Drowning Isn't the Best Solution

Freyja Griffin one day realized that she was born to die. But then, everyone else is too. So she decided to make do with her life

Wednesday, February 28, 2007

The Boyfriend

Kevin was showing off the Boyfriend. We don’t know what was going on in his head but she was definitely all mushy about him. Sarah, all the while, was pretty bored. It was nearing midnight and she’d done her second cigarette pack. She blamed us for pecking on them like hungry albatross, but we all knew she inhaled all those cigs without our help. Like there’s going to be no tomorrow.

The Boyfriend brought booze. A token of friendship and peace for Kevin’s friends—us.
Max was a bit snappy to the Boyfriend. A bottle of booze was definitely not going to settle any peace with Max. I expected Sarah to be as fierce, but she was pretty docile.

I didn’t touch the booze. I was okay with the Boyfriend, although throughout this peace meeting I hardly picked up any conversation in which he was involved.
Half an hour before midnight Kevin and the Boyfriend excused themselves and left. I told the girls I thought we were being a bit mean.

‘Ah, and you think Kevin would care? She’s getting laid regularly now.” Max persisted on not touching the bottle. A determination worth to be admired. I wonder how she would react if I ever told her about HIM.

‘There’s no jazz around here, darling. You have to organize your own party.” And Sarah ran out of cigs.

I reminded her against a 3rd pack. So she left. Home. We know she’d probably going to once she’s home. Sitting in her bathroom, inhaling and blowing, just another one before bed.
Max had her gym session early tomorrow, so she had to go too.
The bottle sits alone on the table. Only two sips less from full.
I’m not touching it.
Don’t feel like it.
The peace and friendship token from the Boyfriend.


Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Say Something Rhetoric About Me. Please!

It was a thunderstorm outside when he came to my door.
“Hello! A nice day for copulation!” with a big grin in his face.

He is absolutely the only person who could get away with such obscene remarks and manages to smitten me in the process.

We cuddled up and had ourselves hot drinks. I asked him to say something good about me. Something that attracts him.

“You’re simple”
Ha! I told him how it sounded like I’m easy. He laughed and apologized.

“You’re too poetic.”
I don’t know what he meant, but to me it sounded more like I’m pathetic.
A good shag and he can’t think of anything nice to say about me?

“A cutie-sweet?”
Venturing the wrong area there. It’s like letting a blind to do an anal probe.

“You’re my nymph.”
The ego of a male!
I settled with that and let him be in peace with an impression that I was satisfied.

Baby it’s cold outside
and I won’t let you go home tonight!

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