Brian Leung
It was the fourth month of his return to addiction. He'd never been happier. His boyfriend didn't come back to him during his sobriety, but that was a good thing. That lying bastard. He took another drink and a quick drag from his cigarette. The lake was flat, lavender and black plum where the trees threw refracted silhouettes. Inside the cabin there were seven guns on the bed. Should he throw them into the lake or use them for their intended purpose? He hadn't decided, and anyway, there was more bourbon and two unsmoked cigarettes. Time. But he'd have to make a decision. The protest in front of the courthouse was the next morning, 9 am.
She was firmly against abortion and faggots. One of her bumper stickers said so. She took a pill and recalled a favorite story about peeing into a faggot couple's chili before she brought it to their table at work. She amused her friends by using the word "sprinkles." From her kitchen window she saw that the lake was flat, lavender and black plum where the trees threw refracted silhouettes. She'd eaten in the kitchen because her dining room table was occupied by her recently deceased husband's guns, a baker's dozen. That lying bastard. Should she throw them into the lake or use them for their intended purpose? She hadn't decided, and anyway, there was her uniform to iron and she hadn't been online in over ten minutes. She took another pill. She'd have to make a decision. The protest in front of the courthouse was the next morning, 9 am.
They woke up to their alarms at 7:30 am, heads aching. The lake was pink and rippling. "Okay," he said to himself. "Okay," she said to herself.
Don't tell me you don't know how the rest goes.