Fiction 1

This is a first of a post based on my fictional writings.  In a nutshell, I can usually start a story, re-write it several times and then never get any further with it.  I thought I should just compile them like short stories and call it, "Unfinished Business".

Anyway, enjoy...or not...I never said my writing was any good:

...of all the things the way they were, the way they are and the way they will be...and all the things the way I wish they had been, wish they were, wish they would be…a swishing cauldron that too often spills over and seeps into my veins, into my bloodstream and...

What happened to us?

It rained.  It’s raining. At least I think so.

He lies in bed listening to what he thinks is rain but could be just the wind.

"What happened to us?" she asks.

"I don’t know." He answers, as he has a hundred times before.

He gets up and looks out the window, back at the bed; it’s empty. No rain.  It hasn’t rained in days.  There is only himself in a mirror.  He’s had this conversation too many times and she always says the same thing, though he knows if he ever ran into her it would be he who asks, "What happened to us?"

I don’t know where I am or what I’m doing.  "I don’t know what’s happening and I don’t know what I’m doing." He said it again aloud, as if expecting a response.

How do you keep from being a joke?

Sometimes I wish my father had just whacked off in the shower instead of having fucked my mother thirty years ago.

What happened to us?

___________________

Here's a one liner I always liked:

Sometimes...there’s nothing sweeter than a James Taylor song.