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!
“You can’t just throw people away when you’re finished with them,” she shouted at him, grabbing at his arm.
He looked down at her and his face radiated sympathy as he shook his head. “He’s always like that.”
“Where is he?” she demanded.
He just shook his head again.
“You don’t know or you wouldn’t tell me if you did?”
“Both.” He gave her a look. “He’s my best friend.”
“He’s a dick.”
“I know... but only to women.”
“Oh... so that makes it better?”
“Come on, girl. Are you seriously telling me you thought it meant more?”
She made a frustrated gesture, dragging her hand away from him.
“You’re young,” he said, “You’ll get over it.”
Get over it? The man had lit a passion within her that she had not known existed. Imagining that with anyone else was just not possible right now.
“I don’t want your sympathy,” she shouted at him. “I want to know where he is.”
“Don’t you get it? He’s at home with his wife and kids.” His voice was low and quiet.
Her heart hurt as if it had been speared. She clutched at her chest.
His eyes looked sorry.
“Kids?” she gasped.
“Go home... get drunk. Whatever you need to do.”
“I-I m-meant nothing?” She didn’t know why she was asking him.
He sighed. “I can’t answer that.”
Her head dropped. “No.”
He patted the top of her shoulder. “Go home. Go on.”
It was good advice but she looked towards the bar he had just come out of.
“Don’t go in there,” he said as if he read her mind.
“Yeah. You need some time to yourself.”
Maybe she did, but it annoyed her that he knew what advice to give. How many times had he done it before?
“Sure,” she snapped at him, before walking away.
“Do you need a lift?” he called after her, but she didn’t answer.
She needed the long walk home and the time to think.
And the privacy to cry.
© AM Gray 2014