Bubbles and Seeds (standard:other, 1162 words)
Author: vihksin	Added: Jan 27 2003	Views/Reads: 2871/1918	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
people being the saved and the saviors for others, finally finding a way to be both for themselves only.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

I've slipped out of my vinyl chair and it's almost 9.  I get up and 
hurry to the phone. 

Hey don't worry, I can work everything out, I tell her. 

I had a vision, enlightenment. 

Trust me. 

I will settle your whole little world by tomorrow night. 

I promise this and ask again where the banquet is going to be.  She
warns me not to burst her bubble.  I know I won't.  Just her sister's. 

A day later, I'm sitting in some Chinese restaurant watching slides of
when Angie and her new hubby were babies.  Ruth's lacey pink sleeve is 
scratching me through my dress shirt, but as long as she's happy having 
a date, “a man,” it's not so bad.  Though the blue eye-shadow is, even 
a guy has to say, pretty bad.  The MC is throwing up tired fake laughs 
and I'm fingering a little pocket knife from my boy scout days, which 
was the best I could do, through the pink napkin on my lap.  I've 
already decided to kill Angie's biggest bubble--the one who's always 
there for her when she's down, constantly making her feel better about 
herself, and never taking any credit for it: Ruth. She's always there 
for Angie to bring down with her, constantly making her look superior, 
and never aware of it.  I know this because in my revelation I saw the 
medium brown dreariness in the very first savior-bubble that ran me 
over to rescue that brittle seed of Angie. 

Who would've thought you could be a bubble and a seed in the same glass?


The MC finally takes a seat and everyone focuses on the platter of fried
duck coming on.  I might as well do it now.  Why let Ruth embarrass 
herself in her last hour by having to give a loving toast in a few 
moments? 

I snatch a party favor, take a long, hard lungful of the pot-potpourri
stench nested in the miniature ceramic swan, flick out my blade and 
stab.  And stab and stab and stab, you know, just to make sure. 

See, jealousy problems solved, gone.  Angie's half of the soda has gone
flat just like yours has been.  Ruth thanks me through the thick muck 
of blood. 

Blood reminds me of warmth reminds me of home reminds me of, well, my
not going back there.  Real bubbles do pop and vanish at the surface 
and besides, my seed is already dead and rescued. 

An extra whiff of potpourri and my blade finds its way towards myself. 
I'm my own bubble. 


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