saw her smile and then he knew that this was meant to be. He’d always known they were made for each other.

In the earliest hours of the morning, just before the sun started to rise, Saul carried his love on foot back to his apartment. No one was awake yet to see the spectacle of a man running along the sidewalk with a fresh corpse cradled lovingly in his arms. He ran up the stairs to the fourth floor because the elevator took too long to come down and pushed through the door to his apartment. Saul placed Sara Lee at the small table in his kitchen and went back to lock the front door.

He’d never locked it before, but then he’d never had anything in his apartment worth protecting before either. He knew that if he didn’t lock it, someone would try to come in and take Sara Lee away from him. Saul couldn’t let them do that. She was his and no one else understood that. He looked at her sitting at the table, her head leaning forward and her hands resting in her lap. Saul didn’t have to ask her what was wrong, being her other half he knew exactly what to do.

Sara Lee had been underground for so long she must have been starving. He set about the kitchen, preparing a meal for the two of them to share. He gave her a plate and sat across from her with his own. They started talking, and Saul apologized profusely for his ill thoughts toward her. She told him not worry and that she forgave him because she loved him. Saul beamed. She loved him. His Sara Lee loved him. Despite everything that had happened between them, she was still devoted to him and unselfish. He loved that about her even more now than ever.

He got up from the table and told her he’d be right back. Saul strode to his room and dug through his sock drawer for something important. He’d been holding onto it for some time, and was overjoyed that the moment had finally come. Sara Lee turned her head to him when he came back and smiled when he knelt down on one knee in front her. He held up a small velvet box and said four words. It wasn’t enough that they both knew she was his. He wanted to make it official, and of course her answer was yes.

That was all it took to make his life complete. Saul lifted Sara Lee up from the table and spun around with her in his arms. He loved her even more now that he had her in his possession, and he would never let her leave. That didn’t matter though, as Saul knew in his heart that his Sara Lee would never try to leave him. She hadn’t done it before – it had been her family and the rest of the town that had taken her away. He wasn’t going to let that happen again.

Sara Lee looked at him with closed eyes and Saul did the same, slowly lowering his head to meet hers until their lips touched. He couldn’t have imagined the moment would be more amazing. Her lips were cold against his, but he knew it was just the feeling of a first kiss. Saul remembered the stories his friends told about their first times kissing. They had no idea what they were talking about; the kisses in their stories weren’t ones of true love. Saul couldn’t begin to describe his kiss with Sara Lee in words. When he moved his face away from hers, he couldn’t even remember what words were or if they had ever existed in the first place. There was just a feeling and, in that moment, there was no world outside of his apartment.

By this time, the sun was just above the taller buildings of the town and, when its light started to break in through his lonely apartment window, he crossed the room to it with Sara Lee still cradled in his arms. He glowered down on the streets of the people who tried to keep Sara Lee from him. Did they think they could overpower true love? He hated them all – even the people he’d never met or seen before in his life. Saul took hold of the blind’s drawstring, but before he could close it he saw someone on the street. It was the owner of the flower shop, looking up at him and his beautiful bride with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

Saul smirked at the man below. What, was he jealous? Of course he was. Everyone one of those people down there should be. They didn’t think he would end up with her, but then those poor bastards didn’t know anything to begin with. He’d been touched by an angel and now the angel was bound to him in holy matrimony. Saul pulled the blinds down while the man of the flower shop was still locked on the portrait of them in the window.

That was the last that anyone saw of Saul or his Sara Lee.

Days later there was an article in the newspaper about a body having been robbed from a grave in the dead of night. The family was grieving the loss of their daughter, and now the theft of her body. Rumors took root in the town quickly and grew for months. No one knew anything and the authorities were left without a lead. Sara Lee had been adored by everyone so they couldn’t figure out who would do something so horrible. Saul was a simple and had no criminal records tied to his name.

It wasn’t until he was filed as a missing person that the flower shop owner came forward with what he’d seen in Saul’s window on the morning of the body’s disappearance. Complaints from other building residents about a foul and curious stench coming from the apartment spurred suspicion forward. The authorities broke into Saul’s apartment with a warrant. It was black inside and none of the lights worked when they tried to turn them on. One person was brave enough to wander in silently to the window, covering his mouth and nose along the way. When he drew the curtains and the blinds, dust flew up into the air. The inside of the room hadn’t seen light for some time. The chairs at the table were drawn away as if someone had just left after a meal and plates lay with half-eaten moldy food on them.

