she stretched on the bed and reached with her long leg and placed her foot on his desk before him on the notebook he was writing in
“Wow,” she said. “Your place is so small, like a box of matches. And so empty. So lonely. Why don’t you ever have anyone over? I never see or hear you talking to people. Why must you be like that?”
“I don’t like people,” he said
"Why?"
“Don’t ask silly questions. For the same reason I don’t like hotdogs. I just don’t like them.”
“Do you like me?” she asked
“I don’t know,” he said
“Would you like me to leave?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know a lot of things, boy. I came to you because… I wanted to have a place from which I’d be missed if I left. I thought the heart of someone as lonely as you would be that special place for me. Turns out you’re not lonely at all. You’re just alone.”
“I guess,” he said
She removed her foot from his notebook and turned facing the wall and began to sob
“Hey, don’t be like that,” he said. “I might not be missing you if you go, but…”
“But what!?”
“Well, you still remain my least detestable hallucination. I like your legs, with all their ten joints. I like your crimson eyes, all eight of them. Your fangs, your horns, the scaled wings, everything. I really think you’re…”
“Yeah? You think I’m what?”
“You’re… what I need in my life right now. So don’t leave just yet, okay?”
“Hah! I knew you love me.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Shut up, you don’t know it yet. But you love me. Come to bed, you silly oaf! Let’s sleep and dream together. Something colorful, vibrant. A spider web full of butterflies. Shaking in the wind. Come.”
He closed his notebook and went to bed
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He jumped off the building and the metallic wings carried him high towards the clouds where others like him swam in absolute bliss but then something hit his head and he woke up turned around in bed and realized there was blood trickling from his eyebrow The girl besides him was holding a stapler in […]
“I fucking hate rice,” she
told me. “And I’m beginning
to kinda
hate you for loving it.”
“Shit,” I said, “what
did rice ever
do to you?”
She opened her purse
took out the pack of smokes
and fished one out
with her lips. “Fuck,” she said,
looking for the lighter.
“I think I still
have the pits in my knees…”
“What?”
She shrugged. “I was a little girl,
alright, and whenever I
did something that my dear grandma
considered naughty she’d
pour raw rice in a corner
of the room and make me kneel
on it and just stand like that for…
I don’t know, hours.”
“Really?”
“Really!” She blew the smoke
in my face. “To this day,
bitch still wonders
how I could steal her savings
from the pension. I didn’t
even need the money. I just hated
her guts is all. And now
I hate rice. And you.”
“Well,” I said. “I never stole
from my grandma. And to
this day I don’t hate walnuts.”
“What?”
“Yeah, that was my version
of the punishment. I knelt on
shells of walnuts just
like you with the rice. And I
don’t hate ’em.”
She blew more
smoke in
my face
Daydreaming as a profession 