An Inevitable Reveal

I have no idea what I want to do with this yet, but the point of writing is to write!



“So, what we do with it?” Tyler says.

“What do you mean, “What do we do with it?” We have to get rid of it,” Miguel answers moving around the covered form on the hardwood floor. His shoes make a squelching sound as he walks through the liquid seeping from under the Frank’s mothers best cotton polka dot bed sheets.

“Ok. How do we get rid of it,” Tyler spits back.

“We could burn it,” suggest Kaylee.

“We can’t burn it,” Lana says.

“Why the hell not?” Kaylee asks, folding her arms and turning to look at Lana, who is refusing to look anybody in the eye.

“The smell,” is all she whispers.

“We could bury it, throw it in the bay, leave it in the woods,” Miguel ticks off the options on his finger, “We have plenty of options here.”

“You are freaking me out, dude,” Tyler looks at Miguel like he’s never quite seen him before.

“We could just leave it here,” Lana piped up.

Everybody turned to look at her with incredulous eyes.

“What?” Kaylee said.

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“What can I get you, son?”

“Vodka tonic.”

“You look like you just got dumped,” the burly bartender says, “You up for sharing?”

Arillo sighs and starts to talk.

“…And I just don’t understand what’s going on, you know?” he says

The bartender nods sympathetically.

“Sometimes he seem so happy to just hang out with me, and it’s like we’re best buds again, “ he continues, “But then he seems like he’d rather be anywhere else but with me.”

“That’s rough man,” the bartender says,  “I had a buddy like that back in the day. Would always go hot and cold on me. Finally decided he wasn’t worth the aggravation and had to cut him loose.”

“But I’m responsible for him,” Arillos protests, “I can’t just abandon him. We’re going to have to figure out how to fix everything.”

“It’s just that lately since he’s been going to those meetings, he’s made so many new friends, “ He says, “I guess I’m just feeling replaced.”

“What’s this guys name anyway?” asks the bartender, wiping off another glass.

“Brutus,” Arillo answers.

“Brutus?” the bartender is surprised, “Who names their kid Brutus?”

“Hey, I thought it was a good strong name!” Arillo says, offended.

“Wait…I thought you said this guy was a bud. Are you talking about your kid?” the bartender has put down the glass now and is staring at Arillo in concentration.

“I mean I guess you could say he is, “Arillo says, “I put a roof over his head. Food in his belly. What do I get in return? Half hearted looks and annoyed grunting.”

The bartender now looks at Arillo dubiously.

“I guess I should head home,” Arillo says.

He gives the bartender a final wave, leaves some money on the counter and heads back to his apartment.

As he walks in the door, Brutus is sitting on the couch. He huffs as Arillo sits next to him.


Brutus just stares, not saying a word.

“You know ever since you started going to those doggie day care meetings, you think you are such hot stuff,” Arillo spits out, “Just because the other dogs think you’re cool doesn’t mean you can lord it over everybody. I was your friend long before you met those thugs.”

Brutus yawns.

“You know I thought we were best friends?” he continues, “Dogs are supposed to be man’s best friend. And you sir, are doing a terrible job.”

Brutus stares blankly, and laps at the air once.

Arillo ends his tirade in a huff and sits back down on the couch.

Brutus lifts himself up lazily and walks over to Arillo’s side of the couch. He plops down next to him, lays his head softly on his master’s leg and gives a satisfied huff.

Arillo looks down at this 2-year-old greyhound, and the dog looks back with soulful eyes.

“You give such mixed signals,” Arillo says.

Brutus rolls over to expose his belly for petting.

“You are the worst dog in the history of doggydom,” Arillo says but obliges anyway.

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The Breakup

This is a very short story I wrote during fall quarter 2012 due to stress. The idea had been sitting in my head for a while.

So, here you go!

“I don’t know what else you want me to say,” he tells me, “I have apologized and apologized.”

He is looking straight at me, but I stare at the ground.

“Look, I appreciate that. I do,” I look up and stare at the spot just over  hi shoulder, “But this is not something that you can just make go away.”

“Just tell me what I need to do,” he pleads.

There is a pause, and I can hear a woman singing Journey in the apartment next door.

“This isn’t working anymore,” I’m looking at him now and I see terror creep into his eyes.

I get up and start to walk away.

“Amy, no. Come on! We can work this out. I’m sorry,” he catches up and cuts me off. Dipping his head he tries to make eye contact but I weave around him.

“You are making this out to be more than it is! I made a mistake,” he yells at my retreating form.


One word, and something in me snaps.

“A mistake? A MISTAKE?” I turn on my heel and stomp back toward him.

“What you did was deliberate!” I’m right in front of him now, “How do you expect me to trust you after this?”

My arms are flailing and I hear the music next door stop abruptly.

“I…I…,” Alex stammers, “I’m sorry.”

I sigh.

“Let’s be honest here,” I say, “You are not sorry for what you did. You’re sorry that you got caught.”

He says nothing, and drops his eyes to the ground.

“You drank the last Yoohoo, Alex. My Yoohooo! And now…Well, I can never trust another man in my kitchen again. Goodbye. May your next girlfriend be a juice drinker.”

He just looks at me, speechless. I turn an walk once again toward the door. As I open, I take one last look at him.

I didn’t cry, and I didn’t mourn.

Instead, I went to the nearest 7/11 and bought the best damn chocolate milk of my life.

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Intro Post

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