17 2012

“‘Don’t worry, take your time.’” “I walk upstairs to the bathroom, turn on the lights, and lock the door. It’s fine, he thinks, thought I, you still have her, you were just being a bit forward. No harm done; she thinks you were joking. But how could she say that? Hmm, class? What kind of heroine is she, saying that? He did everything right, you see, like the heroes he’s always read about, always taught. Gifts and kindness and sweeping her off her feet.” “He turns on the tap, turned on the…and waited for the water to get cold. Exhaling, he rinses my face, and the sudden temperature change makes everything seem clearer. I turned off the lights, and smile at himself briefly in the gloom in the mirror.” Click. “They eat. Even in fiction, people eat.” “‘I should probably get going - work tomorrow,’ she says to him.” “‘Course, let me just get your things.’” “I wrap her scarf three times around her little throat, feeling assured as I pay homage. This is what they do in books. ‘Too tight,’ she stifled out, through a cough.” “Next.” “But that is not the end, not the full stop, not the final paragraph. He walks her to her car and watches her as she drives off into the night.” “But that is not the end, either. That is not how fiction ends. The reader wants drama, please. So, I followed, making sure to stay hidden. No thoughts. Characters in fiction only think

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