Red Wine

She loved the music I listened to on the radio. She had never learned how to cook anything but fudge. We’d stay up late and watch horror movies, eating fudge and instant popcorn. She knew how to talk. She could talk anybody into anything. That’s how I got to stay there this summer.

It hadn’t worked out.

I thought Kara was nice, normal. But tonight, the wine… there was too much. I didn’t take very much. She drank a lot.

She came at me. She tried to bite me. It couldn’t have been Kara for she’s so sweet. She tried to kill me! The knife slipped and I simply got a slight gash on the arm. I ran out with my clothes and left.

I’m scared. I have no food, no money. I can’t go to the police. Suppose they don’t believe me?

Maybe I could go back to her? Maybe I could hitchike. I only have five cents left. My mother went to Cancun with her boyfriend since I’m with Kara. At least, I was supposed to be.

There’s the moon. It’s low in the sky. Luna is French for moon. Luna. Lunatic.

I think I’ll go back. Back to Kara. She needs me.

A shattered glass lies on the edge of the table, red stains spreading slightly more with each drop. Drop. Drop. Red on white carpet.

The wine is gone.

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About E

Even as a child, I read voraciously. Writing has always been a natural outlet. Sometimes bordering on macabre or edgy, I was not always safe and even today I look at some of my writing and raise an eyebrow. Read me at your own risk. I am but a 30-something professional (don't ask a professional what, for I won't answer!) who spends nights as a dreamer and sometimes writer.
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