Free short stories about Generation End


try not to be so blue

There are some days when I have great dreams and there are some days when I have no dreams at all. Once, when I was a kid, I lay in bed, fantasising about becoming a magician. I thought about how I was going to become the greatest magician in the world and how much sex I was going to get as a result of it. The next day, I bought a ‘magic card trick’ book and a deck of cards. The instructions were confusing and performing the trick was difficult. I was bored. I gave up.

According to Jason, things had been going great between him and Hayley. I didn’t tell him about the times Hayley would send me photos of herself, and the times I’d look at those photos in his shower. They were great photos. One was of her in a gym outfit, exposing her flat stomach and cleavage while she bit her bottom lip. The others were of her in a dressing room, trying on different skirts while wearing a purple, lacey bra.

“You know I’m objectifying you, right?” I asked her.

“Objectify me all you want.”

Things went terrible when Hayley, Jason and I had drinks. I was drunk, and when Jason went to the toilet I leant in to kiss Hayley. She resisted and giggled, but when I tried again she kissed me back.

“Finger me,” she panted.

“No.” I forced her hand down my pants, and when I looked up Jason was staring at the both of us.

“Threesome?” I asked him.

He slapped me. I’d never been slapped by a man before. Actually, have I? I don’t remember. He picked me up and strangled me for a while, and Hayley, thinking it was a joke, pulled out her mobile phone and recorded us.

Jason threw me across the room. “Get the fuck out of here!” he screamed, tears running down his eyes. “You’ve ruined my fucking life!”

“I’m sorry but don’t exaggerate!” I said, limping as far away as I could from him.

“Get the fuck out!” Jason stormed to his laundry room, stuffed my clothes in my bag and threw it directly at my face. “Get the fuck out!” He glanced at something at the floor. “And don’t forget your fucking phone charger!”

I looked at Hayley, who was now crying but still recording everything. “You better give me a copy of that shit,” I said before drunkenly storming off.

I walked to my car and put my bag inside it. I sat down in the back seat, passed out for a while, then woke up with a sudden urge to call Jason’s girlfriend or ex-girlfriend or whatever she was now. I called her, telling her that Jason had been cheating on her with Hayley.

“Why are you telling me this?” she cried.

“Because I can,” I cried back.

“I thought you were his best friend.”

“I have many best friends.” I passed out again, then woke up. I opened my door and vomited. I closed it again, then I looked at Jason’s place and felt sick.

I picked up my phone and played this song Hayley and I liked called “So Blue” by this random band we found on Spotify once called Magical Cloudz. I scrolled up and down my Facebook Newsfeed, liking every single photo. I quit Facebook and looked at my photo album, at all the photos I’d taken while up north. I looked at photos of trees and of the beach and of weird things and of Jason’s son. I looked at photos of Hayley and Jason and I: some would be group photos, some wouldn’t. I looked at some of the childhood photos they sent me over the past few months, and then I looked at the photos Hayley sent me of her in the changing room, and then I stopped at a photo of Jason and Hayley together. They were in Jason’s kitchen; it was a photo I took of them a few hours ago. They were smiling. Jason was holding a beer and Hayley was holding her phone, and they were facing my phone and they were smiling. I zoomed into Hayley’s face.

I put down my phone, turned on my engine and began driving south, towards Brisbane.


Surface Children is now out on iBookstore and Barnes & Noble


Here’s some news, people. My book of short stories, Surface Children, is now out on the iBookstore for people with Apple devices, as well as other bookstores such as Barnes&Noble.

Download it here for iBooks and here for Barnes&Noble.


the truth about cheaters

This year has been all about cheating. I cheated, I helped people cheat, my friends cheated, I was even cheated on for a while. Funnily enough, there was a brief period of time when the loads of cheating seemed abnormal – immoral, even – but the more it absorbed me this year the more it seemed like a natural, expected thing to do. It was something you bragged (but kind of pretended to feel guilty) about when you’d meet your friends for coffee.

The number of paths we have the freedom to take in life are virtually infinite. Why do we even consider choosing the paths that hurt those who care about us? Do cheaters ever get punished? Someone has to suffer for our actions, but who, and when?

Hayley had been cheating on her boyfriend for months. It started off innocently: she danced with a guy when she went clubbing with some friends. Then she started kissing guys in clubs, then she started talking dirty with guys over the phone, then she started sending them photos, then she started flirting with colleagues, and then the fucking started and bla bla bla. I even met her boyfriend once. He was a great guy who wore a ring with her name on it. Anyway one day the guilt consumed Hayley and she broke up with her boyfriend for good.

