The Cat's Short Stories - A Collection of Contest Entries

The Only Exception (Song Short Story Contest)

This is based off of the song "The Only Exception" by Paramore (because the title totally doesn't give that away, right?)

Contest curtosy of xXsilentloverxX.

So, here we go:

     And that was the day that I promised I'd never sing of love if it does not exist . . . .

     Ever since that day, when he broke my heart. Threw me to the wolves, left me all alone, destroyed my will to love. The day when he decided I wasn't good enough for him.

     Well, that day was precisely one week, two hours and forty-three minutes ago, and I still felt broken. Even as I sat in the neighborhood coffee shop, surrounded by cheerful faces and hearty laughs, all I could think of was the pain I felt on that day. My unbelieving expression, his tense shoulders, his piercing words.

     "I don't love you anymore."

     A tear drop gently made its way down my face and into my cup of coffee. It caused the undisturbed surface to ripple, distorting my saddened reflection.

     "I never want to see you again."

     I pushed the steaming beverage away, suddenly feeling sick to my stomach. Never again. I would not let something like this happen again. Forgot the abundance of men out in the world - I was done with all of them, every single one. My status would be forever considered "single."

     The tears continued to spill out of my eyes, soundlessly splashing on the table. I stared at them, how the light created tiny little rainbows in them. How they were like miniature lakes, each holding a mass of sadness, grief, and misery . . . .

     "Excuse me?" a voice said behind me, but I refused to turn around. The voice was unmistakeably male.

     I hoped that the guy would get the message and go away, but he simply came to stand in front of me. For a second, I looked up at him, but lowered my gaze just as fast when he met it. With big, brown eyes, he stared at me with what could only be concern. He pushed a strand of auburn hair off his forehead and said "excuse me" for a second time.

     Keeping my eyes fixated on the table, I muttered, "Can I help you?" Although the way it came out sounded harsher than I'd intended, I found it hard to care. Wiping my eyes, I pulled my coffee back to me, the steam warming the bottom of my chin.

     The guy seemed taken aback by my tone, but he quickly regained composure. "Oh, I guess not," he said, shrugging. "It's just . . . you seem to be really upset about something. I just wanted to see if you were okay."

     It took me a moment to answer him. Who was this guy? Who did he think he was? Last time I checked, it wasn't normal to randomly walk up to a stranger and ask if they were okay. It was creepy. Borderline stalker-ish.

     And yet, I found it oddly sweet and thoughtful.

     Finally, and reluctantly, I looked up at him, running my fingers along the rim of my cup. "Yeah, I guess I'm all right. Thanks for asking."

     That didn't appear to satisfy him. "You sure? It doesn't look that way."

     I raised an eyebrow at him, beginning to abandon the thought that this was sweet and thoughtful. "Look, what business do you have-"

     "Oh, sorry," he mumbled as he hung his head. "I probably seem like a complete weirdo to you, don't I?"

     What I wanted to say was, "My thoughts exactly!"