Short short story

As I prepare a bunch of stuff to magically appear here whilst I am busy with family, I am also writing and editing and stuff like that.

I just wrote a really short piece that I’d like to share. It will most likely never reach novel status but it may morph into another story later.

This piece is copyrighted and, while available for use, cannot be altered, used for commercial purposes, and must be attributed to me.

Click the link below to read the short short story.

Dee could feel herself slipping into a funk. She was due for one and although she’d taken her medication religiously, it was still going to happen. She didn’t know what set it off, only that, despite everything she did good, she would state hate her Self. She was pond scum. Worthless. Not even good enough to dig ditches. Suicide was never an option; that would end the punishment. And Dee deserved to be punished.

#

“Whoa, kinda dark in here, ain’t it?” Marge fumbled with the wall alongside the door, feeling for the switch.

“Yeah, I like it that way.”

“If you say so. Sitting in the dark won’t make it go away. You need to get up and leave it behind.”

“It’s not just something I can take off and drape across the back of the couch, Marge. It’s as much a part of me as my hair color.”

“Don’t get me started on the latest blond jokes I’ve heard.” The overhead light came on. “Crap, girlfriend, you look like…I don’t know what you look like. When’s the last time you took a bath?”

“I don’t remember. What do you want, other than to harass me?”

“No one has seen you in a while so I came over to make sure you were still alive. Are you?”

“Yeah, I’m still breathin’. Now go away.” Dee rolled over on the couch, facing the cushions.

“Nah, I think I’m going to just sit down here and watch some TV. I hope you mind.” Marge turned on a side lamp and sat down in the recliner. Using the remote, she flipped through the stations, finally settling on a sci-fi drama. “Hey, Captain Carter’s got a new haircut. She looks so butch in those sleeveless black shirts.”

Dee didn’t say anything, just lay there, wallowing. She knew that it was only a matter of time before she got up. Marge was about the only one patient enough to put up with Dee’s moods.

“Moods. If only it were that simple.”

“I know, kid. If it were then I’d slap you around like Pete said I should.”

Snort. “Pete needs to be slapped around herself. She likes it though.”

Marge laughed and muted the commercials. “Hungry?”

Dee was silent as the thought. When had she eaten last?

“I’ll take that as a yes. When the show is over I’ll make us some pasta. I know you got at least that around here.”

#

Dee sat out on the front porch, watching the world go by. The kids down the valley had motorbikes and ATVs. They rode back and forth, up and down the road. The steady drone of the bikes had become as common place as the birds. Mr. Hodges was mowing his yard. Again. The lack of rain meant he was actually just blowing dust around.

Someone near by must be doing some grading since that was the fifth dump truck full of dirt to go by in the past hour. She wondered if a new house was going in.

Glancing at her watch, she saw that Marge would be coming by soon. Her visits gave Dee something to look forward to each day. She wished she could see her face when Marge came around the corner to find Dee on the porch.

#

Marge tossed her briefcase in the back of her car. Another day of number crunching over and done with. Her brain hurt from the hours of reading spreadsheets.

As she drove out of the business complex, she glanced at the clock. She needed to go by Dee’s before going home. She wondered what she saw in the younger woman that made her go there every day. Part of her was afraid she’d go in some day and find Dee hanging from the ceiling or with her brains splattered all over the bathroom walls. But the rest of her believed and trusted what Dee had promised: Suicide was not an option.

Most of their friends had given up on Dee, tired of what they thought was a manipulating hypochondriac brat. Marge had seen that fear behind Dee’s eyes. She’d seen the times when Dee looked so, well, depressed. She’d heard the woman describe the thoughts in her mind, her monotone voice containing no emotion.

Marge turned at the last light, going down Lexington Avenue a few blocks before turning left at Virginia Lane and finally right onto Cleveland Avenue. As she made that last turn, she saw someone sitting on Dee’s porch. Pulling into the driveway, Marge wanted to cry. How could Dee think so little of herself? Didn’t she know how beautiful she was when she smiled? Didn’t she know how that smile affected others, especially me?

— The End —

by Paula Offutt via Thought Patterns

This post was written ahead of time and scheduled to appear on line. If you are reading this, it worked. If you are not reading this, then this statement is gratuitous.