100 Words: Just A Little

“I just need a little.”


“I’m weaning.”


“I can get it without you.”

Silence. Was that the way in?

“You can’t keep me here.”




“It hurts. You don’t even know. You don’t know this kind of hurt.”

He turned too-blue eyes to her, and she pulled back, staring at them, afraid she might lose herself in them.

Or find herself.

“I can’t do this. I just need a little.”


“You don’t have to punish me to make a point.”

The look he gave her just then was more punishment than anything else, so far.

No tags for this post.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
This entry was posted in Fiction, Flash. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.