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Chapter Eighteen: "Left 4 Dead"

7/2/2016

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Picture
One simple headline: Left 4 Dead. Who would be crazy enough to read that, click on it, and respond to the posting? This one, I had pursued for fun. It was a silly game I thought wouldn't amount to anything. I didn't actually expect a response when I posted it.

But she answered. She sounded interested. And so we started talking, but my trust was still damaged. Perhaps it was because of this that I wrote that post in the first place. To set it out in the open to see if anyone would bite.

But mainly because I knew no one would.

I was looking for friends in the wrong places. That part of me crying out for attention, wanting to hang out with someone--it was desperate. Alone. Sad.

So eventually, like all things, this had to come to an end. My lack of faith in any friendship/relationship through the internet had become apparent, and in so, I treated the person on the other end of the screen badly.


Put bluntly, I was an asshole; I treated this person like they did not deserve trust. I was rude. We shared things in common; but that voice in the back of my head kept repeating, can you really trust anyone out in the internet? So instead, I closed off; I never got another reply or email from her.



Until one day, attending CSU, I saw her. I knew she recognized me, and I played it off as if I didn't. But behind those blue eyes, I knew. I knew she knew that I knew her.


And I was painted as an even bigger asshole for not approaching her, for not acknowledging her, for not saying that I was sorry.


And we kept running into each other; in different classes, on campus, by the parking lot. Her curly hair flowing in the wind, reminding me of what perhaps I missed on.


Her lip ring shining with the sun; but nowhere close.


Another woman I was rude to, and for what exactly?


For listening to the voice in my head.


That fucking asshole.

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    Writer/Artist

    My name is Francisco, you can call me Zisco.

    Endings are hard, but in reality, nothing ever ends, does it?

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