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“What About Us?” — A Flash Fiction by Nice Mwaura, Emily Millern and Brainy O Bee


I plucked a daisy and soaked it in a pool of insecurities and wants. She loves me, she loves me not.

Barbara’s POV

From the torn pages of my diary.

Maybe it is true that the spaces in the fingers were created so that someone else’s fingers would fit in there. Mine and yours, a perfect blend. Two legs, two eyes, two hands and even two ears, but a single heart because the other exists in your lover’s heart. And see, your heart is too big, only it can’t be meant for two.

Fifty students in the class and you are my only mate. A hundred and fifty contacts on my phone and yours is my best preference. The pop up message on my screen: ‘I’m with Audrey, sign the class for me. Good day, Bess.’ is still my best notification. The good morning embrace before class is my best medication. The tiny smiles you give are my daily prescription. And I am this girl with too much attention, but you look like the guy with good intentions. Or maybe this is an addiction. And I hate that I soak my pillow with tears when you two have late night conversations.

You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me I’m not too late, that your precious feelings deserve a best friend not a girlfriend. I have offered myself to you with a heart even more than your own even after breaking it day and day. Dare not to say that a man forgets sooner than a woman, that his love has an earlier death. Do you stare at my photos like I do yours? Ironically, I have held your face to my heart with a glue and you don’t even have a clue.

I am tired of pretending that everything is perfect and the world is full of concoctions; forgive me for having too much questions. Yet like any other message I practiced in my head this one doesn’t come out the same.

See, when we hold hands everything becomes hazy apart from your eyes in focus. The way you say my name feels like lyrics to my best music. Then she appears. Her lips still wet from Dan and Hardin’s last night kiss. My hand in yours, her body in your arms. And hugging her feels like hugging a cactus, the tighter you hold the more it hurts. Is it because she has a big ass so everyone else is anonymous? Is it because I am the girl in denim so my feelings you assume?

See, I am one step from you; c’mon, stop holding my hand. I want to cry and laugh at the same time. Actually it hurts to pretend that I am happy when you savage my heart. Another step away from your—’I missed you Audrey’; gasps and I am tired to have these tears, your feelings are my fears.

Crying has become the only way my heart speaks when my lips cannot explain my pain. She’s the main. And I am not even a side, that’s why I stepped aside. Sarcastically, I have no more tears to give and it feels like crying without tears is more painful and more impossible to control.

It always hurts more when I walk away and you let me go. I cannot fathom. Back and forth, no I cannot loathe. Today I want you to stop because your smile is no longer my lucky charm. And someday I hope that you will realize that she didn’t love you, you only fell for her curves. That you were the silence between my noise. That I will regret having to burn this bridge we’ve stood on for so long because I brought along a match. And we were not the perfect match. So I leave you with your own match and as you keep on scoring your goals; how I hope that you knew that you were my sunshine but I left to dance in the rain.

For the calm branches in the hurricane.

©Nice Mwaura.

Audrey’s POV

This love will not heal me.

Sometimes it feels like I have this whole image of him wrapped around my little finger. Or have you ever gotten that itch that they love you too much to never hurt you? From the ignition switch in his hands to the ‘turn me on’ switch on my skin, from the want in his tone to the lust in his eyes, from the sparkle in his eyes when he’s happy to the drift of his eyes when he’s lying.

Today I watched your lips tremble a little when they parted in the presence of mine and I knew what that meant. I can see how your nostrils flared up when her scent from the jacket she borrowed on that lonely night at the bookstore came to memory.

I wanted to scream about this gut feeling like a lump in my throat but I will be over reacting, right? Or as you love to put it, paranoid or insecure? I slowly slid to assumptions as my heart wells up in the pride of having you in my arms while you are not falling for her mind.

I slowly hold you close yet you feel so far apart, like a barbie with no world. Your body is a haunted house from all these demons screaming in my head and I have grown arms vast enough to fit everyone in, wonder why I get too much emptiness when they leave?

She must have been perfect enough to make her name the shadow of your smile. I close my eyes slowly let you in to me and maybe you would have come a little bit faster had I said her name, but the destiny to this love wouldn’t be so short-lived. With a status to uphold and the goals we have scored we still have to be a perfect match.

The vibe of nostalgia, the feeling of euphoria gets me to a point where I am clutching on to a slipping straw. I knitted these insecurities to a hem on my skin. Hardwin knows the many times I stretched the seams for him to fit in. His lips are the refuge I run to when there is a storm in paradise.

Flaws have spread us apart like dandelion seeds to the wind but we still hold on to the hopes of a happily ever after. This is not like in the movies because the main character has to die. Love died.

©Emily Millern

Morgan’s POV

Barbara, I could start how I wish I had met you before I met her. How every time I am with you feels like you are for me and I am yours. But you know I am not for the drama. You know that even with the universe still rotating us round and round I will never be good at arithmetics to choose my angles right. And I always settle for the unlikely. I put my emotions in the open so that you can feel me. To feel how I feel lost when the lights go out, and the darkness brings me back to her. But she’s the wreck that I call a home. Where half my heart belongs. And the other with you is to maintain my sanity. I don’t know if it’s physical love but you can’t blame me. That’s just as much as love can make one lose control.

Look, Audrey, I am as much a mess as you are. But you can’t be all in your feelings about how perfect she is and you are not. How I mentally bash her even when I’m with you but you’re also not a saint. You have to admit that she’s a smart ass just as you have a smart ass. I could tell you that “she’s just a friend” but you won’t get satisfied. Because you know she is more than that. And it makes you jealous so you want me to play favourites. But a king doesn’t play that. It’s not even a game, baby. This is real life. She’s the spine that has got my back all the time. But she’s not a back up plan. She’s all in the picture just as you are.

I’ve got a heart big enough to fit in two. One on the left and the other on the right. One feels empty when one of you is away. But now you’re all over the place on who I should choose over who. I could take you too, Barbara. But the problem with having everything is knowing that you can lose everything. I could choose who to lose. But I don’t want to treat you two like choices. Because you’re all I’ve got. But you have to know your places.

©Brainy O Bee.

If love is not the answer, read the question again.

Bleeding Inks.

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