Short Story Beginning

Working Title

The two walked outside the bustling restaurant:

“Why didn’t you talk?”

“What?”

“You barely said a word in any conversation.”

He paused.

“I didn’t have much to say.”

“You never have much to say!”

“It’s the truth!”

Several people around the couple suddenly looked uncomfortable.

“I would rather sit silently than have people think…”

“That’s your problem!” She pointed at him.

“What?”

“‘What people think,’ you care what they think!”

“How could I not?”

To this, she had no reply.

They were staring into each others eyes with a degree of malice not normally associated with couples. The evening (disastrous) had gone as he had predicted. He loathes her friends, just one point of precarious conflict. Their eyes locked; nostrils flared. Each breath (visible) wafted and combined, bound until dispersion.

He was and still is a writer. She was (to him) and still is (to him) nothing. Of course he is a writer, how ostentatious and over done is that? O reader! I agree, but let my comments not keep you from reading further. But, before this fable can truly begin we should all be “on the same page,” should we not? Their love was fraudulent. Listen:

“I think I love you,” she said.

He shrugged, and automatically said, “I love you too.”

“…Do you mean that?”

“I… yeah, wh-why wouldn’t I?”

“Oh! I just love you so much!” she exclaimed with eyes watering.

Their ages at that time? Twenty years old, o the joys of youth. If this were not jumbled enough, back to the post-dinner “entertainment.”

She paused. And pondered. Steam was billowing from the rooftop; its sultry, shapeless vapor lazed about the iridescent sky. She gazed into the windows, looked at the laughing parties of two, of four and drew a breath:

“I know what you’re going to say.”

“What?” She was vexed.

“’I want that’.”

She frowned.

“Do you really want that?”

He spat.

“Don’t do that,” she glanced about. “We’re not barbarians.”

He rolled his eyes.

“I’m leaving, and if you’re not going come with me, I think you can stay here with your friends.”

“Don’t you dare leave witho-….”

“Goodnight.”

He walked, with brisk pace, back to his car which was a rather nice looking, luxury sedan.

I formatted it this way on purpose. Tell me what you think, please. But be nice.