Scrawled on the papers, with smudged ink from the printer, was:
I saw a boy with a heart of gold today. His smile dazzled the stars who grew angry at him. How dare he shines just as bright, or even more, than they.
I saw a girl with a heart of silver today. Her frown stretched longer than the Great Wall of China. She was bitter and he was happy. They crossed each other through the shuffle of feet and voices that call out, 'taxi!'
And so when he accidentally spilled coffee on her new blouse, her voice grew louder and her second language stopped speaking; kicked in English and she began, "You fuc—ugh! Look at what you did! Don't you think that I have someplace to be? How the hell am I supposed to go now? Look at what you did. I bet you do this a lot to strangers, huh? Ruin their day, right?"
But oh, no, she didn't know that his smile was painted on with a dirty paintbrush and his heartbeat had jumped across his veins faster than it needed to. And so when he heard those words slipping past her frown, his bottom lip shook as he took out green paper from his pocket, handing it to her, and mumbling, "I'm sorry, please. I'm sorry."
What's the use? He always makes mistakes, stupid him. As usual.
The next morning, he made the headlights and she stopped walking in the middle of the road. "Oh no."
YOU ARE READING
therapy
Short Story"they told us that we needed therapy, as if medication and tainted words could fix broken toys."
