Short stories:

I think today is that rare once in a year day that I will cry my eyes out--
Everything seems to just conspire to make me sad. Little things that pile up and become larger and larger.

I think I’m going to explode sooner or later. I think I’ll get out my saddest songs later and cry my eyes out.

To make it even worse, just had this little scene play in my head about two friends talking.

“You love her! You do!” She punched his arm. “Why haven’t you said anything?”

He rubbed a hand over the injury, wincing, drawing back when she made another fist. “Don’t hit me again.”

“If you don’t start talking I will.”

He sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“Oh, god. What are you? Facebook?” She sipped on her hazelnut latte. “Have you said anything to her?”

He played with the spoon on his plate. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’ll only reject me and—hurting me will only hurt her. It’s—that’s a kind of love to, isn’t it? That’s enough.” He shrugged casually but she could see the struggle in the smile that curved his lips.

Her heart twisted at that pitiful smile so she did what she could.

She punched him again.

“Ow. What is wrong with you?” He shouted at her, clutching at his arm, his eyes watering with pain.

“It hurts, right? Stronger men than you have cried after I punched them so you can cry. It’s okay.”

He stared at her, at the way her big eyes looked at him and felt the itch behind his throat and the heat in his eyes grow stronger. He choked out a laugh. He tried to blink away the tears but it wouldn’t go away.

She didn’t know what to do when he bowed his head and started to cry, silent but for the sound of breathing. Her shoulders slouched, her eyes stung but she could barely think of a thing to do. So she only sat there, quietly. And after a minute or two, she lifted a hand and laid it on his back. Then she started to pet him like she would pet her dog.

She panicked when she felt his shoulders shake as if he was crying harder but then she heard a sound that was suspiciously like a laugh.

She heard him mutter. “You’re crap at being a girl.”

“Hey!”

“But you’re a good friend.”

Her embarrassment and anger mellowed. “I can live with that.”

His face tilted sideways, his bangs covering half of his face but she could see enough of the smile—it was wobbly and not his usual smile but at least it was real. He opened his mouth, closed it and cleared his throat before saying, “Me, too.”

She smiled. “About what? Being a crappy girl?”

He snorted a laugh, took a deep breath and wiped his face. “Being a good friend.”

Copyright © 2012 by D.F. Jules