He timidly offered her his heart. She swallowed it whole.
Some people seem so lovely that we may forget to keep our guard up around them. Many people aren’t actively seeking to exploit us in that situation, thank goodness. The problem is that some of them are. They look at us and see an object to use, abuse, and throw away at their discretion. Those who have never been sucked into their ‘game’ are lucky. I’ve seen people’s lives ruined over trusting those types of conniving vultures.
Have you ever been victimized by such a heartless person? Do you have a story to tell about it? Can you say it in ten words or less? If so, share with me in the comment section!
This 100 word story is a continuation of The Escape – Friday Fictioneers. If you want a better idea of what’s going on in this story, I suggest you read that first.
Eric was startled from his slumber thanks to someone pounding on the door to his suite. With a yawn he threw on the silk robe he had taken from a naive tourist. He didn’t normally steal from his victims but it was of his refined taste and he’d hate to see it go to waste.
He opened the door but no one was there, just a letter at his feet. He caught the faint trace of a familiar scent as he bent down to pick up the envelope. It couldn’t be. Eric swallowed hard when he saw the handwriting. Elle?!
You granted your callous mistress the right to infiltrate our lives. My childhood memories are defiled by her meddlesome intrusion. You became her marionette, her absurd little dancing fool. I watched you; a once proud, mountain of a man, reduced to a lowly pebble.
You gave all you possessed in life to appease her constant hunger. We were merely afforded the scraps she left of your love, attention, and time. I can remember the contempt my mother endured every day for what you deemed an unforgivable sin: She chose to keep fighting for you.
You didn’t just defeat her once, that would have been too merciful. You subdued her inner essence, strangling it into submission. I witnessed my mother dwindle into a thin, crumbling husk while you roamed in blissful freedom, never facing the aftermath.
Timmy knew exactly what to do. He just had to turn the big hand on the clock backwards. Grandpa called it ‘Daylight Savings Time’.
He prodded the clock in the kitchen with a broom, until it fell down. Relief crashed through him when the clock remained intact. He picked it up and slowly spun the big hand. He paused for a moment. Had it worked?
He peered into the living room. His mother was passed out drunk on the sofa. Was she like that before he took the clock? He couldn’t remember. He usually took care not to disturb her as he navigated around the bottles strewn about the floor but today his mind was racing in a million directions.
As he sprinted to the hallway, he let the bottles fall where they may. He didn’t even think twice about how much trouble he was going to be in for letting their mouths drip beer and wet ash all over his grandmother’s oriental rug.
Call me stupid again and I’ll slice out your tongue.
I’ve never been one to take ridicule very well. However, it’s not that the words themselves bother me like they used to back when I was a child. I no longer have such thin skin. What irks me is the audacity that people have to think they can treat people so contemptuously and not even give a second thought to how their words might affect someone.
How do you handle ridicule? Does it make you upset or does it all just kinda roll right off your back? Can you tell me your story about ridicule in ten words or less? I know you can! Be sure to tell me all about it in the comments section.