"Being a good writer is 3% talent, 97% not being distracted by the internet." Cyrus Farivar

Friday, June 15, 2012


341 words.


            Charity balls were the last place he wanted to find himself. The only people that looked remotely normal were the wait staff. Slipping around the throng, he passed some god-like warrior with a menacing faux machete on his belt. He paused briefly to contemplate the two before he pushed forward.
            These tickets had come months ago, back when he was with her. Back when he was going to have a damsel in distress on his arm. Passing another couple, he frowned as his eyes remained transfixed on the woman head of him.
            It wasn’t that she was nearly nude that bothered him. Several of the guests were wearing less than a tea cozy. He was paralyzed by the sight of her. She still came; her date holding her possessively around the waist. A gruesome monster strolled in the space between the, blocking his view for a moment. Forcing his focus elsewhere, he found himself at the dessert table. Noticing the usual range of high class sweets, he took note of the extravagant rollercoaster cake, surprisingly untouched. For a charity, this was some rather expensive food.
            Hoping to distract himself, he grabbed a small plate and wandered away. His tail was a firm train as he pushed between people and planted himself as the wallflower. With the majority of guests in costume it was tough to determine who was who. All he wanted was someone to talk to, to keep his mind off of her.
            His mind had other plans, continually returning to her. She was currently feigning interest as her date chatted with what he assumed to be fellows. Recognizing them as big rats from The Nutcracker, he smirked, finding that image rather fitting. But as he observed them, his eyes returned to her.
            They had said it was mutual, that this was for the best. It felt like another of her mind-games. A simulation to prove he wasn’t over her; that he needed her so he would be more than just “that guy.”
            He didn’t want to be “that guy.”

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