#RomanticFridayWriters - Challenge No 38- Being the Perfect Ex.

Here's my RomanticFridayWriters post for Friday June 15. Try your hand at a little flash fiction/poetry! It's mucho fun! Our challenge this week is to write to the prompt, Being the Perfect Ex. You can imagine what fun we're going to see in the stories/poetry from members and casual writers. You're most welcome to write to the prompt. Check out the RFW site by clicking on the link above, where you'll find stimulus for the challenge (as if you need any!)

On the Streets of London

Geffron checks his text messages. Nothing. She must have been serious about leaving.

He looks up. A movement down the street catches his attention – a billowing green cloak, a black scarf, red boots. Only Marsilia would dress so outrageously. Wasn’t he always telling her to tone it down? He hesitates, squints into the weak sun, shakes his head. ‘It can’t be! She said she’d never come back to London, calling it a damp hole.’ He stands still, smoothing his hair, stroking his beard, arguing with himself. But she’s changed her mind! That’s a woman for you. Oh, but he's so glad she did.

He begins running, nearly tripping over his Ralph Lauren black trench coat, calling out ‘Marsilia! You’ve come back! Marsilia!’

He runs as fast as his slippery Paul Smith Derby shoes permit, pushing people aside, ignoring angry snarls.

 ‘Marsilia! Wait for me!’

 He grabs her arm just before she obeys the ‘WALK’ sign. When did Marsilia ever obey a sign? To her they were just a suggestion. Something to do with her Italian roots he supposed, while he’d been conditioned to wait all day. He could never ignore a ‘DON’T WALK’ sign. How many times had he argued with her about stepping into the traffic? He’d get so angry he wouldn’t talk to her for days, especially after the latest near miss which resulted in a jaywalking offense on both their records. That really stung.

But he’s made up his mind that he’ll let Marsilia do whatever she wants from now on if she’ll just take him back. What’s a few traffic offenses when all’s said and done? Since she left him he’d gone back to his strict regime of sleep, eat, work and no play. He's bored. He can’t go back to his old life. He's realizing how much he needs Marsilia to put the spice into his life, the zing into his step.

‘Whaddya think you’re doing, hipster freak?’

Startled, he tugs her arm, appalled at the menace in her voice.

‘Let go of me or I’ll call the cops.'

She slaps at him with her free arm. Her cape falls away to the elbow. A ghoulish tattoo screams at him. What? He looks up to meet her icy eyes. His fingers uncurl. He glances from side to side. The Londoners have ignored the little altercation. Too wrapped up in their own boring lives.

‘You’re not Marsilia,’ he says stupidly. ‘Marsilia’s left me.’

‘No wonder buster. Beat it.’

©DeniseCovey2012

WORDS: 413

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