Friday, October 20, 2006

The begining

"Insipid," she says.


"Insipid. That's what."

"Yeah, but...what? What's insipid?"

She sighs.

She ignores me. It happens like this. She'll be talking, a finger twirling a culr off her right shoulder, and then break into a new stream of thought. Like an unsignaled turn. And then she'll look at me, confused from my confusion, as if she can't possibly understand how I can't understand her.

"Fine. Insipid it is, then." I go back to Halo, unpausing the action and getting back to reality. Armed with a sniper rifle and a backup rocket launcher, I'm wreaking havoc on the Covenant and there ain't shit they can do about it.

"You know. Life. I mean, what the fuck?"

Pause. My sniper rifle's scope's crosshair has that alien bastard right where I want him. "Who's a pussy little human now, bitch?"

"What do you mean?" I try not to sound annoyed by this disrurbance to my sniping. But so what?


Wait for it.

Headshot. Fucking sweet.

"No. Go ahead and play your game. Sorry. Didn't mean to engage you in an actual conversation or anything." More curling. Her finger's caught in a mess of auburn strands and tangles.

Sarcasm. As if I'm the one being annoying.


"Look, if you don't want to talk about something, don't bring it up. You're talking in fucking circles over here; everytime I try to respond you keep blowing me off. If you want to talk about something, just say it." Unpause. Eat rocket, Covey assholes.


"Why don't you want to have kids?"

Headshot. Combo. Plasma grenade stick.



"It's nothing. It's just, you say you like kids, but you don't want any." Her eyes just breach the brim of the book she's reading. Fucking John Grisham. I hate Grisham.

"Where did that come from? Did I miss something?" I look down, the controller sits in my hands. I want to push the start button and unpause it. But something tells me to hold off.

Fuck. I really want to finish this level.

"Maybe we should rethink things." She makes sure she see's me turn my head and look up from my position on the floor in front of the TV.

"What, us? Our relationship?"

She shrugs.

"I don't know. It's just that it seems like we want two different things, you know?" Another shrug.

"Did you want to watch something? I can save it and turn it off..." She likes reality TV. Maybe that's what it is. Survivor's on. That's it.

She slams her book on the table.

"Of course not. If I wanted to watch something, I'd just say it." She stands up. Steps over my outstretched legs. A second later, the refigerator opens. A Diet Sprite can follows.