A few weeks after the breakup, Jason told me that he bought flowers and drove to Hayley’s work and told her everything: that he’d loved her all along, that she was his heart. Apparently she cried, and apparently they went to her apartment and kissed.

“That’s great news, man,” I told him, thinking about his girlfriend and a few other things.

He patted me on the back. “And her pussy’s perfect, mate. I thought she’d be loose and shit, but nah, I love it, aye.”

“What about your girlfriend?”

“I’ll have to deal with it.”

“You won’t.”

“Want to know the truth about cheaters, mate?” Jason asked me.


“They cheat.”

Jason left to see her again. I lay on his couch, playing with my phone, scrolling up and down my Facebook newsfeed. I clicked on this article an ex-girlfriend of mine shared about this Japanese artist who cooked his penis and served pieces of it to his guests. I wondered who the fuck would want to try his penis before standing up and walking into Jason’s room. I turned on his light and rummaged through his drawers, looking for nothing in particular. I looked at his pillow and considered rubbing my balls all over it, but didn’t. I looked under his bed. I looked at his vision board. I browsed through some of the documents on his desk. I walked to the kitchen and made a sandwich and ate it, thinking about nothing. I still haven’t returned to Brisbane. I’ve stayed here, north, spending my savings and sleeping on Jason’s couch. I’ve been away from Brisbane for so long that I’m afraid to return to it. It’s a tiny, dense fucking ball. I’m not trapped, but I don’t feel free. I’m simply here, and that’s about it.



Hayley - short stories

If I gave you the opportunity to escape the life you’re currently in, would you take it? Where would you go? What would you do? How would you make things different?

Being up north was my escape, even though I had no idea what I was escaping from or how I wanted to make things different. All I was doing was wasting my time: I spent hours on the couch in Jason’s house just scrolling through Instagram, or Facebook, or Snapchat. I’d open up the file of the new book I was writing, read a few words and then minimise the screen to put on Netflix. I would’ve loved to blame society for making me this way, but really, it was all me.

I woke up to the smell of Jason’s cooking. I opened my eyes and walked over to his kitchen table, where there was bacon and eggs and milk and cereal. Jason’s girlfriend was sitting by the table. His girlfriend didn’t like me much, which was fine because she was easily one of the ugliest old women I’d seen in my entire life. I believed that she was ugly on all levels: she was physically ugly and her personality was well beyond repair. I’d confronted Jason several times about how ugly was, but he’d always reply with the same fucking excuse: “She’s the mother of my child. What the hell can I do? Seriously, what can I do?” She was fifteen years older than Jason.

“Dean!” she screeched, tucking her hands behind her head so I could see her armpits. I stared at her armpits. She’d shaved them, but only parts of them. There was once a brief moment in my life when I adored women with hairy armpits, and even remember trying to force an ex-girlfriend not to shave. She cried, and I apologised with flowers. “Good morning, love, how are you?”

“Good, and yourself?”

“Really good, mate.”


Jason poured some coffee into a mug. “Come join us. I made you breakfast.”

I glanced at his girlfriend, then at the food on the table. “You know what? I’m going to go for a walk outside first to like, get some exercise.”

“You don’t exercise,” Jason said.

“Yeah I do.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yeah I do, Jason.”

“No you don’t,” Jason insisted. “You told me just last night that you weren’t going to do any exercise while here.”

“Don’t you want to join us?” His girlfriend asked me.

“Not really.”

“Come on, Dean, mate,” she said, pulling a chair for me. “Jason tells me all about you and I’d love to get to know you.”

“Nah it’s okay.” I walked outside and wandered the hell around, letting my mind also wander the hell around. I eventually got bored and sat by Jason’s driveway, scrolling up and down Instagram for an hour until his girlfriend left the house for work. I went back inside the house.

“I left you some bacon,” he said.


“I’ll eat again with you.”


We sat around, eating bacon. Things between Jason and I improved after Hayley took the both of us to the beach.

“Listen,” I told him. “I know I’ve been here for a long time now. You have to let me pay you rent.”

“Nah, mate.”

“I insist.”

“Look, it’s fine. I know we haven’t been getting along that well, but you’re still like my brother. You can stay here for free, but at the same time, you need to get out of here soon. And I’m not just saying this because you’re annoying me, I’m saying this because you need to do something more productive with your life.”

