{ 100 words }
She’s gone now, not much I can do about it except sulk. And eat. Not like I’ve anyone to look handsome for, the only woman who ever truly mattered left me. Now I’ll eat to my heart’s content, get me through the nights.
No, she wouldn’t approve if she saw me.
“You’ll make yourself sick!”
“Keep that up, you won’t fit into your favorite jeans anymore!”
“No sane person eats that much ice cream in one night!”
Ice cream isn’t only for depressed teenage girls dumped by their transient boyfriends, or neglected wives whose marriages are headed for irreconcilable differences.
Written: December 13, 2010.
Copyright © 2010 by Brandon L. Rucker. All Rights Reserved.
Lost Signal 