The authorities worked their way further into the apartment. They knocked on the bathroom door, but there was no answer. They opened it to see the tub filled to the brim with old murky water and then closed it again. The stench was coming from the depths of the apartment, behind the bedroom door.

The door was locked, so they had to break it open. It took three people to do it and when the door flew open an even stronger smell came out. Some of them had to run from the room before they passed out – others weren’t so lucky. No one had anticipated seeing what was there.

Saul was laying in his bed, pale, emaciated and very much a corpse. His arm was wrapped around a woman dressed in all white with a ring on her finger. They all recognized her as Sara Lee; she was perfectly preserved and looked the same as she did on the day she died. Saul had covered her in a layer of wax to keep her from decaying as quickly as a normal corpse would have. He had then taken her to bed, and died with a smile on his face.
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Old Oct. 22, 2008, 07:06 PM   #5
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Deeply creepy. I like this. It's so very, very wrong. And yet... dare I say it? Slightly romantic. I feel horrible saying that. If your objective was to make the reader feel dirty, you've definitely achieved that.
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Old Oct. 22, 2008, 07:24 PM   #6
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I do so enjoy making people feel dirty.
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Old Oct. 26, 2008, 06:59 PM   #7
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Really long story.
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Old Oct. 26, 2008, 07:16 PM   #8
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Is this what you think of all men?

Decently written. A few discrepancies. Only one real mistake grammarwise perhaps:

Quote:
He smiled, thinking it was only fitting that the angels should over losing one of their own.
Shouldn't it be something like...

Quote:
He smiled, thinking it was only fitting that the angels should weep over losing one of their own.
... that? Or was the omittance of that word purposeful?
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Old Oct. 26, 2008, 08:02 PM   #9
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Huh?
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Old Oct. 26, 2008, 08:12 PM   #10
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What?
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Old Oct. 26, 2008, 08:41 PM   #11
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I thought you knew.
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Old Oct. 26, 2008, 08:54 PM   #12
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**** you man
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Old Oct. 26, 2008, 09:02 PM   #13
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What I do?
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Old Oct. 26, 2008, 09:03 PM   #14
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Deku master View Post
Really long story.
Hardly. This is what you call a decent length.

@Bored: My mom grilled me about that too xD I didn't think it was that big of a deal before, but since it keeps getting pointed out, I should probably stick a word in there.

ALSO. Don't you ****ing dare spam up this thread.
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Old Oct. 26, 2008, 09:05 PM   #15
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Oh I see.
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Old Oct. 26, 2008, 09:15 PM   #16
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If you're not going to say anything productive about the story, please keep out of this thread.
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Old Oct. 31, 2008, 09:22 PM   #17
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Something that I wrote for a club's magazine. I think it's supposed to come out... after the elections? Yeah, I think so. Anyway, I managed to make it fit in with the theme. The editor never got back to me with the word count, so I kept it short.
---------------
The Box
There was once an old man who sat upon a rock which sat upon a hill that rose up in a small valley. The hill overlooked a town that rested in the valley’s center. The townspeople always watched the man sitting there, just as he watched them. No one knew how old he was, only that he sat there on his rock on the hill for hours on end – days on end. Children asked their parents how long he sat there, and why he did. They only shook their heads and said that he had been there on the rock on the hill since they were children.

One day a child left the town and trekked up the hill to the rock where the old man sat. The child tilted its head every which way to get a good look at him – no one had ever seen the old man so close before, but no one had ever gone up the hill before either. The old man didn’t look at the child, but continued to gaze forward from under his bushy eyebrows at the town below. In his wrinkled long-fingered hands he held a beautiful, ornate box.
“Who are you?” the child asked.

“I am the old man who sits on the rock that sits on the hill,” he replied.

“Yes, but why do you sit on the rock that sits on the hill?”

“I hold change in my hands, but I cannot bring it to the town, and so I sit here waiting.”

