At a station of the metro

“His praise of you is vulgar,” he said. “Calling you a Venus fresh from the flower bed! Probably meant a regular bed and anything else that goes with it in his one-track mind. And you just eat it up!”
“Well, how about you making a compliment once in a while? And don’t tell me that gentle does it – sometimes that dying dog look you keep giving me simply won’t do.”
“Oh, so this is how you see me? ‘Dying dog’ – that’s great. Now I know where I stand. Perhaps I should finally give this relationship a long hard look!”
“You do that,” she literally spat.
Stepping off the train, I was a few steps behind this conservatively dressed and perfectly groomed professional couple, aged around 28 to 30, and couldn’t help but overhear the heated conversation that seemed so unlike their highly civilized looks. It would have been difficult not to overhear, for they were practically shouting.
“You do that,” she repeated at the top of the stairs, “but don’t come back knocking on my door.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t! And you can go to hell or join your beloved Chad the Cad.”
They stood for a moment, facing each other with chins pushed forward and murder in their eyes, then abruptly turned and stalked off in opposite directions.

– James Steerforth ( © 2010 )

Written with gentle, praise, vulgar from 3WW.


About James Steerforth

I am an author of poetry and fiction, translator and painter who loves to have fun with borrowed feathers.
This entry was posted in Bland observations, Creative writing, Flash fiction, Life, Literature, Love, Writing and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to At a station of the metro

  1. Dee says:

    nothing brings us lower faster than anger and the closer the relationship, the more we know what buttons to push until we can do it without even thinking. Great story!

  2. ThomG says:

    Interesting observation that takes place within this.

  3. Amity says:

    Interesting take on the prompts James…:-) I could only smile…:-)))

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