Monday, April 29, 2013

15. texting

She finally texted back. At least, he hoped it was her. The phone rang in his pocket and he pulled it out, fumbling it between his hands in his own severity. Because he needed to read that text.

It was her. She said she liked the song.

He chuckled to himself, taking a quick moment to cook up the next flirtatiously witty response. With the perfect words in mind, he kept his eyes on the screen and his thumbs to the keys. It was imperative. So much so that his forehead smashed against the nearby lamppost with an audible clang.

Stumbling back, he pressed his hands to his forehead and seethed through the pain.

He pressed his... Hands...

Looking down, the phone was on the ground. Or to the point, the remnants of the phone were littered across the path.
Word Count: 140

No comments:

Post a Comment