THE WORST THING I'VE EVER WRITTEN!

Danger, the short story you're about to read sucks. It sucks hard. It was late at night and I needed to turn in something, anything. From the foulest realms of sleep deprivation I give you a short story so awful I couldn't even turn it in.

You were warned...


With weathered skin and a chapped smile, the old man waiting for register five clutches his bouquet of roses. With Valentines Day long since past it’s good to see that there are some that keep the sprit of love alive.

At first glance his out of date clothes, scuffed dress shoes, and brown driving cap gave him the look of someone who fell out of the fifties and landed in a Ralph’s. But watching this man inch his way toward the register, flowers in hand, I couldn’t help but to wonder how, after all those years, he kept the fires burning. With nothing but the “never ending checkout line” to look forward to, I figured I had the time to find out what this old timers story was. After changing lines I made a quick introduction, a nice enough old guy he seemed quite happy to have someone take an interest in him. Once the pleasantries subsided I began to inquire about the flowers, nearly double the size of the traditional bouquet for flowers. Adjusting his glasses he said that the roses were for the love of his life, and that he always bought her flowers for their anniversary. I asked him to tell me about his wife, and how it was that after so many years they were able to keep the love in their relationship.

He went on to tell me that as a young man he had chased many women, but very few had ever interested him. He found that although you could go dancing till the cows came home, not one of them could make him happy. I agreed with him and he continued on telling me about how it was that eventually hew grew quite bored with chasing the same women at the local dance hall and decided to look elsewhere. He had been all over the country, living a few years in each town, but never finding the one woman he could see him self with for the rest of his life. “Love is a fickle beast,” the old man said, “the more you hunt it the faster it’ll run off.” Until one day, he made his way back home, and there, in his old hometown, was a woman of remarkable beauty. She had moved there shortly after he left, naturally he considered chasing her, but she wanted no part of it.

“For two years we were court’n,” the old man exhaled, “and in two years I thought I’d never win over this woman’s heart.” Until finally, one day he asked her to marry him, he told her that he was going to go back out into the world again if she didn’t say yes. “It wasn’t until I was finally packing up my roadster and getting ready to leave my old hometown for good that she said yes.” Said the old man, waving his finger skyward. He told me that her saying she’s marry him was only the beginning. It was a long time until they attempted to have their first child, and even longer until they tried again. As he described it they had a quiet life, not much excitement, and not too much fun. He said he watched as the fun things in his life began to fade away, like when you trade in your flashy car, for a family car. The days of dancing and romancing gave way to quite reservation.

“She provided me with comfort and solace, I never had to worry about her running off with another man,” The old man educated me. “Yup, that was my wife.” I pointed to the flowers in his hand and stated that his wife will be quite happy to get those. He looked at me and started to laugh, “these aren’t for my wife; these are for my new girlfriend.” I quickly apologized and asked how long ago she left us. “Left us? What do you mean son?” the old man asked, staring at me blankly. I explained that I assumed that his wife had passed on, seeing as though the flowers were for his new girlfriend. “I’m sorry son, but I think you got the wrong idea, I said the flowers are for the love of my life, not my wife.” He explained that shortly after they were married they were divorced, he also said it was the longest year of his life. He further enlightened me on his vow to never get tied down to one woman again.

“Don’t you see son,’ he said, ringing up his purchase at the register. “There’s a reason dogs always chase cars, but never catch’em.”





Exile

Original_exile@hotmail.com