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Not a Romantic Story
September 5, 2014
Why do you make me do this?
“As Prescott slowly climbed the steps leading to the train platform, a small idea formed inside his brain. Faster and faster it expanded until he was holding his head in his hands, anchored to the spot from the weight of his realization: he loved Esmeralda---and he’d been wrong.
Prescott leapt up, realizing immediately what he needed to do. He streaked down the stairs, running away from the platform and the yelling passerby, away from a life devoid of his one true love.
Soon he could see her silhouette, carved out of the molten glow of the rising sun. Her lucious hair streamed out behind her, while her feet were planted firmly to the ground. She had never looked more beautiful, he thought. As he reached her, he carefully lowered himself to one knee and asked the question he’d never dreamed would be answered. Yes, was her reply.”
I closed the book, and, with any luck, never to open it again. I can tell you without any hint of hyperbole that this book is an evil entity which should be destroyed asap, preferably by being hurled into the “molten glow” of an industrial incinerator. Don’t happen to have one, do you?
I guess you thought it would be cute. That I would read this pile of sparkling crap and realize that I loved you too, that I was “wrong”. Well go find someone else to dump this on! Preferably someone as arrogant and self-righteous as you! And don’t forget horrible literary tastes.
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be quite that harsh. You need to understand that I’m not just looking for space, we’re through. Forever.
P.S. Please stop leaving me these novels, my new boyfriend sees them on the doorstep and thinks I bought them; it’s embarrassing. Therefore, any new deliveries will go straight into the trash, so please, just stop wasting your money.
© Lauren R., Edmond, OK
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