What a weird word, you know? For a cranky person.
Curmudgeon.
It sounds crude, a mouth-full. Like the mouth-full of words I hold back as she sways on her feet, eyes unfocused. She clutches the counter in one hand and a slopping drink in the other.
Her blood red lips curl back when she snaps at the people unfortunate enough to come near us. Hair wild and I think I see a twig snatched up in the mess. Somehow, I've just got to get her home. Her crankiness level skyrocketing because of the added alcohol.
She swallows a drink hard, "It's just he's - you know?"
I squint at her and nod. My hands hover near her, wanting to snatch her away. I don't want to touch her.
"He's," she slams her glass down. I think I hear it crack, but the bar is too loud. She yanks me away before I can check. "Here," she snarls.
The man in the booth startles, his eyes wide, and he shoves off the girl on him. The girl, too young for words, scrambles for her purse and darts to leave. We let her go.
I want to go with her.
"Too... old!" She snarls, jamming her finger against the man's chest.
He frowns, bewildered. He doesn't know us. She doesn't know him. I move in, grasping her arm. The feel of her feverish skin makes mine crawl. She tries to wrench away and I pivot, we turn and dive back into the crowd.
Teeth barred, she bites at the people that come too near. She slurs and profanities spill forth in an uncontrolled stream.
Eyes glare around the room; the bartender holds a phone near his ear.
Curmudgeon.
We have to get out. Why do I go anywhere with this girl?
YOU ARE READING
The Eternal Return
NouvellesA collection of speculative short stories and flash fiction. A few of these are also posted on my blog and others still I wrote in creative writing classes or for flash fiction contests. Please, let me know what you think.
