I don’t mean to go on at you, you know. It’s just, I’m scared you’ll leave me if I’m not interesting and how can I be interesting if I’m not talking?
When I look back, I can see other times it might have happened. “I wish this queue would go down.” “I wish it would stop raining.” “I wish someone else would clean the kitchen for a change.” I’ve said all those things. I didn’t really notice when they came true. I’ve never wished for anything like this before – and it wasn’t even that I really wished it. It’s just one of those stupid things you say. Heat-of-the-moment, you know?
It was out before I’d even thought about it. I talk such a lot of crap. What do I do now? Call an ambulance? The police?
“I wish your breath would just drain out of you.” What was I thinking? I only wanted you to be quiet for five minutes.
It was definitely the wish. I checked. I tested it on a glass of water. It was amazing: like one of those slow-motion reverse films, every droplet going backwards in the air and vanishing. I tried it with the punnet of strawberries in the kitchen too. They were beautiful – rising like helium balloons and then disappearing into dots – like when you stare at a light bulb for too long.
I wish you were still alive.
Why doesn’t that work?
Posted for Flash Mob 2013
(This story was also published on The Casket of Fictional Delights)