Stories

Disappearing Flowers

Disappearing Flowers

The girl who I had been noticing all week at the hotel had, by some divine miracle, decided to attend this bash as well. I sipped my shitty American beer, trying to possess an air of nonchalance, but her caramilky skin, wavy long brown hair, and the flowery orange dress she wore made me forget what cool was. She sat down on the off-white cushion next to mine and we started talking. I had originally thought she must have been in her mid-twenties, but was somewhat relieved (at least now I could relate) and somewhat disappointed (every heterosexual teenage guy lusts for older women) to learn that she too crawled from the womb in 1987. Her voice came to life when I told her I was turning eighteen in just over an hour. . .

The Evolution of Relationship

The Evolution of Relationship

Dark. Purple Night. I stood on an empty street corner beneath a lonely, cheerful street lamp. A bottle in my hand, a freshly fallen snowflake on my head. I looked up to see the winter precipitation spawning toward me; there were no pink roses.

Without moving my feet I began floating down the street. I felt like infinity trapped within an anecdote. I felt as though a bear in a birdcage must have felt, but with the glimmering ray of hope that the door would soon burst open. Dry cereal had taken control of my thoughts; however, the beer promptly washed that away. . .