Writer’s Block
In one sentence is the spark of a story. Ignite.
Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a memory about this sentence. Write something about this sentence.
Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!
In one sentence is the spark of a story. Ignite.
Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a memory about this sentence. Write something about this sentence.
Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!
He grabbed her by the upper arm,
stopping her from moving away from him. In the crowd she suddenly moved against
the flow of students going to class.
“Hey?” she demanded.
He looked around and tried to pull
her backwards with him.
“Stop it! What do you want?” She
hauled her arm out of his grasp.
“You said we’d talk later.”
“I did not.”
His head drew back as if she had
slapped him. “You did. You said ‘can I talk to you about this later?’ And it’s
later. Way later.”
She had hoped that he wouldn’t
remember. “I don’t want to talk about it, now.”
“Why not?”
She pursed her lips and didn’t
answer him.
“I’ve got time now and so do you.
I know you have no classes until eleven.”
“What? You read my uni timetable
now?”
“No, don’t you remember, last
week? You told me you were free on Friday morning.”
“Thursday night,” she said.
“Jeez... don’t tell me you forgot
that.”
That was indeed the problem. She hadn’t
forgotten and she could barely think of anything else. She had been trying to
avoid him all week as a result.
“What’s wrong? You’re avoiding me.
You won’t even let me touch you.” He shuffled his body in closer to hers.
“After what we did,” he whispered. He brushed her hair away from her face.
She inhaled and closed her eyes.
This was going to hurt; it was going to hurt so badly.
She shifted her bag on her
shoulder and took a step back away from him. She couldn’t do this if he was
touching her.
“Oh, that,” she sneered. “I try to
do that every Thursday night. It’s bar night and I get a little horny with a
few drinks under my belt.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Pfft. You don’t even know me. And
you were drunk.”
The look of betrayal on his face
pained her.
“Not that drunk. I know something
weird happened. That was not normal sex,” his voice had dropped to a
whisper. “And you said you would tell me what it was. Later.”
“I-I can’t.” She shook her head.
“Just leave it alone.”
She turned and she hurried away from
him. She risked a glance back and he was still standing there looking gutted.
He saw her look back and she knew he wasn’t going to leave it alone. She had
made a big mistake, chosen the wrong guy and underestimated him. She would
probably have to move.
~~~~
© AM Gray 2013
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