cosleia's Stories2008-04-15T15:20:33Zhttp://ficlets.com/feeds/author/cosleiaCave<p>Cold.</p>
<p>Dark.</p>
<p>Hard.</p>
<p>Wet.</p>
<p>Dripping.</p>
<p>Can’t see.</p>
<p>Terrified.</p>
<p>Can’t think.</p>
<p>Running.</p>
<p>Falling. Haha. So cliche.</p>
<p>Kill me.</p>
<p>No.</p>
<p>So stupid.</p>
<p>Don’t.</p>
<p>Will you?</p>http://ficlets.com/stories/248632008-03-17T04:12:59Z2008-04-15T15:20:33Zcosleiahttp://ficlets.com/authors/cosleiaThe ex and the wish-she-was<p>I deflated into the tacky, sticky vinyl of the corner booth as Christian’s fingers resumed their slow, melancholic jumbling of notes.</p>
<p>“How,” I asked no one in particular, “does he manage to play happy songs like they’re the saddest fucking story on Earth? Christ,” I mumbled into the shot glass as I readied to tip more vodka past my lips, “it’s just fucking depressing. Needs to learn something, I don’t know, <em>cheerful</em>.”</p>
<p>Downing the shot, I inverted the glass on the table, because I figured that was just what was <em>done</em> when you took a shot. I didn’t know. Up until tonight I’d never tasted alcohol.</p>
<p>People drank alcohol when they were depressed, or so I understood from TV. And so that’s what I was doing, here at the piano bar, while Christian played steadily along, mournfully plinking out “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” like it was a dirge.</p>
<p>Across the table, Sonja leaned her chin on steepled fingers, the movement deepening the tantalizing sloping line between her breasts.</p>
<p>I scowled.</p>http://ficlets.com/stories/3642007-03-15T04:37:41Z2007-06-02T06:47:57Zcosleiahttp://ficlets.com/authors/cosleia