Dev’s First Ever Attempt at Short Short Fiction

3 Jun

In my recent perusal of sites on the interwebs featuring creative writing, I’ve noticed more and more short short stuff. I’m talking stories in two paragraphs. Maybe it’s the traditionalist in me, but I’ve never really tried to write like that before. So in the spirit of trying new things, here’s a short short piece of something (I don’t know whether to really call it fiction) I’ve been working on lately. I call it “She in the Cafe with Him As Well”. I dare you to enjoy it…or at least comment on it.

I see her with the man who loves her; who adores her; who has a pretty believable fake and got her into bars without questions; who is smart and sensitive and caring and all that other stuff; who claims to adore her to everyone he sees; who wrote poetry to her after a fairly mediocre third date in which she drank too much bud light and so decided to peck him on the cheek in the car outside the door of her house but the cheek became his mouth but the peck was still a peck; who doesn’t understand sometimes; who gets excited way too easily; who asked her out in a random, unasked for, and surprising Facebook message where he unearthed some deep-felt love for her and savored the wealth it brought; who considered love to be like a precious gem; who always tried to make poetic similes; who stared at her from across the room in English 111 and thought about how she always had something smart to say in class and the way her eyes glimmered when she smiled or something like that and how he felt like their eyes were always meeting in that class; who put too much stock in coincidence; who takes her out to places like Chili’s and Applebees’ and Outback Steakhouse on special occasions like two week anniversaries and calls them dates and sits beside her and cozies up to her until his hip is married to her thigh and they can split a molten hot fudge lava cake with ice cream together though she’s on a diet; who thinks intimacy is a physical commodity or currency that is bartered and traded––hugs are to kisses what the dollar is to the pound; who asks what she thinks of marriage; who tells her he wants to have a daughter named Annabell who will be 4 years older than their, excuse me, his, son Chris; who doesn’t understand the silence this causes; who only looks for her eyes to meet his in moments like this; who demands silently with his best attempt at puppy-dog eyes that they kiss each other good night each night; who claims that sometimes he just wants to watch her fall asleep; who doesn’t understand sometimes; who wants always to be big spoon; who is so into cuddling that sometimes she feels claustrophobic in a multitude of physical and psychological axes and dimensions; who tries to whisper sweet somethings that end up meaning nothing into her ear as they fall asleep; who doesn’t understand the silence this causes; who tries to find something random and snarky and sarcastically romantic to say like an overplayed Zach Braff movie; who doesn’t realize that her silence is not an implicit beckoning for him to keep going with whatever he’s trying to keep up, but a silent reminder that his convenient, persistent devotion to her is a reason for her to both love him and love him not; who has some trouble seeing two sides to the same coin; who shows her his baby pictures on the first date because he can tell that somehow she’s someone with whom he has a really profound connection, one that makes him squint off to the distance whenever he finds the need to mention this profundity to her; who squeezes his eyes so tightly when kisses her in public places and public places or when he masturbates in the shower thinking of how he kisses her, grabbing himself the way he would imagine her grabbing him; who breathes heavily at the thought of her in one of his dreams, which he tells her he has often, nearly everyday; who thinks she closes her eyes when she kisses him, or day-dreams of how she pleases herself at the thought of him; who looks at guys who look at her and say hi with a silent zeal and approbation, even if they are her friends; who laughs at all of her friends’ jokes enough to let everyone one of them know that he doesn’t actually pay attention to what any of them say, who takes every opportunity to mention her to his family friends and ex-girlfriends, like their romance is a hot ticket item that he was able to grab up before others got to it; who shares his histories like some crazed Vietnam vet who tells you everything that happened to him in such a specifically vague way that it might make her want to keep walking by sometimes; who tells her about his problem with intimacy and how he gets nervous because he really likes her, but can’t seem to do it because he loves her too much; who never learned that it takes two to tango; who tries to do it anyway, despite the consequences or the awkwardness of an unfulfilled promise; who just doesn’t seem to get it. I see her. She is smiling at me.


2 Responses to “Dev’s First Ever Attempt at Short Short Fiction”

  1. Chelsea June 4, 2010 at 3:13 pm #

    I like it Devster. So I was listening to a podcast yesterday (because sometimes I do, in fact, use current technology) and I heard about this publishing cite called fastpencil-you should check it out!

  2. Jess June 5, 2010 at 9:06 pm #

    Disturbingly relatable, Dev sir. And a beautiful wrap around.

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