“You’re holding change?” repeated the child, not understanding what the old man meant, but before another question could be asked, the old man spoke again.

“What is change to you?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never thought about it before.”

The old man sighed. He had never had to speak with anyone before, but knew he had been waiting for this moment all the same.

“I have been sitting here on this rock for quite some time now,” he began, “I have watched this town for much longer than I care to remember, but it has never changed. It is constant and does not move because I hold change here in my hands. You are the one I have been waiting for, I think. Would you open this box?”

The old man stretched his hands outward and offered the box to the child, who looked at it dubiously.

“If change is the box you hold in your hands, then what’s inside it?”

“Who knows!” the old man raved, “Change can be anything. It comes in all shapes and sizes – sometimes you do not always see it. It is colorless and odorless, like nerve gas – or the oxygen that sustains human life. Is it good, or bad? We cannot be sure as it is now, but maybe it is both; neutral. Change is something that can happen around you. Change is something that you can make happen – which is our case now. So, will you open the box?”
“It’s a lot.. I don’t – I don’t know,” the child stammered.

“Are you afraid?” The old man asked, letting a silent moment fall between them and then continued.

“It is said that some people fear change and that some embrace it. Why can people not embrace their fear? Is the unknown so terrifying? The present we live in now was once unknown to the past, but the people paved their way here all the same – now we must pave our way into the unknown of the future. You will never know what is in this box if you do not open it.

There have been many people who opened such boxes as this and done great things, and there are many people who have yet to unlock change and do great things. For better or for worse, this is the chance you take.”

The old man paused, holding up the box again and stretching his hands even closer to the child.

“It is a pretty box,” the child said.

“Yes, change is often a pretty thought. You cannot really be sure what will come of it, or if it will even work, but it is worth giving a go. And so I ask you again – will you open this box?”
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Old Apr. 22, 2009, 07:09 PM   #18
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Reviving this since I have a few short stories from my fiction class that I'd like to post. This is the final revision of my last story. Opinions/critiques greatly appreciated since I feel this needs more work.
Two
She scrambled against the sliding closet door desperately. Her feet kept shifting and slipping on the shag carpet on the wood floor. It bunched up and tangled around her feet. She wanted the voice echoing in her head to stop and groaned as sweat cascaded down her nose, tipping over the edge and falling down. She felt the weight of it hit the thin cloth of her shoe – the slightest sensation was amplified tenfold. Don’t look down, don’t look down. She repeated the mantra over and over in her head until it forced her into a trance. Her eyes locked on the bed across from her. The sheets and covers were still a mess from the last time she had been on it. If she stopped blinking she could still make out the indentations of bodies in the mattress. Two, to be exact. Soon, that was the only thing she could see – two bodies moving together as a single unit.

Her eyes started to swell with the heat of the image – the memory – forming before her, along with the cold of the closet door on her back. She had stopped struggling against it and now just applied a steady pressure in an attempt to make it move. The raised sections of the door pressed on her shoulder blades and lower back. That’s what it had felt like then, she recalled, those two hands on her back, twisting the fabric of her shirt. A tremor of breath shook from her mouth; she’d forgotten to breathe. Another jumped from her.

The two bodies became more solid, they might as well have been in the room with her. The vividness of the scene made her feel like a voyeur, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop watching. If she closed her eyes or even blinked, something might happen. The sounds of a creaking bed frame started to put cracks in her vision, until around the edges of it, she saw the bed swaying lightly back and forth. Soon she couldn’t stop her breathes from coming; they were sharp, audible and… not alone. A second labored breath filled in the spaces between hers, were a little more controlled. Or so it seemed to her.

She felt the covers gather at the end of the bed, stuffed along the low footboard. Even the pillows moved to the sides of the bed until they disappeared over the ends of the mattress to make more room for them. Sweat fell more frequently from her face and shoulders. Each time she managed to focus on the body beneath her, she noticed how there were darker marks on the sheets from the salty droplets around his head – and of course how they glistened on his skin with the little light that was in the room. It was a short moment, and only happened once more, before all she could focus on was the hypnotic movement under her and the feeling it gave her.

