Nurse the Hate: Three More Very Short Stories

He was never able to tell it just right. When he woke up in the morning, the dreams were so vivid. So interesting. So important. Yet when he tried to tell his friends at the office about them, he could see their eyes glaze over with disinterest. They liked him well enough he supposed, as they verbally urged him on to continue. He knew they were just being polite. Maybe it was their eyes, or their body language that betrayed them. The way they looked down into their coffee cups when he spoke. They didn't really care, and he knew it. Yet, if he could tell the story just right, maybe it would be different this time.


There was something special about this one. The way their eyes met. Like they knew what the other was thinking before even knowing each other's name. Within minutes they could complete each other's sentences. He liked her hair, and she liked his smile. It was like they always knew each other. It was comfortable and exciting at the same time. He didn't ask her for her phone number, as he wanted to play it cool. She didn't want to risk looking too interested, and left him with a simple "maybe I'll see you around". He grunted out a "Yeah" while turning to get another beer at the bar. They never spoke again.


When he lost control of the car, things slowed down just like it did in the movies. He could see the tiny details on the oncoming truck's grill. The tiny rivulets of water beaded on the hood. The dull shine of the paint. The strained expression of the other driver as he spun the steering wheel in slow motion. Then everything moved really fast when impact finally happened. There was a lot of noise and things spun around. He felt disengaged from the event. Interested, sure, but maybe only casually. Then he was upside down in the grass with broken glass stuck in the palms of his hands. He smelled crayons. Red crayons.