by Victor S. Smith
She was a mess. She was crying on the phone, and even holding the receiver two feet away from his ear, Marlowe could hear her wailing. What he had said to her was that he wasn't sure if they should see each other anymore, that the relationship had run its course and that maybe, in light of the speed with which their relationship started, they should try being friends, to see how it all worked out. Marlowe wasn't sure what he was expecting if he had been honest. In retrospect he should have just told her exactly what he was really thinking. At least that way she would have been angry instead of sad.
Victor S. Smith, author of Long is the Winter of Our Discontent, is undertaking a frightening new endeavor. He is trying to dedicate three hours every day to writing. Follow along at Marlowe's Sketch Pad.