It was too bad, she remembered thinking, that it hadn’t lasted longer. She might have drawn it out longer had she known then that it would never happen again. He breathed out her name, “Lisa,” hanging on to a string of s’s and hardly forming the a – and then it was over.

Lisa lay curled up on her side with her back to him, listening to him rolling over and then hearing the paper of his cigarette turn to ash and hit the floor. She knew she would have to clean them up before anyone noticed and accused her of being a smoker. She relaxed when he put it out – even if he smothered the end of it on her grandmother’s nightstand – and exhaled shallowly. Lisa felt the mattress springs contract and expand under his weight as he closed the space between them and molded his body around hers, resting his arm on the curve of her waist. It was a gesture he rarely bothered with unless there was something he wanted. His laugh drummed in her chest when he looked over her shoulder at the floor.

An unopened condom wrapper sat there on the wood. The light was just strong enough to enlarge its shadow, making it look at least twice its size. It looked heavy and made her feel sick in the lowest part of her stomach. He must have sensed her feeling because he started running his fingers through her hair. Fine strands of brown hair fell over her cheek and nose, she tried to shrug him off of her, but he stayed where he was, and blew in her ear.

“Mark, don’t,” she managed to say through a tight mouth. Lisa stared at the condom on the floor with anger stewing in the depths of her pupils. She was upset with Mark, but even more upset at the fact that her limbs tingled whenever his breath brushed over her ear. She was annoyed with Mark for having talked her into not using it – even though it was her fault for letting him convince her, she couldn’t be angry with herself. But that was just because it happened all the time. Ninety percent of her firsts had been done upon Mark’s word, or suggestion, though she used the latter term loosely. Shoplifting, drugs, vandalism. She would have enjoyed the streaking if it hadn’t been twenty degrees out and snowing. She had even stolen several credit cards from her family to buy Mark a guitar since he always mentioned how badly he wanted to play one, passing it off as having spent the money on costly textbooks. The cover story worked the first few times, but after that she was forced to work to pay back the money she’d used.

He got completely drunk at a house party one night – which was conveniently at Lisa’s own home – and decided to have a spontaneous concert with a coffee table stage. At the end of a minute-long, horrible guitar strumming, he smashed it on the table. She had applauded him because everyone else was, and only cried after he had passed out in her bathtub. Lisa tried to complain about it to Mark once, or maybe more than once; she lost count. He never said anything back to her about it and just stared ahead blankly. She justified his unresponsiveness by telling herself that he had his own problems to deal with, and that she shouldn’t burden him with hers.

Mark tucked the stray strands behind her ear and then pushed away from her, leaving the lingering warmth of his fingers behind. She heard the click of his lighter and regretted him leaving her there – she hated when he found something else to do so easily when it was obvious there was something bothering her, but maybe that was what made her so easy for him to convince.

Lisa rolled up to a sitting position and leaned against his back. It was cold, just like his hands. She stretched her shoulders in a vain attempt to make him think she was just going about her own business.

“What,” he said between pulls on his cigarette. It wasn’t a question.

“Are you bored?” She didn’t need to ask; he always smoked when he was bored.

“Yeah.” Mark tapped the ashes onto the nightstand. Lisa twitched, and she knew he felt her small movement.

“Do you want to…” she hesitated, “Go down to the Yard and run through the aisles as the stacks of stuff fall?” She’d gone with him to the yard once before as their first date. There were rows of various objects piled on top of each other, and he would push one until it started a domino effect. Mark had grabbed her hand and pulled her through them with him. She’d been terrified at the time and cried the entire way. He’d had a good laugh about it all, pointing at the wet streaks down the length of her face. That should have been a sign for what was to come, but Lisa didn’t seem to process it until she was in too deep.

Mark was an adrenaline junkie in the worst way. He would endanger all of the people around him it if meant getting a sweet rush. Lisa had suffered an infection from a small tattoo he’d talked her into getting. The feeling goes numb after a while, he’d said. She quickly found out that wasn’t the case as the vibrations caused by the needle digging through the surface of her skin reached the base of her skull. All she took away from that experience was a deafening buzzing and the expression on Mark’s face as he watched her.

It was possible that he was a sadist, too.

