Time to Thin (750 Words)

What? No tags?

It's 750 words... risk it.

I always struggle with tags. Sometimes they tell me too much going in, but I understand that some people don't like to get invested in something that they despise. Personally, I just stop reading. There are worse things than using your brain for a bit. It's like taking a wrong turn... just turn around.

The 750-word challenge was something I never thought I'd do. One... I'm kind of long-winded and like developing characters. Two... it's hard! The one thing I did learn was that the author had limited abilities to explain their concept... the message if you will. If done well the reader is afforded the ability to draw their own conclusions and develop their own closure. I must again emphasize the phrase "done well". That's up to you as the reader.

Okay, off to wordsmith my other projects. Does anyone else try to write 3 or 4 stories at the same time? You struggle for some time trying to create an interesting concept and as soon as you have one, three, or four more jump in the ring!

If you've read anything from me in the past, you know I choose to self-edit for reasons that are mine. It's only 750 words... right? MS word count says 750 on the nose after my personal blurb.

Cheers everyone! I hope life is treating you well.

C_T

**

I looked at her sitting across from me. I hated to admit it, but she still looked as sexy as the day I married her. However, that last bit has been over for three years now.

"Tell me once more, why you're here... again."

"I... I wanted to stop in and make sure you were okay."

I laughed at her attempt at compassion. Maybe she meant it, but you know the saying... fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

"How are you doing Brad?"

"Great. Been hitting the gym a lot. Neighbors can be loud and obnoxious, but it is what it is." I watched her fiddle with her fingers. "I'll ask again, Delia. Why are you here?

"I don't know. I feel horrible for what happened. It's all my fault." It was a struggle not to fall for her deep brown eyes, even after all this time.

"Yeah. Too bad you weren't thinking of that while you fucked my boss. I believe you said something like... deal with it, loser, this is how it is now."

"I know I said that, but I didn't mean it, Brad. I got caught up in his bullshit and..." Just like last time, she started crying.

I had long figured out that these meetings were more about her dealing with her guilt than how I was getting by.

"Look. Delia. It's been three years. I honestly don't give a shit about how you feel. I certainly don't need you checking up on me. You wanted your freedom to fuck other guys, so go be free!"

She shook her head at my words. "You weren't supposed to act like that." She started.

"You expected me to fold and accept it? Why? Because I wasn't some badass biker dude with an arm full of tattoos? Because I owned a lawn care company and cut grass for a living?"

Just like all her other visits, we sat in silence. Her guilt and my anger butting heads, like two Rams in the mountains. She pulled herself together and looked at me.

"I just wanted to tell you that I... I met someone. I know you don't care but I wanted to be the one to tell you."

I laughed. "You know what they say, there's one born every minute." She recoiled at my comment.

"Times up Henderson!" The voice of authority echoed over the speaker.

Before I hung up the phone, I looked at her through the glass partition. "Don't come back, Delia... ever." With one last look at my hateful eyes, she placed her phone back on the wall and exited.

The guard was escorting me out and back to my cell, but I stalled just enough to see that sweet ass one last time. He didn't approve and yanked my handcuffed arm, pulling me down the hallway back to my cell. Once uncuffed he pushed me back inside my new home.

I was always angry after her visits but, like some form of self-punishment, I accepted each one. Perhaps a manner of penance for killing my boss. I didn't set out to do it but after one swing of the bat, I couldn't stop myself, even after he was long dead.

**

With the last of my dinner slopped onto my tray, I searched for the familiar face. Poppi was in his usual spot, so I sauntered over and dropped my tray beside him.

"How was the visit with the ex?" he asked without lifting his head from his tray.

"Great as always." I snickered. "Bitch came here to tell me she's found a new guy."

Poppy shook his head and laughed. "What I tell you?" He lifted his head and smiled.

We eyeballed each other and the message was sent without words. "I hope he's a real asshole." I finally said.

"Without a doubt." Was his simple reply.

We ate in silence until he finished and stood up. "I'll expect those cigarette packs soon Mangecake." It wasn't a nickname I liked, but in prison, you don't get to pick.

"Already under your mattress, Poppi." I looked up at him and he smiled.

After a quick nod, he left me to my thoughts. There was a time that knowing what was in motion would trouble me, but now I just didn't have the strength to give a shit. After all, it was her actions that destroyed my ability to feel. Whatever; I'll have plenty of time to think about it.