Some Untitled Flash Fiction

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They say a lot of things she wishes were true. Maria’s sitting cross-legged in her two-car garage smoking dope. John’s suffocating a whorehouse downtown with his problems. The ice dams on the roof broke through the shingles and now the kitchen wallpaper is peeling. Gardinias in Bloom. That’s what Home Depot called it. Maria liked the green and white colors and John never cared. He certainly doesn’t now and she doesn’t blame him–not for leaving, anyway. It wouldn’t matter if she did care. He left and they both feel left behind. She watches the smoke spiral off into oblivion. It’s just another play-dough house crumbling in on itself. Just another baby who died and left its parents blazing and fucking and fucked up. It’s a quick snap shot fraying at the edges and if they say it doesn’t hurt anymore, maybe at least it doesn’t hurt so bad. 

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