Monthly Archives: June 2014

Cats are bastards

“And? What happened?”
I sighed. “What else? In the cesspit that is my life, I’ve just met another turd.”
I could practically feel her smile across the phone lines. “Dramatic much? What exactly do you mean?”

I stared out the window. “He likes rough sex, we’ve never met, I’ve never heard his voice, he keeps posting pics of cats and he disappears unless he wants to talk dirty.”
Silence. Then, “Yes most of that would qualify him as a turd. How do you meet these people?”

I smiled. “It’s the homing device in my head. They can’t resist the signal of the mothership.”
She laughed. “And how do you know he likes rough sex if you haven’t even heard his voice?”

I said, “When we sext. It’s always rough. It’s always him in control.”
She paused. “Sweetie, I thought you said you weren’t going to do this to yourself anymore…”

I sighed. “Yes I did. I said I wasn’t going to let someone else do this to me. But I gave in because it felt so good to…even if it is sexting…have someone take control. You know?”
“I know.”

“I’m going to die alone aren’t I? Die alone and be eaten by stray cats.” I said quietly.
Then, “Why is it always cats that are supposed to eat dead people?”
I smiled. “Cats are bastards.”

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Posted by on June 23, 2014 in Fiction




She turned in her bed, wincing at every movement. Carefully, she shifted from right side to left side, feeling the pain change sides as well. She couldn’t remember what it felt like to be pain free any more. It had been too long.
It was her birthday today. She hoped everyone would forget. It was just plain embarrassing now. She hated birthdays, always had, since childhood.

She raised her left hip a fraction, her body adjusting to the slight freedom and let it down, the flesh cushioning her hip better now. She wondered if she should put on the TV. Or maybe listen to some music. Get her mind off her agony.

But which programs? And what music? She no longer knew any of the latest bands or songs. She had no idea what was on TV or who the actors were any more. Everything seemed to change every day. With the exception of terrible programs that is. Two and a Half Men was still on, apparently – that was one thing that could cause more pain than her injury.

She sighed. Old music, old books, old programs, old movies – the keyword was “old” wasn’t it? She was old. She felt old. She wondered how old she looked. And it was all just going to get worse. Or older, depending on what word you used.

She lay on her left side, staring at the wall. And heard whispers.
Just in time, she stopped herself from snapping her head up – that movement promised hours of pain. Instead, she carefully tilted her head this way and that and raised it, slowly.
Only to see her sister bearing a cake – and her parents singing “Happy Birthday” to her.
Her eyes filled with tears. She had to be grateful – but she really wished everyone could just forget about her birthdays and her. And she really was happy they hadn’t.

She looked up and slowly started to raise herself up.
“Happy 34th birthday baby girl,” crooned her mother.
She smiled. 34. Was so deceptively young.

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Posted by on June 9, 2014 in Fiction