Page 2: Reluctant Unrequitedness
So here's the thing, you don't like him, right?
Yeah, why does that question have to be asked. Yes, yes, he's an idiot, he's totally stupid, you've mentioned it countless amount of times before.
Okay, stop it. Your incessant whining's gonna occupy most of the time we have left, so quiet down.
Good.
Now you, you feel the same way towards her?
She's annoying, she's a tomboy, she cusses a lot, she's slow, she's vulgar and she's shameless and loud and weird and extremely violent. Yeah, I get it, you've said enough.
Hey, hey! Don't start quarreling, you two! We have more important things to discuss here!
Good.
Now, I know you two absolutely loathe each other, but, can you bury the hatchet for a while and be decent, civil people towards one another?
Why? 'Cause you two are paired up for this project, that's why.
Why? 'Cause.
Oi, don't you start complaining there, boy, it's grating my ears.
Yes, yes, you have to! The teacher directly told you to partner up, didn't they? Now shut your petty quarreling and actually try and get to be decent with each other. Or else you get failing marks.
... Better.
Now, your project has to be of utmost elegance and beauty, and there has to be photographic evidence of your budding friendship. Yes, this is no joke. Deadline's on this coming Friday, and I want pictures of the events in the following days. If you fail such a simple task, you'll be writing lines for the rest of your high school lives.
Capiché?
Hm, glad we came to an understanding.
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I don't get why I have to work with you.
I loathe you and you loathe me. We both know that.
But...
Why do my cheeks burn red at the thought of us being partners? Why does my heart beat faster?
Why am I so happy?
Why..?
I was told that it was love.
So does that mean I'm in love with you...?
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Urgh, Ah don' g't why ah gotta work wid ya'.
Ya'r annoyin' an' stupid, tha's wha'.
Yet...
Why em ah so eager t' work wid ya'...?
Ah dun get't.
We hate each other, y'kno.
T'just can' be tha' ah fell fo ya'!
Tha's weird and crazy and awkward.
Bu'...
Maybe, maybe ah am. 'Spite on how stupid 't is.
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"Just for the record I utterly loathe you, you bastard."
"Feel th' same way, bitch."
"But we gotta settle this out, y'know."
"... Fine. But know t'is, ya' bitch, Ah never wan'ed t' end up wid' ya'."
"This mutuality is reluctant."
"Good."
"Better!"
Why can't I just tell you I love you...?
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YOU ARE READING
staccatos and mangled melodies
Short Story—and thus, these are the heartfelt compositions of a demented composer whose mentality may or may not be slightly skewed. she feels the rhythm, she hears the harmony, and she sees the notes. you, oh dear audience, play a vital role in this fantastic...
