Content Warning

Greetings and Salutations.
Because my stories have bite, they can contain content that isn't suitable for work or children. Not a lot of truly graphic sex or violence, but there are some questionable or heated posts. F-bombs are not uncommon, so watch your footing.

Wednesday, September 6, 2017

Short Story - Communications

She hit the Send button, then reached for the bottle of rum. A shot of spiced liquor helped settle her nerves, kept her from regretting what she'd just done. She trembled, and took another shot, the timid part of her wishing she could take it back.

Too late; the internet never forgot.

He couldn't possibly care. Couldn't possibly be her nephew, be one of her only friends in the universe. Everything she'd interpreted from the songs must just be insanity in her head, a sign that she was losing her grip.

But she knew what she knew.

More alcohol, then a move away from the computer. Pretend she hadn't just reached out to someone who didn't know her, but seemed to allude to her in lyrics. She had many suspicions of whom she knew and whom was from her previous lives, but she'd never let any of them know. She'd always kept to herself, had told herself she was just slightly crazy. She couldn't expect others to understand her insanity and play along with it.

Yet she couldn't deny how very much she wanted to be proven wrong.

Wrong about her insanity. Right about what she felt in her very soul. That she wasn't a plain human, that she was a celestial being that had been trapped in physical form. She wanted to know that others understood this about themselves, that they also remembered the great and glorious Universe, that they remembered how to fly, that they knew the taste of magic.

She took another drink, tears threatening to take her.

It was impossible that he would ever respond back, wasn't it? This wasn't fiction, wasn't the perfection of her imagination. He would never reply with a glib acknowledgment of their relationship, but she couldn't get that image out of her head. She desperately wanted to have someone know her, to be aware of her aspect, wanted them to be as happy to find her as she was to find them.

But she knew that's not how "real life" played out.

Closing the browser tab, forcing herself to move to another task. She couldn't dwell on the subject, couldn't do anything to make events happen. She actually needed to give the event no thought, pretend she hadn't actually reached out to her nephew. It would hurt more to have no response than to have never crafted the message, to have tried to communicate with a kindred soul.

At least she had tried.