It's 2:28AM. He's awake on the internet again. His face is aglow in the technicolour lights of the laptop.
His eyes, crazed and wide, scan hungrily the screen.
I don't want to know what he's doing on there anymore. I don't care. I just want him to come back to me.
I snuggle up to his leg and fall back into an uneasy sleep.
He wakes at 10:51AM, far later than usual. He's disintegrating through the bags under his eyes.
Love, what can I do to make you smile again?
YOU ARE READING
When He Stopped Listening
Short StoryWinner of the 2016 Anti-Watty Awards. his eyes glazed his tea grew cold his calloused hands trembled he gradually stopped listening to me he never came back
