It’s funny how stories come to you. I see an empty chair at a table and think of someone being stood up, the end of something. Yikes! Why not the beginning? The anticipation? Maybe it’s the photograph. I’m not completely pessimistic, you know. 😉
Despite a rather dismal attempt to get back into the habit of Friday Fictioneers awhile back, which didn’t take, if you hadn’t noticed, I am going to give it another try. My current motto is to keep writing regardless of what it is and whether I truly bore you all to tears. For which I will be forever apologetic. Sincerely. Although, really, being bored to tears is much better than being bored to death, doncha think? Many thanks to our leading lady, Miss Rochelle for keeping Friday Fictioneers alive and well for woefully blocked writers like me to return to.
The Fairy Tale Ends
You promised forever. And then cheated. And then promised again.
That should have been a clue.
Like your bloodshot eyes in our wedding photo.
How you’d rather drink than socialize with my friends.
How you couldn’t find a job that met your demands.
Until there was no job.
SAHF, you declared.
My fairy tale died with each case of beer—“it’s just beer.”
Each excuse. “I’m too smart for that.”
Each indictment of my character. “Your fault.”
The sofa embraced you, the coffee table a receptacle for beer cans.
This is not how it was supposed to be.