Short Story Bakery: The Exchange

Give me your tired, give me your sick

7:35PM on a warm partly cloudy Southern California Evening.

     The man pulled up to the curb of her house silently--headlights dimmed by dying sunlight, yet still blinding the rear of a red 2001 Chevrolet Silverado. Immediately after placing the car in park, and pulling the emergency brake he hesitantly picked up his iPhone and began to text. 

     "I'm here"  

     This text lit up her phone with an eerieness--her eyes gazing upon the blue screen with full knowledge of what would soon pass. 

     "k" 

     The only text response she could give, and the most indifferent one she could give. She wouldn't mislead, she would stand her ground as a statue carved upon a foundation of granite.

     He opened his car door, then took a box filled with precious memories in the form of belongings from the back seat. Some gifts from her that he couldn't bear to look at, everything else hers. As he approached the driveway towards the front door, a glass fell out of the box and shattered. The driveway now covered in broken glass, so unwelcoming, so fragile to the touch--much like this moment in time. He had replayed this moment in his head over and over again, but he never imagined it would be quite like this. Stressed, he tried gathering the pieces of glass into the box as fast as possible. Part of him was happy that this happened, a subconscious rage of breaking something in front of this person who had done so much damage already. However, the box of precious memories became tainted by the hidden assortment of sharp glass shards provided by the panicked urgency of the man. Irony. 

Methamphetamine; Take Me For A Ride

This Love is a Drug

(Doctor, I might need another prescription)

When the unattainable becomes available for only a moment, and the sighs, screams, and whispers become ever prevalent would you know what to do? When to stop? Where to hide? Like a meth addiction, you cannot always support the habit, but when it comes to fruition it is pure ecstasy. Bliss. What happens when the person you're giddy about cannot even look at you the same way anymore? The dealer is out of product, you won't get it again for a while--when or if it ever returns how will you buy it? With caution? Or lay all your chips on the table like a gambler without a care in the world?

In the Immortal Words of the Virgin Mary: Come Again?

(I'm on top of this mountain, and you are waaaaay down there, see? Oh wait, no I can't see you I'm too busy devaluing who you are)

What are you even talking about Brian? It's simple my friends, that arduous period of time where you cannot let go of your feelings for another person. You need your fix, you have that itch, you've had a taste and want more. How can you get it again? If they are set in their decision to let you go--a diatribe against this person does not help,  nuclear missles won't help, shaking salt over your shoulder and carving pentagrams into your earlobes in the name of satan won't help either. This is a withdrawal, and just like a withdrawal it's a helpless situation that only time may remedy. Time is an asshole.

Romance and Love, Bow-Chicka-Bow-Wow

Roses are red, Roses are flowers

Oh NO! The dreaded "L word." Lesbian? No my friends, LOVE. Why would someone like me write about love? Some gay shit like this? (gay as in happy to all those would-be pointers of fingers.) Well it's a human issue, and as all human issues go I feel the need to find clarity with it through a reasonable interpretation. So I'm going to talk about this "Love."

"Yeah dude, love. I said it and I'm here to represent it."

(The heart sings about a magic man)

So you met some girl, got a bit too excited because you felt it was "love," and you know what's funny? You didn't fall in love. No. Something that beautiful must come later. You fell into something called "Romance." This period of time is very much like the beginnings of 9 circles of hell, but getting through them all won't necessarily transport you to the higher existence you desire as Dante implied in "The Divine Comedy." Sound morbid or demented? Don't like the analogy? Well you might just see how much they actually relate. Still offended? Well I'm writing this anyway because fuck you (Just keedinggg).