, , , , ,

It was uncomfortable having him in her room.

She twisted her earphones between her fingers, placing extensive thought into each ringlet, every twist and turn. Anything to avoid thinking of the conversation taking place.

Small talk had never been her strong suit, and she realised this was exceptionally true in this case, as he turned up, unannounced, unexpected, sopping wet in the rain.

He trudged through the door, dropping his bags to the floor, placing his coat on the once-familiar hanger, muttering something about needing to see her, needing to talk to her.

‘I can’t wait any longer’ he demanded, ‘I need to tell you something.’

But once the moment, the harsh surge of the experience had been completed, everything turned silent again.

He sat on the bed, his hands on his knees, focussing on a shred of paper on the ground.

She continued to twist her earphones.

‘I’m sorry’, he stuttered, tripping over his words, ‘Perhaps its best…’

And he left.

What an exceedingly dull affair.



Copyright © 2016 Rebecca Sherratt