"You're not serious, are you?" Mark asked her, wondering is she genuinely meant what she had said.
"Yes, Mark, I am." her voice echoed into the canals where nerve and flesh were trying to decipher any hidden meaning behind her cold, unfeeling words. She stood there, trembling in her legs a little, but showing no other sign of emotion. She didn't look as good in his clothes as she did now, but that was the least of Mark's concerns at this point.
"Well" the man's voice trailed off, as he focused on the necklace that he had given her, now supporting the favorite ring of another. His hand flew faster than his brain could comprehend, and he ripped the thread right off her neck, and threw the ruby encased, silver jewelry on the ground as hard as he could.
He didn't think that meaning to talk as soon as he got home from work would mean the end of a very tedious and heart-wrenching relationship. His soda pop flew well beyond the trajectory of the ring, and had a much more satisfying impact.
He watched as she entered the house that minutes ago she had intercepted him at, on his walk to his own. He spit, trying not to cry, scream, and unleash everything that had been building to this climax. Mark shook uncontrollably and trying to drive when you feel like a victim of cerebral palsy is no easy task. The heart was broken, and the ears ignored every song, even the volume was loud enough for a sound violation. Seeing through the tears at oncoming traffic was making this moment of emotional holocaust even harder to appreciate.
"Fucking semi-trucks." was the only coherent thought mark had the constitution to think of until the cigarette was finished.
Finally making it home, he threw his suitcase on the bed upstairs, and proceeded to bathroom to inspect his eyes. When you never cry, and there is a sudden burst from the tear ducts, it's a little like vomiting too hard, it can burst blood vessels and make your eyes seem even worse than they already are.
His parents, wise and unchanging, met him in the kitchen. Joyce and Bill, or Mom and Dad, if you know them close enough, are usually never that into the emotional stuff that strangers bring them, but this time they could tell that their son was in no mood for sexual innuendo or self-improvised slap stick.
Part two comes tommorow
"Yes, Mark, I am." her voice echoed into the canals where nerve and flesh were trying to decipher any hidden meaning behind her cold, unfeeling words. She stood there, trembling in her legs a little, but showing no other sign of emotion. She didn't look as good in his clothes as she did now, but that was the least of Mark's concerns at this point.
"Well" the man's voice trailed off, as he focused on the necklace that he had given her, now supporting the favorite ring of another. His hand flew faster than his brain could comprehend, and he ripped the thread right off her neck, and threw the ruby encased, silver jewelry on the ground as hard as he could.
He didn't think that meaning to talk as soon as he got home from work would mean the end of a very tedious and heart-wrenching relationship. His soda pop flew well beyond the trajectory of the ring, and had a much more satisfying impact.
He watched as she entered the house that minutes ago she had intercepted him at, on his walk to his own. He spit, trying not to cry, scream, and unleash everything that had been building to this climax. Mark shook uncontrollably and trying to drive when you feel like a victim of cerebral palsy is no easy task. The heart was broken, and the ears ignored every song, even the volume was loud enough for a sound violation. Seeing through the tears at oncoming traffic was making this moment of emotional holocaust even harder to appreciate.
"Fucking semi-trucks." was the only coherent thought mark had the constitution to think of until the cigarette was finished.
Finally making it home, he threw his suitcase on the bed upstairs, and proceeded to bathroom to inspect his eyes. When you never cry, and there is a sudden burst from the tear ducts, it's a little like vomiting too hard, it can burst blood vessels and make your eyes seem even worse than they already are.
His parents, wise and unchanging, met him in the kitchen. Joyce and Bill, or Mom and Dad, if you know them close enough, are usually never that into the emotional stuff that strangers bring them, but this time they could tell that their son was in no mood for sexual innuendo or self-improvised slap stick.
Part two comes tommorow