The Thief
Christina Buffington



H e walked into my life just as easily as he walked out of it and deliberately took a part of me that I would not be able to retrieve for a very long while. Although his demeanor seemed not so wicked in the beginning, his intentions were malevolent toward the end of our relationship. It was not long before things began to slowly crash to the ground as did my heart. I could not believe that even with the money being so tight in these times I was paying him to do this to me. I decided I would not say anything callous, but instead I would not tip him or refer him to any of my friends as that would be the best insult.

I stood up, gave a weak smile, and headed for the exit. I summoned for a taxi; shielding my shameful face from anyone who had seen me leaving that rotten abode and jumped in the bath as soon as I got home. I had lost everything including my dignity.

I dropped my bag on top of my issue of Bobby Thatcher by Robert Storm and stared coldly into my reflection agonizing over such a loss and attempted to calm myself that, "it will grow back, it's only hair."




First published: November 2001
comments: knobs@iceflow.com