short stories

And then, you know what I did? I came back to my office and I shut the door and rubbed the sweat from my face. No one wants to hear your musings. No one cares about how you see the world. The ends of my fingers turned gritty and sticky. Maybe if you wrote more, I don’t know, interesting things. More like the fiction you read. More like the places you want to go when the world is not enough. Maybe like that. I contemplate washing my hands. I turn them over and bite at a hang nail. I rub my nails on the edge of my jeans. Please hide the sweat stains, jean dye. Please keep me clean looking when I feel not clean at all. Please maintain my facade. This sweet looking face. This tiny body. If only they knew. I wipe the peanut butter from my keyboard with my sweaty salty fingers. I am alone.

My mind is playing tricks on me, and I am trying to keep it all straight. Imagination versus reality. My feeling versus my knowing. My reaction versus my prediction. My reluctance versus my drive. My crazy, crazy drive.

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