Saturday, March 19, 2005

Quickie Fiction: The Our-tist
He hates it when she knows the truth.

Even if the world was no longer the old mudball of ecological systems, animal diversity and warring racial woes, there were some things that never changed. And to him, he was painfully aware one of those was the truth of what love is and isn't.

"She... she doesn't have to know," he mutters a bit too loud even if the implanted jawbone communicators were capable of capturing even whispered words uttered while in a crowded subway. Heck, they could even isolate the words from the chatter of up to thirty other people using their own jawbone communicators at the same time. Perhaps it was the tinge of guilt causing him to speak a bit louder. Or perhaps he was just that stupid at times. "Fucking H. I don't need this right now. I have so many shit to go through. I'm tired okay. I don't want to fight."

"Well fuck you, I didn't start this," she cursed back, though on one could tell but him. The earpiece was grafted to the inner channel of the earlobe, permitting clarity of response without the need for sliding in some form of earpiece. Not after the 2165 finding that earpieces were the leading cause of tubular cancer for men between 18 and 40 years of age. "I thought we were clear from the start. What do you want me to do!? What do you want me to say? I have done nothing but help you through all the shit you've been wallowing in. Christ, can't you even understand what I-"

"This is about him isn't it?" he interrupted her even if he knew very well she hated that. Interrupting someone pretty much broadcasted you didn't care what the other one was saying, whether or not it made a point. Even worse, it made one sound as if he knew what he was saying.

"About who? Oh great, you're bringing that up again?"

Take the advantage. Force her to the defensive. He waited for the pregnant sigh then drove the advantage deeper. The hell with the fact this had nothing to do with the conversation. It would buy him the time and space he needed to twist things around. "You've done nothing but try to make a big issue over it. Can't you just leave us alone? We're enjoying things, you don't have to drag him into this."

"Drag HIM into this? I never even-"

Second interception. Smooth, now dive in for the kill.

"We're happy okay so fuck off and leave us alone. You want to end what ever affair we were having, fine. Do that. I don't fucking care."

She went silent. Then merely uttered, "Fine" and before anything else could happen, he shut the communicator off. The tranquility instantly came. The noise of her voice was gone. The annoying and frustrating nagging of her voice no longer in the air. She was out. He closed the door. He ended the book.

* * *

Barely the day is over.
She ignores the twentieth call from him.

In silence she hopes, "He's calling because he realises now she was right."
But still she ignores the calls. After all, he did want her to leave him and his lover alone. So she's respecting that.

No matter what calls, or poems, or songs he one day crafts to explain himself.

After all, he ended the story.
So why bother looking for a sequel.

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