Short story: Love At First Sight



She looked at me and said

If they could administer empathy via intravenous drip, you fucking arsehole, you'd be at the top of the list. You are seriously lacking any modicum of feeling.

I looked at her.

Was this really worth the effort?

Did I really have any interest in reconciling with this woman?
She wasn't breaking the stare, she was just going to keep going until I dropped my eyes in shame, or retracted my previous statement, or pulled out my archery gear and shot her in the forehead so she toppled over.

I unwillingly struck the last option first, kept my lips firmly together so a retraction couldn't pop out, and thought about lowering my eyes.

Instead I repeated

I'll have the veal.

She said

You're a fucking murderer. Do you have any idea what they do to those calves?

I just held her gaze nice and steady.

She sneered at me and stuffed her pen and pad in her apron pocket and flounced into the kitchen.

Jesus Christ. They shouldn't let fucking vegetarians wait tables in restaurants.

I toyed with the idea of complaining to the manager, and decided I'd ask her out instead. I might be a heartless bastard, but at least she knows that already.

This is the result of a fifteen minute writing exercise. The only constrictions were the time limit and five randomly selected words from the dictionary. Today the words were: intravenous, empathy, veal, archery, and reconciling.

Image courtesy of infomatique.