Sunday, 13 June 2010


"You should see the way this girl talks."
"What's there to see?"
"It's a spectacle."
"Don't think I need a girl to enjoy a spectacle."
"But these performances are ruthless."
"Stop walking around the fire, will you?"
"It's what she says. It's her words. They're like knives."
"Am I supposed to be intimidated? That's not an entirely unsavoury situation for me."
"But she's unlike anything you've ever thrown yourself into. This isn't some sugar-honey whose skin you can crawl under and then charm your way out of. She means business."
"Imagine you walk in, and you're a solid block of wood. By the time she's done, you're left carved out, like some abstract piece of modern art."
"Modern art's such bullshit."
"And that's exactly how she'll leave you feeling."
"...Sure. I'll keep that in mind. Thanks."
"Don't take this lightly, man. I'd never kid you about it. She'll make you wish you were in a tank of piranhas, anything just to be away from her."
"I've had enough of this."
"Suit yourself..."


She was something else. Black single-shouldered maxi dress, velvet, worn under short-cropped hair. She sat there, smoking a cigarette in its holder. Classy, like some bombshell. Straight from a 30's film noir. Not in the mood to socialize, he didn't think of anything to say, but took the vacant stool beside her, and waited for the barman's attention. He thought he felt her eyes on him, but put it down to paranoia. Goddamnit, he thought, why has that bullshit warning left me so unnerved? He pushed aside the thought, and asked the waiting barman for a gin and tonic.
"Gin and tonic? What are you, a girl?"
He tipped the waiter and sat staring into his glass.
"Gets a girl's drink, and can't even have it."
Ignore it, he told himself, and took a swig of his gin.
"Just as well. Not like you have balls."
"I want a divorce."


Finally. He was crawling out of the chrysalis. She would save him soon enough.


Amna Chaudhry said...

fucking brilliant, this.

Dreaminglass said...


*bakes a cake*