It had been one of those weekends where it rained all through and you didn’t want to do anything other than lie in bed. Your bbm status on Saturday had read “I don’t want to human today. Today, I want to hermit”. But the adult life would not let you be great. So you spent most of the time grudgingly out of bed, working on essays that were due and thinking of other ways to make more money than you were already earning.
It was the pursuit of money that took you into town that evening. And the meeting you had at the coffee shop (which sold the most awful coffee you’d ever tasted btw,) was unproductive. So your walk back home is grouchy and you’re hoping for an unfortunate individual to bump into you so you can lash out at them. Sadly, that doesn’t happen.
What does happen is you notice someone trailing you and checking you out suspiciously. You have your ears plugged in but your battery is flat so you’re not listening to anything. It’s simply a ploy to avoid unwanted conversations.
The person who could very easily pass for the Somalian pirate in Captain Phillips eventually gathers whatever level of courage he requires and catches up with you.
His voice is a little too excited. You pause and contemplate him, taking in his shoddy appearance and daring him to say something ridiculous, because you really need to vent. You’re ignoring your mother’s voice in your head, telling you to always be kind to strangers.
“Hi.” Your tone is curt. We are not here to play.
He squints as he stares at you, as though trying to juggle your image from his memory.
“I think it’s you.”
His face lights up. He seems to have had a Eureka moment.
“Sorry. Wait.” He digs his phone out of his pocket and fiddles with it. Then smiles in a manner that almost provokes your own smile. But you’re too busy indulging your bad day to yield to that temptation.
“It is you,” he says again. Now you’re looking at him really lost.
“Our double date tomorrow. Your friend send your picture to my friend and I thought you were real pretty. How fortunate I run into you!”
There are not enough words in the English dictionary to describe the look on your face. But utter bewilderment comes close. Because nothing he is saying makes any sense.
“I’m sorry, what?!”
He moves closer to you and hands you his phone. Sure enough, your signature brilliant smile illuminates his screen. You know the picture. Your flatmate had taken it two days ago in your kitchen. But what she failed to mention was the picture’s final destination.
Or even a double date for that matter.
You hand the phone over back to him. He is not deserving of the volcanic eruption that is about to take place.
“I’m sure there’s been a mistake. I’m not sure where you got that picture from. Good night.”
You walk away hurriedly, as quickly as your shaky legs can take you. You hear him calling out to you but you do not turn. It is onwards and forwards.
You know you’ll be home in ten minutes. And you have just one mission. To kill your flatmate.
Ps. This is not necessarily a new series. I just have a new muse. A couple of them actually. And they are truly special. So as often as they inspire, I will write.