SHORT STORIES

Deservance (FREEWRITE PRACTISE)

He deserved this. 

She was so sure he deserved this. She kept repeating it, pulling on the edges of the denim, dragging, chanting. 

He deserved this. He deserved this. He deserved this.

She had spent so long justifying that justice seemed a shock. Everything seemed. Seemed. Seemed.

She caught her breath. Tried to. Panting, turning, her eyes scanned every inch of the area- she barely knew what for. 

What could she spot, what problem could she find and solve- what issue. Issue. Issue. 

There's something broken within me. 

It echoed behind her former thoughts. Overlapping, interweaving, she kept pulling on that denim.

There's something broken within me. 

Her fingers finally fell. The frayed fabric unhanded. It was taking too long. 

One more scan of the area- nothing. Her eyes fell to thin, dirtied shoelaces. They rose.

He deserves this.

She didn't- couldn't- wouldn't- it didn't matter. Nothing made sense to her right now. 

She jolted- something wet, thick, red, fell on her knuckles, rolled down to her nails. She stared at it, raising her hand to her face, fingers prodding the viscous thing on her jaw. It's still there. It's still there.

Her eyes fell on him once again, he wasn't the man she thought he was, there was nothing left of that man. 

She couldn't bury him. 

Something in her chest fell. Something else rose. With one swift inhale a realisation pulsed through her bones, picked at her nerves, she dragged her fingers to her mouth, index pressed against her tongue, she licked at it, pressed it between her teeth, rubbed it against them, suctioned her lips around the taste- the taste.

She released the digit, pulling her bottom lip taught, holding it there, staring at him. 

There was nothing left of the man she loved.