“I know,” was all I could say.

“Have you seen The Secret?” he asked me.

“I’ve heard about it.”

“It’s all about positive thinking. You need more positive thinking.”

“What are you on about? I’m a really positive guy.”

“Fuckin’ liar, I read your blog. It’s so depressing.”

“It’s depressing because you see it as depressing.”

Jason took me to his ‘vision board’, which is where you’re supposed to visualise the goals you want in life. He had a picture of Fiji (where he wanted to go on holiday at the end of the year), a picture of a young man graduating from university (the future he wanted for his son), a picture of a BMW (the car he wanted) and a picture of Hayley, which he kind of brushed over.

“You should have your own vision board,” Jason smiled.


Jason left for work and I drove to the ‘city’, which was really just two rows of tallish buildings. I walked inside a bookstore and browsed through its books. I picked up Slaughterhouse-Five, read through a few pages, put it down. I picked up Modern Romance by that Aziz comedian guy, read a few pages, put it back down. I did this a few more times, but nothing seemed to click.

I got back into my car, drove to Jason’s house. I looked at his vision board, at Hayley. I touched her photo and couldn’t help but frown. I wondered what or who would be on my vision board. I tried to imagine what I wanted for my future, but all I could think of was this: a ball flying through a galaxy that looked exactly like the galaxy desktop wallpaper on Apple computers. The ball would keep flying through as the stars would spin and explode and diamonds would piss all over the universe.



Sunrise short story

My friendship with Hayley grew stronger as my friendship with Jason began to fade. It was exactly how it was that year when we both turned sixteen: she’d call me in the middle of the night and we’d tell each other everything. It was love, but it wasn’t the love you’re thinking about.

“What are you doing here?” She asked me over the phone. “Isn’t Jason sick of you yet?”

“I don’t know,” was all I could say.

“I’m staring at the ceiling.”

“I’m not.”

“I’m not sure if my boyfriend is the right one for me.”

“You just told me that he was. Then before that you said he wasn’t. Then before that you said he was.”

She giggled. “I know I know, I’m a walking contradiction.” She remained silent for a while, until finally adding: “He yells sometimes.”

“We all do.”

“I don’t know. Whatever. Hey, you know what? I’m picking you up.”

“It’s three in the morning.”

“Don’t be so old.”

“What do I tell Jason?” I asked her.

“I’m taking with him with us.”

“He and I haven’t really been talking,” I said.

“Why the fuck not?”

“He’s just pissing me off. Just his face. It just fucking pisses me off.”

“Don’t be so old.”

She came over and we both woke Jason up. Jason glared at me, but his face softened when he saw Hayley. We hopped in her car and headed for the beach, and by the time we got there the sun was peering out of a mess of clouds. The wind was strong, and the universe was slowly falling apart. Hayley and Jason ran around the sand, and I stood there and watched the sea and tried to look dramatic about it all.

Although we grew up with each other, Hayley and I only really started talking to each other when we were sixteen. She’d just broken up with Jason, and she called me in the middle of the night and said, “I hate music” and I drove over and we watched porn downloaded from Kazaa and smoked her dad’s cigarettes. We spoke about garbage every day and Jason hated me for that (and I kind of liked that he hated me for that), and she became my best friend until I moved to Brisbane.

I looked outside Hayley’s car window on the way home as Lessons by SOHN blared over her sound system and asked myself: What the hell am I doing here? I thought about Brisbane and the people in it, and I thought about where I was now and the people in it and I was afraid all of a sudden, and I could come up with no answer.


hayley clouds - short story


There were plenty of things I thought of while up north: money, girls, boxing, the point of it all, the ups and the ups and the downs and the downs. I spent most of my time and money on driving and music CDs, and it was always sunny, and something about the heat and the beach made everyone tired and tan and different from what I was used to.

Jason seemed to have a lot of friends that he never wanted me to have. Every weekend he’d invite me out to some dinner or some house party he’d either organised or been invited to, and he’d introduce me to all these people and we’d eat and drink and laugh, then afterwards I’d never hear from them again. He’d always tell me about “hot birds” that he wanted to set me up with, and he actually did follow through and introduce me to girls, but whenever I’d get close to any of them he’d stop talking to me or I’d find out he told them that I had a girlfriend, or herpes, or both. He was angry sometimes, and he was happy sometimes, and once in a while, after dinner, he’d tell me stories about a prostitute who used to love dipping his balls in hot and cold water.

