Tag Archives: dog

2016/07/13

Xenon

By dsholloway

Never did I think I would love, for love was a ridiculous, childish concept.

But I loved, finally, in spite of myself. I loved, I knew, because I thought only of her, always. Because she was my default, my origin.

She says, “Fuck you, K,” in a voice that craves verbal violence, disappearing from view even though I can see her, touch her. I reach, she recoils – a perverse dance. She looks at me with the eyes a stranger, yanking her engagement ring from her finger, throwing it out the window.

I go outside and sift through the bushes. I find her ring floating in a dog’s water dish.

I pretend I am not relieved and go back inside. She is dead, having swallowed my pain killers.

I put her ring on her lithe, cold finger. I press her lithe, cold finger to my lips.

Then I go to sleep, taking the same pain killers. I dream of our wedding. Our families are present. We are happy.

I wake up, see her dead body at the kitchen table, coax myself back to sleep. Again our wedding, our families, our happiness.

I wake, finish my pain killers, kiss my phantom bride.

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2016/01/31

Materialist Fantasies

By dsholloway

“What are you reading,” I inquired in my best disinterested voice.

 

Silently, she held her book to her face to reveal its title: An Exegesis on Repressed Masculinity.

 

I suppressed an eye roll. “Is it interesting?”

 

“Interesting enough,” she shrugged. “It’s probably the story of your life: sex and anguish, sex and decay, sex and self.”

 

“That sums it up.”

 

She smiled.

 

“May I?” I extended a hand across the bar top.

 

My name, in elegant font, was printed along the book’s spine. And my photo – an old one, taken with my now dead dog – was on the back.

 

“Where did you get this?”

 

“That guy over there. He’s the author. And” – she raised her ring finger – “my husband.”

 

He kissed her on the cheek and drank the rest of her martini. “Ready,” he asked in my voice.

 

She nodded, and then addressed me: “Keep it. I’ve read it eighteen times.” She had written her number on the first page.

 

We had sex two days later.

 

“I hope you don’t mind,” she breathed heavily afterward, “but my husband would like to join us now. Come on out, K.”

 

I watched in terror as I stepped out of her bedroom closet.

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2015/04/18

All the Dangers of the Past

By dsholloway

K always said goodbye in the same way: detached yet sympathetic, like a vet telling a child that her dog has died.

Some cried. Others seemed relieved. The woman sitting on the edge of his new gray couch was somewhere in the middle. She muttered something obligatory about “stay[ing] friends” but she snatched up her things  and left in a decidedly unfriendly manner.

K was finally convinced: No woman, regardless of beauty, charm, or material wealth, could measure up to the stunning creature that was engraved on his forearm in bold lines and colors. She understood him. She would never hurt him.

He ran his fingers across her face.

……….

K had gone to the tattoo parlor on a whim one day, taking with him an editorial spread from a men’s magazine featuring some exotic model from South America. K watched her take shape, grimacing with each thrust of the tattoo artist’s needles yet anticipating the end result. When the woman was finally complete, K just knew his lovelife would never be the same.

……….

K glanced at the woman on his arm. Then he climbed into his skin next to her. Taking her hand, “We can finally be together,” he whispered.

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2014/12/10

Everyone is Susceptible to Conspiratorial Fear

By dsholloway

“She likes you,” her little dog said. “But here’s what’s going to happen: sometime soon she’s going to offer to make you soup. She’ll ask your favorite kind. You’ll tell her. Then she’ll show up with groceries and wine and you guys will cook your favorite soup and drink nice wine. You’ll sit down to eat but you’ll die. I’ve seen her do it countless times.”

“Why? You said she likes me.”

“She does. But like will turn to love which will eventually turn to hate. Kind of makes sense if you think about it.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I like you too…. She’ll be back soon. So just act normal.”

I did.

“Know what,” her voice was sincere. “Let’s make dinner tomorrow. Why not soup?”

I glanced down at her little dog, which was avoiding eye contact.

“What’s your favorite kind?”

“Clam chowder,” I said confidently, knowing that clam chowder takes all day.

“Great. I’ll take the day off. Clam chowder takes all day, you know?”

I was somehow okay with such an extended death ritual. Her previous boyfriends probably hadn’t received such preferential treatment.

We smiled at each other. Her little dog probably rolled its eyes.

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