edith zimmerman

A series of very short stories.

“Claire, do you have throw up on your shirt?”

Claire looked down and saw that the front of her shirt was covered in throw up. “Oh jeez, yeah.”

“What happened?”

“I’m not sure,” she said with a shrug.

“Do you want a new shirt?” I asked her gently. “I’ve got a really cute one in my bag that you can borrow.”

“No, I’m good.”

“But don’t you …?” I trailed off.

“Nope, I don’t really care.”

“Do you want to use my cell phone to call someone?”

“No.”

“Do you want a ride home or anything?”

“No, I think I’m just going to lie here for a while.”

“Are you OK?”

“Not really, no.”

“Well, are you sure you don’t want my extra shirt at least? I really don’t need it, and your shirt is all—”

“Seriously, I’m fine. Just leave me alone. I want to lie down.”

“Are you sure, Claire? You don’t look so—”

“Shut the fuck up! Seriously, just shut the fuck up and leave me alone.”

This entry was posted on Friday, September 18th, 2009 at 2:38 pm and is filed under fiction. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.