One thing that would’ve pissed Jason off the most was if I ended up doing anything with Hayley, which would’ve been impossible for a number of reasons: I wasn’t her type, she had an on-and-off-again boyfriend, she was too tall for me.

“I like your boots,” she said as she entered my car. We said nothing to each other as I drove, and once in a while I’d glance at her legs. We parked and entered a shopping mall; after looking around at bullshit for a good hour or so we entered a café.

A waitress brought us to a table, but Hayley wasn’t happy with where we were seated so she asked for us to be relocated somewhere else. She grinned. “Isn’t this better?”

“It looks the same.”

She ignored me and glanced around. “Wouldn’t it be cool if it was like back in the days, and you could smoke in places like this?”

“Why the hell would it be cool?”

“I don’t know it would just look cool, like that Coffee and Cigarettes movie. You know, like you and me smoking, not smiling… like, talking about serious shit. It’d be in black and white and it would just look hot.”

“How’s your boyfriend?”

She sighed. “How’s anything? I’ve only talked about myself for the past few times we’ve met. Tell me about you.”

“I met a girl who was engaged. It ended badly. I lost my job for the hundredth time. Now I’m here.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“First I have to cancel a contract I put on a townhouse I was going to buy. Next I’m going to either start writing another book or look for another job. Maybe I’ll even start my own business or something.” I thought about what I just said. “I just want to be rich enough to pay for all of my thoughts to go away.”

“You know where I’ve always pictured you?”


“New York. Writing books. Making most of the fact that you’re single with no baggage. No baggage. Don’t you understand how lucky you are?”

“I’m almost thirty and I only have eight thousand dollars in my bank account.”

“That’s a lot of money,” she said, surprised. “That’s more than me.”

“Don’t bullshit me.”

“I’m not bullshitting you.”

“You are. You’re bullshitting me.”

Hayley sipped her latte or whatever the hell it was for a while with an expression that said: I did something fucked up. Should I tell him? Eventually, she decided to speak. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Probably not.”

“I haven’t been the most faithful girlfriend.”

“Is anyone faithful anymore?”

She grinned slightly. “No gross, I haven’t done anything sexual or anything… Well, here’s what happened: I’ve been talking to my ex a lot–”

“No one is supposed to talk to their ex a lot.”

“And this sounds so bad, but we’ve been talking really dirty to each other on the phone.”

“How dirty?”

“Well, for example, like, the other day, we were on the phone, and he told me about how he misses coming all over my face, and I told him how I missed licking it up. And like, he told me this while my boyfriend was right in the other room.”

I thought about the sorts of things I’ve done or encouraged in the past few months. It all seemed relative, but I didn’t say that. Instead I said this: “Dat shit nasty.”

“Remember when we were young?” Was all she could manage to say in the end.

We spoke for a while longer, and I paid the bill. We walked outside the café, outside the glass doors, towards the road and the cars and the heat. “It’s still cold in Brisbane, I think.”

“I see.” Hayley put her sunglasses back on.

I drove Hayley home. I felt both sad and happy whenever I hung out with her. I didn’t want to return to Jason’s place yet, so I randomly drove around until I found a parking lot by a secluded beach spot. I parked and sat in the car, playing with my phone. I texted Anna:


Go away, she texted back.

Have I ever been in love? I suppose I have, I suppose I haven’t. When I was young I used to equate love with sex, and when I became a little older I only ever fell in love with those who rejected me. I suppose I’ve been in relationships in the past where I’ve said, “I love you,” and they’ve said, “I love you” back. But they never lasted, and after some time everyone simply decided to move on. Can true love ever exist for those who don’t deserve it? As I thought about this, I received several Snapchats from Jude: the first was of his penis, the second was of some girl’s arsehole, the third was of his penis forcing itself into her arsehole, the fourth was of him inserting his penis into her mouth. I took a screen shot of each photo, blocked him from my contact list, sent the photos to a few friends and turned my phone off.




“Life will kick you in the balls, and when it realises you don’t have balls it’ll kick you in the pussy,” Jason laughed, even if what he said wasn’t funny. Jason is my childhood friend. He’s stocky and angry looking and something about his face makes him look racist.

We were in his kitchen, talking, and he was drinking beer and I was drinking water. Jason and I used to do everything together until I decided to grow the hell up. I moved to Brisbane but he stayed behind. I mean, we kept in touch once in a while, but eventually the friendship faded into nothing. I hadn’t seen him in about fifteen years. He looked the same, but bigger and with more wrinkles.

