New short short story writing venture

May 10th, 2015 by Ash

la trobe writing

So I was chatting with some friends and musing over the best and most effective way to get ‘stuff’ out there and seen. After going around and around in circles and being interrupted by some guy in 60s wanting a ‘four-way’, what we eventually thought might be a cool idea, would be posting a short short story (betweenn 300-500 words) every week. I could go into the marketing details of peoples attention spans and personalising experiences but just imagine those kinds of things being said….
So without further ramblings about my hopes and fears of publishing a short short story every week, here is my first instalment:

Loving with the top down

I was in love with her but she wasnt in love with me. The fact was sealed for me when she once made me wait outside her apartment for half an hour while she was on the phone to her ex. She had a great explanation at the time which I’ve forgotten.

We used to hang out at the International airport terminal. We would dress like we were European travelers, wearing linen and sunglasses. Wed take turns at making up stories of all the people we observed. She often chose the young good looking couples.

I was smoking too much at the time and I felt much older than her. I just moved slower. I got away with never telling her my real age, but there was a sixteen year age gap between us.

One afternoon she came upon sitting in my courtyard writing in my journal. I saw love in her eyes, but in that moment, she only ever loved the idea of me. I could see the whole sad thing unfold in front of me and yet I still let it play out hoping that something would change. I was probably just in love with her energy and smooth skin.

She ended it with a phone call. I could hear other voices in the background and she sounded drunk. I asked her to tell me what she was wearing one last time so I could imagine the scene. I guess as a writer, these things matter to me. She wore her purple jeans with holes in the knees, her hand made South African sandals and her white cotton blouse with Embroidery down the front. I thanked her and she hung up.

I bought a convertible, a second hand one. Melbourne isnt really the town for convertibles, Sydney is, but I was hung over and impulsive and some royalties had come through.

I was driving through the country, feeling self conscious because the top was down and it was cold, when I saw her stopped at the roadside to buying fruit. Im sure it was her. She looked like she had done well for herself.

I still have dreams about her. Theyre terrible, mostly because she always looks amazing and it burns my heart. I wake up, usually around 5am and try to write it all out of my head. My cat sometimes joins me, to comfort me. I smoke a few cigarettes and tell myself it was all worth it and I go back to bed, half hoping to have the dream again and half not.

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