As part of Blogging 101 Day 8, we were assigned to check out four blogs we haven’t visited before and comment on them. Now, day 9, we were tasked to talk about one of the new blogs/posts that we discovered yesterday.
The most compelling out of the four that I read yesterday was What I am Without: A Sonnet a short story written by Richard Smyth at Wild Ink. Today, I will write a short story/poem inspired by his work. This is just a draft. If I like it, I might make a final post (or a Wattpad one). Ahhh plans. This, like many of the previous ones.
Irreplaceable. The mornings were special to me and her. She liked her coffee hot and I liked her the same way. Her name was Jane. I loved her so much her name was inked on me in some girly swirly font.
Jane was talking to someone on her phone. Possibly another one of the men who won’t stop pursuing her. She was irresistible to many, with her jet black hair and oriental features.
She smiled. Probably at me, even though I haven’t said anything. But that’s what it was between me and her. She talked and talked while I just listened.
But most of the time, what we had was comfortable silence. I’ve heard that phrase from one of those short movies she and I watched together. Maybe that’s what it is, the comfort in each other’s presence that doesn’t solicit words.
When her phone conversation was over, she looked at me lovingly. Her eyes told me that I was the only one she could trust. Well, it was true. Most people are dark and deceitful.
Irreplaceable. I heard her say that about me once. She wouldn’t lie about that would she?
Her hands are on me, stroking slightly. I’m feeling hot. It must be the coffee or the way she’s looking at me. She traced her finger on the place where her name is written and blows lightly. She placed her lips on mine, gently and slowly at first, then more urgently.
The foreplay was interrupted by the ringing of her phone.
If I could speak, I’d curse. If I had human hands, I’d hold them out and ask her not to answer her phone. I only see her a couple of times during the day, and after her daily coffee fix, she’ll touch her lips over others.
Before I could contemplate on what the pesky caller must want from my Jane, I feel myself falling. Not the figurative falling (in love) because I’ve fallen once before, one winter morning when she placed her lips on mine and said that she loved me. She had accidentally knocked me over while reaching for the phone. Two years of memories flash before I hit the tile floor with one giant crash.
Irreplaceable. I heard her say that about me once. Now as I lay in pieces on the floor, I wonder if the next mug she buys will ever love her as much as I did. Or if she ever loved me at all.
Do you have a Blogging 101 challenge? Are you interested to participate? Send me an e-mail at email@example.com or share your blog in the comments below. Make sure to send a constructive input so your comment doesn’t get flagged as spam! Thank you! I hope you liked my short story (attempt).