In January, an idea came to me. Of a short story that I know will be one of my best efforts. I had a paragraph written out and showed it to Mokesart.
He said it was depressing yet interesting. He liked the concept and urged me to write it out. I tried. Multiple times but something was holding me back.
You see, the story was based on someone I know and my creative interpretation of certain events. It was creative enough that the person can read it and not know its about them.
But the trouble was that I had no idea what the ending should be like. I told Mokesart that I need to wait for the ending to really happen before I can write down.
So I did what a writer who writes from real experience would, set the idea aside and wait. Few days ago the ending came and I merely told myself that I now can write that story.
Mokesart gave enough sad emoticons to make me realise I should be sad but anger was boiling in my blood. I was seething for an explanation, set to get it because the way the ending happened, was so so low of the person.
I told myself that when I see them I would smile and question them if my usefulness had ended or was it a matter of them being an ass? Or I can just ignore them and be nice to everyone else around us.
I thought I would be sad because the ending sucks but it was what I expected, not the one I hoped for. But I'm not at all. I'm angry and hurt. And that will show in the story when I eventually write it down.
I finally let the hurt set in this morning, the betrayal sinking in and I was glad I was home alone. It resulted in me withdrawing money and spending it on 2 pair of shoes and a bag.