Detritus
He opens the door to the apartment for the first time since the fight three days ago. The shards of the shattered mirror still lie scattered on the floor of the living room, crunching under his shoes as he enters. She hasn't been back either.
The walls still seem to hold the echoes of their shouts. He replays the argument in his head as he crosses the room, coming to understand that even love isn't always enough. In the bedroom, half the drawers are open and empty. The closet has been rifled through for choice items, but the rest has been left for some other time.
He collects his own clothes, his toothbrush, the framed picture of the view from their hotel room in Maui, and walks out of the apartment for the last time, over the cracked detritus of their lives.
Sean, whoa. That's scary and spot-on.
Thanks, Deb!
I gotta go post it in LJ, and to the GWW community.
Sean, dude!
(Okay, that was actually an amusing reference for my own sake in addition to being a compliment.)
One of my stories got rejected...I know it was probably competitive and maybe they had some kick-ass stories show up. I don't doubt...but that really was about my best work at this minute...I don't know what you do when your best is not good enough.
Aargh! {{erika}} I hate that feeling.
On the one hand, I'm proud because I didn't rush it out. I know I gave it all I had.
On the other, if that was all I had, maybe I'm not good enough.
It just might not have been what they were looking for. I'm kind of wary of my story's chances, cause it's weird and unconventional, and would be off-putting to anyone who doesn't like excessive stylistic flourishes. Maybe the judges weren't into your story for reasons that had nothing to do with its quality. There are other venues. There will be no giving up of the hope for you.
