the short story project


A Missed Date

I love two curls, one in her hair. The other is the curly cumulus art she paints in the air with the catalyst between her long, slender hands. The smoke died, the traces of the Dunhill lingered in the hallway for long. It must be Miranda.

What I love ends up in what I hate. How many times have I told her that this is a smoke-free building? She never listens. She could have waited for me and lit the cigar out of impatience.

You are late. Blame yourself; you are a pathetic lover, my mighty conscience crow gave a loud caw.

Am I a loser in love? My brain sleepwalked. My heart danced for a rock song.

Illogical question. Yet, I answer it for you one last time. You are a lousy lover and a loser. They are two different things, you know, my head dryly mocked.

Why it has to be me? How is it my fault? She should’ve gone to the smoking area if she badly needs Dunhill.

All she needed was you. You were behindhand, so Miranda replaced you with Dunhill. This time, it is my soul.

I know what I want to know and what I want to do. Criticism not needed, my dear wise useless guides. My conscious shouted at all the senses inside me.

“What are you going to do?” All the parts in me asked in unison.

Hm. I let out a sigh and replied to no one in particular. I will call and tell Miranda not to smoke again in the hallway. What if someone had noticed it on the CCTV? I must pay the fine for her irresponsibility. I can’t take it for her. She has to pay for it.

Call her and say this, she’ll fly away from your nest. Who are you to her? Do you hold a license to control her? You’re a jerk.

He demeans me. I should strangle him. I’m craving for the cold-blooded murder of this fucking voice within me.

Calm down. The voice has a point. What if Miranda leaves me? Can’t she make a call to me? She isn’t living in medieval times.

I wanted to stay silent after hearing your plot to kill me. But I couldn’t stop telling. Your phone is in silent mode, Mr. Jerk.

Ah! A great mistake. I pulled my phone from my pocket. 40 Missed Calls and a fucking missed date. I’m a loser and a jerk. I admitted.


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