Lower Your Shields for My Next Trench Run
“Nice shirt.” Adela said. Her eyes glittered mischievously.
I was wearing my classic Star Wars shirt. Inwardly, I sighed and waited for the other shoe to drop, the way it did last time, the whole thing culminating in an explosive argument about the prequels. Some of what I was feeling must have been given away in my face.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing, go ahead.” I said wearily.
“Go ahead and what?”
“Do what you did last time.”
“What happened last time?”
You started a fight and then weren't happy how it ended, I thought to myself. What I said was,
“I guess I just can't do anything right.” She threw her arms up in exasperation. She was the victim now and I was irrational. Fine.
“Fuck you!” I finally exploded, “I'm sorry you don't remember acting like a huge bitch last time but that's on you. You always want to needle me until I blow up. We'll that's where we are now. I swear to God, sometimes being friends with you feels like abuse. I wish you could remember half the fights you start.”
No prequels yet. Why not write one?
No sequels yet. Why not write one?
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