Saturday night (#weekendfreewrite)

Here's my contribution to this weekend's #freewrite with three prompts, hosted by @mariannewest - it was so much fun today, and it turned out completely different from what I had thought while I wrote to prompt one an two. Prompt three was a real twist for my story today! If you want to participate, start with the instructions and the first prompt and go for it!

Thank you for reading this!

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"How do you do it?" I asked her. "How do you go on?" She sat next to me on the sofa and shook her head, only slightly, I wouldn’t even have noticed it, hadn’t I expected some kind of reaction to my question. She had difficulties answering, I could feel it, and I understood. She had been crying for the most part of the night, had been sobbing, grabbing for tissues, snorted, sobbed again, hadn’t been able to find her voice, to tell me what had happened. I could see and feel and hear the agony. I had expected that she wasn’t well off, but the degree of her agony had shocked me. I didn’t really now what to do, so I thought it might be the best to focus on progress, on getting out and ahead of this messy situation. I figures if I could focus her thoughts on the way out, on how she would go on, she would get back to logical thinking, or to thinking at all, I hoped. What had happened wasn’t pleasant, I could agree on that, but it wasn’t the end of the world or her life. That’s what I thought. And therefore, I asked her how she would go on.

She felt like she should say something, she should answer his question. Yet she wasn’t sure herself how she would go on. If she could go on with all this at all. She took a deep breath, forced herself to think. he wanted her to go on. Wait, she thought, he wanted her to go on, but didn’t mention himself. He was part pf this mess, wasn’t he? She felt the anger coming up from her belly to her throat. Be careful, she thought, be careful what you say know, don’t freak him out, don’t do or say something stupid. So she pulled herself together, swallowed part of the ager back to where it had come from, took his hand. She looked at him and said, “Best not flirt with disaster, let it decide to commit.” He saw him frowning, but he didn’t say anything. Probably because he didn’t no what to say, she thought, and after this stupid question she was glad he didn’t add anything that would make the anger crawl up again. Let him think about this, she thought, and wasn’t really sure herself she knew what she had just said.

She closed the door behind him and sighed. Finally he had left. She looked down at the floor, her favorite seed box figure lay there shattered, only she could tell that it had been a frog before, the cutest little froggy – she felt the tears coming up again and decided to look away instead of staring at the crime scene. How could someone be so clumsy to run against a board, have the figure fall out of the seed box and then stumble with these heavy boots onto it, literally squashing the frog to death? She had picked him up in a bar last night because he had looked so emo, or maybe goth, maybe something in between, he seemed undecided about it, but he looked seriously sad – she burst out in laughter at this stupid pun – and that kind of reminded her of her youth. She sighed. What a stupid idea this had been. And she thought she would try to remind herself to say hi to someone with a smile the next time.