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|Room 207 (standard:drama, 858 words)|
|Author: Kristopher Carlucci||Added: May 07 2010||Views/Reads: 1539/899||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Boy has girl. Boy loses girl.|
Room 207: And then she started crying again. Her face scrunched up, her eyes became glossy, and the makeup ran down her face. She looked like a paint marker had violated her just seconds before. The paint was still wet. The purple mascara dripped into thick purple veins extending down the length of her face. No wonder drunk-frat-jock-types and other assorted douche bags walk up to weeping girls in bars and say, "I hate to see a pretty girl cry". It is repulsive. These pussy prowlers are doing it for themselves. They're doing it to get rid of the eyesore that can turn a playboy bunny into a rabbit that your Doberman Pincher never finished eating. The sight is known to damage a cornea or two, but the loudest decibel rating of a crying girl has been said to be able to shatter the bullet-resistant material of the pope-mobile. This was William's cue, he thought. He grabbed the fetal ball of his girlfriend and held their faces close together. He could feel the moisture from her cheeks pressing against his. "Baby" he would say drawing out the syllables "don't start crying right now" But Katherine didn't budge. She convulsed harder and pushed more tears down her face. "Why are you crying baby?" William would plead. "I just can't stand leaving you again William", she belt out "I need you". Streams of tears crept down the soft cheeks William would never appreciate; he kissed the lips he could never be satisfied with. When she was happy the whole apartment building heard the stomping and banging of her dancing. The dust would fall off the ceiling of the apartment below in a haphazard rhythm perhaps into a bowl of cheddar and broccoli soup or into the mouth of a sleeping grandmother. Katherine was not graceful in the slightest. During her pirouettes she would shatter dishes on the linoleum floor, blinded by her tornado of blonde hair her jump kick would be interrupted with a kitchen table leg to the shin. The 67-year-old man in room 208 would always call the cops thinking the sound of glass shattering was a domestic dispute or a burglary. Three or four uniformed officers would burst in the door after their knocks went unanswered only to see two pale naked bodies intertwined on the kitchen table. A generic love song from the '90s would be buzzing out of the computer speakers, and Katharine would always initiate the roaring laughter that soon filled the room. "Come on we have to go down stairs -- the bus will be here any minute", William insisted. Katherine got off the bed still sobbing. It is funny how emotions are like viruses William thought. As soon as Katherine began crying he too, felt something uneasy inside of him. He always shook off what he regarded as silly feelings; nothing was different with Katherine. They trotted down the stairs together, William with an array of suitcases adorned with floral patterns. Katherine pulled him close and pressed her lips hard against his. "I love you so much" she said still clutching William behind his ears. He kissed her soft lips once more, and wiped away a tear from her face that he couldn't decipher. "I love you too", he said once again overcome by the viral spreading of these silly feelings. Click here to read the rest of this story (37 more lines)
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