“I’m tired, man,” I told him.

“You drove for ages.”

“You sure you’re good with me staying?”

“You sure you’re good with staying on my couch?” He laughed, even if what he said wasn’t funny.

The morning after I met Anna I packed my bags and drove a million hours north of Brisbane, to the town I used to live in. I didn’t tell Jason I was coming. I merely turned up to his home. When his mum told me he didn’t live there anymore, I drove to this old flat he now lived with his girlfriend and son in.

We stayed up talking for a while longer. I asked most of the questions: I asked him what he did after I left, I asked him about his mum, I asked him what he was doing now, I asked him about his child’s real mother. I also asked him about my other childhood friend, Hayley, who apparently wanted to catch up with me the next day.

“So what about you, mate?” Jason asked me.

“What about me?”

“Why are you here?”

I lost my job a few days ago and hadn’t told anyone yet. “I just thought it was time to visit you guys again.”


Jason got the hint that I was tired and left me alone. I showered, brushed my teeth, changed my clothes. I walked around Jason’s lounge room, looking at the photos he had on his entertainment unit. Most of the photos he had were of his son. His son was about two years old. I wondered what my life would’ve been like if I never moved to Brisbane. If I never wanted to be a writer. If I got some girl pregnant and also had a son. I wonder what I’d name that son and if I’d be a good father. What the hell does it mean to be a good father, anyway?

I spotted another photo on his entertainment unit, hidden in the corner. It was a photo him and Hayley when they were kids. He was looking at something in the distance while Hayley grinned at the camera, ice cream in her hand. I wondered what she was like now. I checked my phone: there was one message from Anna. Nyt, was all it said. NIGHT, I replied back.





“I just spent fourteen hours looking for the right shoes to go with my new chinos,” Jude said.

“No you didn’t.”

“I did.”

“Fourteen hours,” I said.

“Fourteen hours,” he repeated.

“Fourteen hours straight.”

“Yes, fourteen hours straight.”

I faced him, thinking about how stupid he sounded. “It’s impossible to spend fourteen hours straight looking for shoes in the shops.”

Jude impatiently tapped his fingers on his steering wheel. “I went to Myer. Then I went to David Jones. Then I went to fuckin’, like, Hype and all those other random fuckin’ shops. Then I had coffee with Tess, and all we did was talk about which shoes to get, then we had a fight, then we made up and we looked at more shoes together until the shops closed.”

“How long was that?”

Jude thought about it. “About six, eight hours.”

“That’s not fourteen hours.”

“Then I dropped her home.”

“How long did that take?”

“About an hour.”

“Are you including that in the fourteen-hour count?”

“Yeah I am.”


“All we did was talk about the shoes while I drove her home, and while we talked about them I got her to look at shoe samples online. Then when I headed home I kept fuckin’ thinking, ‘Was she right? Should I get black shoes instead of brown? Should they really be the leather pointed ones?’ Then I got home, went online and did research, for,” Jude thought about it, “five hours straight. So how many hours is that? Eight hours at the shops, about an hour driving her home, and another five hours doing research online. That’s fourteen hours straight.”

I was sure Jude was lying about everything. “What shoes did you end up buying?”


Jude dropped me home. I’d been staying at his place for the past few weeks and it was time for me to settle back to reality again. As soon as he left I hopped into my damaged car and drove to see Anna. I’d been secretly texting her for the past few weeks. It was different this time, though.

I entered her work, at the end of her shift, and she smiled. We walked towards the car park and she winced when she saw my car. We drove, and I deliberately kept going the wrong way. She giggled and I wanted to kiss her. I parked in front of her place.

“Did you hear about the new Weeknd album coming out?” she asked me.

“I have.”

“Come inside,” she said.

We walked inside her place, and she showed me this painting she did of Abel. He was facing the sky, his afro or whatever it’s called glimmering beyond his eyes.

I held her hand, but only for a second. “I can’t feel my face when I’m with you.”

“You said keep our business on the low.”

“I’m just trying to get you out the friend zone.”

“Bring your love baby. I could bring my shame.”

“I got my heart right here.”

I glanced at a photograph of her and her fiancé on her wall.

We spoke for a bit more. We leant towards each other, but stopped. I walked outside, sat in my car. I looked at her front door. It was closed and the lights were off. I drove home and rubbed one out.




