Every other Wednesday, I will post a small sample from each short story from Empty Rooms Lonely Countries. If you want more information and don’t mind spoilers, you can click the commentary link below to learn more about the story itself. This week’s story is from “Little Condundrums”. I hope you enjoy it.
“You’re doing it again,” says Jules. She’s sitting on the bed watching me. A copy of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince is on her lap. I’m on the floor writing in my black book. There are empty bottles of beer on the floor and the table. The drapes behind the bed are closed, but sunlight’s still coming through. I can hear the sounds of London traffic outside. “This isn’t about regret.”
“What isn’t?” I ask.
“You know, this, all of this. It’s not like that.”
“I know it isn’t.”
“Then don’t write the story like it is,” she says.
“I’ll try to, I will. I just realized that I miss you, that’s all. And I know you’re not here right now. This part of the story isn’t real. It’s meant to be a dramatic hook to get the reader involved.”
“But it’s still part of the story.”
“It’s not real.”
“Just write the story, Christian.”
I look back down at the empty page in front of me. My pen connects. “I’ll try, Jules.”