Never Forget a Voice

Surely he will come. Surely this is not the ending, but the beginning of a revised start. I think to myself. The thought has been circling in my head for a month now.

"You can just come back when my friend arrives," I said as the waiter looked down at me expectantly.

I look back at her, now across the room, and see her eyes dart away from mine.

A woman walks into the diner, scans the room and once her eyes land on me, her face falls.

Do I know her? No. I may be bad at names, but I never forget a face or a voice. Maybe she will speak and it'll click in my head.

Who could this woman be and why is she coming to my ta--

"Miranda," she asks, but not in that way that shows she's truly questioning. She knows it's me.

"Do I know you?"

"Richard will not be joining you. Please leave him alone. He has moved on." Her walk back to the door is sure, quick, and swift. She knows what she has done. She knows she has won. But, her voice is the thing that ticks off my brain. It spins and I feel myself suddenly nauseous.

As she reaches the door, I hear myself call out in a strained voice but not in a way that shows I'm truly questioning,"Delilah from Richard's office." I know it's her.

She pauses at the door. The waiter pauses beside me, believing my actual guest has arrived, the whole world seems to pause.

This is not the beginning I was hoping for, but a beginning nonetheless.

Alright now that the story is over I must continue it because Vocal said so. So, here I am trying to get to 600 words.

How do you feel about needing to reach a word count on here? I’ve found it frustrating at times honestly. This is one of those times. I feel like it forces me to do something outside of what I have set myself up to do. I wanted to challenge myself to write a story in less than 300 words, and I accomplished that, but now I have to make up for it because they think a story should be longer. Maybe certain categories should be allowed to be shorter. Flash fiction or a short short is a thing.

It truly bothers me when it comes to poetry. It takes out the feeling when you have to add in random words to meet the word count. What do you mean my perfectly worded poem needs more words? What do I do? Add far too many similes and metaphors? Just repeat it over and over till it reaches? Huh, good idea.

Surely he will come. Surely this is not the ending, but the beginning of a revised start. I think to myself. The thought has been circling in my head for a month now.

"You can just come back when my friend arrives," I said as the waiter looked down at me expectantly.

I look back at her, now across the room, and see her eyes dart away from mine.

A woman walks into the diner, scans the room and once her eyes land on me, her face falls.

Do I know her? No. I may be bad at names, but I never forget a face or a voice. Maybe she will speak and it'll click in my head.

Who could this woman be and why is she coming to my ta--

"Miranda," she asks, but not in that way that shows she's truly questioning. She knows it's me.

"Do I know you?"

"Richard will not be joining you. Please leave him alone. He has moved on." Her walk back to the door is sure, quick, and swift. She knows what she has done. She knows she has won. But, her voice is the thing that ticks off my brain. It spins and I feel myself suddenly nauseous.

As she reaches the door, I hear myself call out in a strained voice but not in a way that shows I'm truly questioning,"Delilah from Richard's office." I know it's her.

She pauses at the door. The waiter pauses beside me, believing my actual guest has arrived, the whole world seems to pause.

This is not the beginning I was hoping for, but a beginning nonetheless.