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Room 207 (standard:drama, 858 words)
Author: Kristopher CarlucciAdded: May 07 2010Views/Reads: 1539/899Story 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. 


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