Original ficlet #1
Emotional night begets emotional ficlets. Original this time.
One more night-just one pointless night of clinking glasses and sappy kisses to remind yourself of how alone you are.
As if the fourth wedding in the last five months hasn’t given you that impression at all. No, not at all. You are just “confused” and “looking for the right one.” Standard lines that keep the preying newlyweds off your back.
There’s not nearly enough booze at this reception to get you to admit that everything here is a damn lie-nothing is going to work out as perfectly as anyone ever wanted. John and Erin are already on the rocks; Nate and Sam are, too.
This jackass at your table starts some inane small talk-but without anything else to do, you give in. He’s a programmer and a friend of the groom. Nothing else gets into your head before you get up and head back for one more glass of Pinot Grigio, leaving him mumbling in his class of whiskey. It’s better this way.
Far too early for you to cut out, the bar becomes the only place where you aren’t forced into more awkward conversations. The bartender doesn’t care what you do with yourself, so long as you keep quiet and sip more and more wine.
The bouquet is ready to fly though the air-the last sign of the simple life for your friend before she’s sucked away. Like always, you avoid the toss, still surrounded by the bartender and your wine.
You leave-happily drunk off the bottle-wishing that something, anything would change.
Hazily you know nothing’s going to work as you make your way up to the room.
One more night-just one pointless night of clinking glasses and sappy kisses to remind yourself of how alone you are.
As if the fourth wedding in the last five months hasn’t given you that impression at all. No, not at all. You are just “confused” and “looking for the right one.” Standard lines that keep the preying newlyweds off your back.
There’s not nearly enough booze at this reception to get you to admit that everything here is a damn lie-nothing is going to work out as perfectly as anyone ever wanted. John and Erin are already on the rocks; Nate and Sam are, too.
This jackass at your table starts some inane small talk-but without anything else to do, you give in. He’s a programmer and a friend of the groom. Nothing else gets into your head before you get up and head back for one more glass of Pinot Grigio, leaving him mumbling in his class of whiskey. It’s better this way.
Far too early for you to cut out, the bar becomes the only place where you aren’t forced into more awkward conversations. The bartender doesn’t care what you do with yourself, so long as you keep quiet and sip more and more wine.
The bouquet is ready to fly though the air-the last sign of the simple life for your friend before she’s sucked away. Like always, you avoid the toss, still surrounded by the bartender and your wine.
You leave-happily drunk off the bottle-wishing that something, anything would change.
Hazily you know nothing’s going to work as you make your way up to the room.