A Short Story
Written by -M. Taggart
Don’t Watch Her Cry
It hurt to watch her cry. She convulsed. Her head shook up and down. I wanted to put my arms around her. She was hating me. Maybe, though she needed it. It was my fault. I didn’t know my words damaged her this badly. Now though, I could see what each of them had done. Her hair was down and I couldn’t see her face. I only saw tears dropping near her feet.
Another me had raised my arms and put them around her shoulders. I fought the mind game I placed on myself. If she hates me, let her rot. Let her rot in Hell. My arms pulled her head to my chest. I could feel my heart beat. I hate my heart beating.
‘Don’t. It’s O.K. I Love you.’
She convulsed and my heart now hated me.
‘I don’t know. I don’t want this. Listen, I love you. You don’t believe me, but, I do. I don’t want what I said. I’m sorry.’
Her neck smelled so nice. Her tears too. My thoughts struggled.
She didn’t push away. I pulled her closer. Maybe it wasn’t over. ‘I just want to have you back.’ her throat full, ‘You use to be so amazing. You were, incredible.’ she had huffed the words through.
I was. I were. I am not. I am nothing. I hate myself. My heart can now stop completely.
My other self rubbed her back and told her I loved her and that it would be O.K.
She stood. Not ripping from me, but leaving me. ‘I don’t know how it can be again.’ tears streamed down her beautiful face, dripping from her chin. ‘But I think it will be.’
Written by -M. Taggart
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 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.’
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.
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.)
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.
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.