Tuesday, 6 August 2013

What's For Dessert..?

A waiter came along and tidied away barely touched food: three quater full glasses of wine and beer and napkins unfolded; the chairs now crouching bare but moments before a man and a woman had been there and such terrible moments had occured between them.  Many solid, unflinching stares then snatches of anger.  She had even shaken meatballs at him, angrily impailed upon her fork.  For his part, he had picked at his fries and his salad and picked up the burger and nibbled at the bun, whilst the sun had gleamed off his muscles. 

He wore a white vest, the type that is best for displaying such a body, and he also wore a non-comitted expression; whilst she wore flip flops that dangled loosley from her feet, just as she was dangling from their relationship. 

His eyes did not seem to register or even accept her fury, nor would they, ever. He had seen her bent over after all; he had seen her face slashed with pleasure and pleading, he had heard her beg for him so how could he take this seriously.

Now she was pleading for their life together.   She was tired of the same old tricks, she was worn out with men who, like magicians, covered emotions with beakers and shuffled them and made her try to guess where the secrets were hiding. He said it was girls that move things around and that was true, too. 
A relationship to them seemed like a blindfolded game of chess, but the only game he wanted to play with ended with a t instead of an s and she needed more than that. 
Could he not understand?
Had her friends been right?
When she suddenly realised this, very silently and painfully, she stood up without saying a word and walked; those flip-flops flapping away sadly.  He pretended not to care.  He left some money for the waiter and disappeared in the opposite direction.

C.P.S courtesy of inside Shadows protected by copyright 2013

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