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Short story: <i>Mean Girl</i>

She sits opposite me, belligerent, narrow-eyed, slumped over.

She chews at one raggedy nail edge and kicks at the edge of the seat with one toe.

She's a couch-potato, sagging gracefully into the chair, plotting the ruination of our world together, the destruction of our relationship, planning to run, to hide, to escape as soon as she can. Her resentful stare grows deeper.

I did nothing to her, nothing. Her displeasure is unwarranted, out of all proportion. I lean forward, clear my brow, and whisper endearments to her.

Her eyes clear a little.

She averts her gaze from mine, stretches out one delicate foot, and purs a little.

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: couch-potato, mystify, beligerent, ruination, and proportion.

Image courtesy of fugutabetai_shyashin.

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