“No,” he said flatly, putting out his second, and last, cigarette of the day. Lisa drew her finger over the line of bumps that his spine made on his back, counting each vertebra under her breath. He shook her off. “It ain’t fun more than once. You know that.”

She did know, well in fact. It was one of the rules Mark held her to when they were together: Nothing is done more than once. Unless it was extra risky – only then was it allowed to be done twice, but no more than that. Cigarettes were one of the exceptions because they were slowly paving his way to lung cancer. It wasn’t something she understood, but she didn’t question it either.

“Yeah, I know. Sorry.” She shifted around him, making sure not to touch him again until she figured it would be alright to. Lisa bent over the edge of the bed with her feet resting lightly on the wood floor, her toes just barely brushing the strands of the rug. Her hands searched around the bed skirt for her shirt and underwear. They’d escaped in the heat of the moment. Before she had time to locate them, she felt the side of a plastic-wrapped box bouncing up and down on her back between her shoulder blades.

“Just think before you speak.” Mark wasn’t looking at her or anything at all. His eyes were closed and the sweat had dried on his skin, leaving his scent hanging heavily in the space around them.

“You want to do anything?” She hadn’t thought about her question before she asked it. The words formed and spilled from her mouth too quickly for her to think about them. It was usually what happened when she didn’t know what else to say or didn’t want him to think she was stupid – even if it was inevitable, it made her feel better.

The tapping of the box on her back stopped. Mark’s eyes were open now and weighed down on her. They were a deep blue shade that turned green around the edges of the iris. His eyes never seemed to shine, like they were immune to reflecting the world around him. They had been the reason she’d agreed to go out with him in the first place, the physical reason anyway. It fascinated her that something could appear so flat and so deep at the same time. Briefly, Lisa recalled meeting Mark for the first time two years ago.

She’d been sitting on the porch of her house in the twilight hour, cupping her hand over her left eye while her parents had some sort of formal party for friends nearby. Lisa had been sixteen – the age at which she understood what on at the party, but still too young to care about what it all meant.

Mark rode up on a bike that was much too small for him – she later discovered that he’d stolen it from one of her neighbors – and stopped in front of her. She still didn’t know what made him stop, but all that mattered then was that he had. He folded his arms over the handle bars and rested his head on them to look at her. She didn’t say anything, but looked down so that the lingering light cast shadows on half of her face. There were no greetings or introductions exchanged, Mark just stared at her with his flat eyes and said, “I get hit too.” He shrugged. “Sometimes.”

That was all Lisa needed to stop hiding her face, thinking she’d found someone who would sympathize with her and someone to find solace in. That feeling didn’t last long, but she couldn’t completely let go of that feel she’d had when they’d first met. That now-dim feeling and his eyes were the reasons that she was still with him

Tap. Tap. He dropped the pack onto her skin and it slid soundlessly onto the mattress. Lisa saw a change of expression on Mark’s face, causing tight dimples to form as he struggled to suppress a sudden smile. She sat up, staring at him with her eyebrows pulling together. It hadn’t been the first time she’d asked what he wanted to do, and he was rarely ever stricken with a smile like that – especially when he was alone with her. In public, his smile was just a show.

“Yeah, I got an idea,” he said, beginning to embrace his own smile. Lisa could see his white teeth through the split between his lips. Silence sat on the bed between them as she waited for him to continue. He didn’t. Mark just sat there, more still than she had ever thought he was capable of.

(to be continued)
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Old Apr. 22, 2009, 07:59 PM   #19
Tom
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Default Re: Fuzzy's Short Stories Thread

! :O


Old man waxing philosophical to a box?! I swear I never read that before lol! That makes me feel dirty and plagiaristic... sheeet forgive me

As for new thing, I read and I like. I'd get into detail but I don't really see anything glaringly wrong with it, other than it does not have an ending. Keep up the good work, artistic female
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Old Apr. 22, 2009, 08:30 PM   #20
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Default Re: Fuzzy's Short Stories Thread

Oh, lmao. Coincidence?

Anyway, it does have an ending. I just didn't want to post a monster wall of text that would eat people's minds. More tomorrow I suppose.
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