Goodbye Anna - short story

It was a few minutes past midnight, and this guy, Bill, whose boyfriend was supposedly a “scam artist slash DJ slash art dealer from like, London who had like, fifty thousand followers on Instagram,” had some kind of cover of Earned It by the Weeknd playing loudly from a gigantic iMac placed on a pile of magazines, and I was somewhere behind some curtains or some blankets, irritated, watching this silver-haired girl staring at the streams of light that would come shuddering into the room every so often for no good reason whatsoever – there was one particular moment, I think the moment was 12:42AM, when this man in a fishnet top, maybe someone’s father or uncle or friend, burst into the room and frightened us all by screaming I KNOW YOU, I KNOW YOU, before walking back out.

I’d barely spoken to Anna and for a while it ruined me. Reality can be a piece of shit sometimes, and I found myself plagued by immature thoughts. There had been moments where I wished I could’ve let go of all dignity and independence and driven to her work with the sole purpose of merely melting around her; I imagined telling her all the corny things I’d always secretly longed to tell someone: that I loved her and always will, that I’d give up everything simply to feel her hand in mine again. But the truth was it was never meant to be. As time went by and as I heard from her less and less my vivid memories of her turned into more of an idea of her, and eventually these posts about her: I’d think of her standing on a pedestal of poisoned crystal, or I’d think of the times we’d both fall asleep during video calls, or I’d think of the time she was with me in that tiny tea store and she smiled at me like I was the rarest person in the universe.



slut neck thing - short stories

Things I liked out about Anna: she loved The Weeknd, she loved mixing music and had a following online, she brought Surface Children with her wherever she went, she regularly bought her parents dinner. Things that annoyed me: she secretly loved chaos, she loved destruction, she enjoyed the drama in walking away from the flames.

I walked out of work to find Anna’s fiancé and a friend axing my car. I had only heard stories about people axing other people’s cars before, and it’s pretty much exactly how you’d picture it to be: it involves people with axes, severely damaging your car with those axes. They spotted me and I ran for my life, and after a lot of running and hiding I managed to get into my poor car (all the windows were shattered, there were holes everywhere and there was piss on my seat) and drive off.

I parked at Jude’s place and used the spare key he gave me to walk inside. Jude was out with a girlfriend. I showered, put his clothes on, looked at the mirror. I tried calling Anna but after a few rings it would always hang up. I messaged her a few times – her phone said she read my messages but she didn’t reply. I looked at her social media accounts: her fiancés photos were back, her loving status updates about him were back. There were plenty more logical things I could have done that evening, but in the end I decided to drink Jude’s wine while messaging some girls and asking them if they wanted to visit me. After about an hour or so of drinking, Anna finally picked up her phone:


“Hey,” I said.

“What’s up?”

“You back with him?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

There was silence.

“You know, you know what he did to my car?”

“I know I’m sorry, baby,” she said, “I just sent him the photos of us together to make him jealous and he took it the wrong way.”

“Why did you do that?”

She giggled a bit. “Don’t worry, it’s not as bad as the other guys he went after.”

“What other guys?”

“Are you drunk?”

“What other guys?”

“I miss you. Please don’t –”

I hung up the phone and wondered if I should catch a bus to work the next day. I hadn’t caught a bus in years. My phone vibrated: one of my friends, who was funnily enough named Annabelle, replied to my message.

Are you drunk? she texted me.

Why is everyone asking that?

Well, are you?

Of course.

I’ll be there soon.


Okay if I don’t wear makeup?

I pictured her without makeup. Sure.

Have you eaten?

No. Have you?


That’s fine, I’ll eat something from the fridge.

She came over, and we sat by the balcony and she told me about everything that was happening in her life and I told her about everything that was happening in my life. I walked over to her and kissed her.

“You know I have my period, right?” she asked.

“That’s okay… Anal?”

We drank and we kissed some more and I took her to Jude’s couch. I drunkenly took her shorts off.

“I’ve never done this before,” she said.

“I have, and I don’t know how to feel about it each time.”

She laughed. Afterwards, I tried to put it in her mouth and she screamed at me.

“Fine, I’ll shower first.” I stumbled away, took a shower, and stumbled back out. I looked at her all drunk and sprawled on Jude’s couch: she was watching 12 Years a Slave on Blu-ray, and to her right, next to the remote, was a patch of blood mixed with small pebbles of shit.