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It Was Over

This was an interesting experiment for me.

A guy around here was doing a research paper and asked a number of people to write about 250 words about one of a number of photos. The task was to describe the events leading up to the photo, in the photo and what might happen after.


I went a little over on words (I did about 320), but I sort of liked this... I might try to expand this into something much longer since I like it and in the spare word count I wasn't able to do what I had in my head justice....

So, here's the photo that served as the prompt and then what I came up with:


“It’s just not working out,” I told her and she began to cry, softly at first and then harder as the news sank in. The thrill of hurting her exhilarating to me beyond reason. I’d been fanaticizing about it for so long, I was half sure this moment would never come.

“But… I love you,” she pleaded. But it didn’t matter. I had no feelings for her. I picked her up and strung her along for this moment and this moment alone. For once, I would be the one doing the heart breaking.

God, it felt good.

“Why?” she asked, over and over again she asked.

When I tried to tell her, I suddenly found that I couldn’t. Why was it so easy to hurt her a moment before, but no further?

Wiping the tears from her eyes, she tried her hardest to put on a brave face and once again ask me, “Why?”

Why, indeed.

And so, without a further word, I simply got up and left, not having the heart to break hers further.

I think, for a while, she followed me, but I lost in the bustle of the city.

I was filled with unexpected incredulity. I was hurt and appalled with myself. I broke this girls heart and then fled. It was supposed to feel good, and for a moment, it did. But now…

Jesus.

I took a left turn into the park so I could sit. I felt vulnerable and didn’t want to be near people so I took a seat on the grass.

Each face that passed by seemed to grate on me, further and further, accusing me of my wrong-doing. It seemed as though every passerby could see into my soul and accuse me for what I had done.

I draped my shirt over my head, obfuscating my shame from the world, and I lay back, onto the grass, hoping to wish away my guilt.

But to no avail.

Perhaps I’ll call her tomorrow.

After all, she was cute. And in love with me.
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