You’re Drunk – Short Story. Fiction.

Ha! I forgot that I wrote and published this on WordPress. It’s a fun, quick read. Beer. Relationship. Reality. Cheers!

mtaggartwriter

Written by -M. Taggart
copyright 2017
You’re Drunk. Fiction.

‘You don’t like this show because you’re drunk.’

‘It’s hard for me to watch. They talk about fucking and how they fuck and how the others fuck and how they might want to fuck all the others.’

‘No one says that. Everyone loves it and only you say that. See. You’re drunk. You sit on your drunk ass and just do that.’

‘I’m standing.’

‘I can’t talk to you when you’re drunk. Shut the fuck up.’

‘I may be drunk. I’m standing and I’m not yelling. I don’t want to watch your show. I won’t apologize. I think people who want to show themselves half naked to make money and then not work shouldn’t then judge everyone else.’

‘What do you know. You’re drunk. You go to hell and let me watch my show.’

Outside on the deck it was breezy…

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Odd Walking Thoughts – Menacing Rock

We sit, clashing smiles, seeing each other, hoping for blood. Again. It’s not enough to read our history. Word of mouth is a joke we understand, it’ll only play out nicely when we kill one another. Don’t you agree. The boy was confused by the rock. It was a menacing rock. He’d been deep in the woods and fallen asleep next to it. ‘Why do you speak to me, rock.’ the rock did not reply.

M. Taggart

Copyright 2017

Odd Walking Thoughts

What do you all think about your mom? I love mine. That’s an easy one. How about tits being sucked while the infant is at fault in public? Or- what of your own home and who uses the bathroom no longer because they checked out? Checked out of your baggage, your thoughts, and process of being? How about your outstretched arms looking, and the forgotten shoulder? Do people ask for your opinion? Is the essence of being to watch another walk?

-M. Taggart copyright 2017

(This was part of a longer piece. I am unable to share the rest.)

Odd Walking Thoughts – Pieces

Everything we remember, we hid from. Could this have actually happened? Was this us? We pretend that it isn’t and continue on, limitless. A broken branch. A leaf, brittle from lack of water, separated and beaten until crushed. Pieces and pieces of itself sprinkled about the ground; some being lifted by wind and carried to new places. Each though, to grow again. To once more know itself, with hope for the better.

Odd Walking Thoughts

We know a man who is fucked constantly. He doesn’t understand. We watch him. He bends his head forward and receives his statements as though he lives above. He doesn’t. It’d be nice for him to know he’s just a man, being fucked.

 

-M. Taggart