The cold winter air nibbled at the tips of my fingers as I furiously rubbed them together to keep me warm. I brought up my shoulders toward my neck so that my fluffy jacket would heat up the lining beneath my jaw line. With my fingers still fidgeting slightly from the bitter air, I traced my hand across the metal trashcan and bit my lower lip in agitation.
Slowly, I picked up the match and ran it against the side of the box to get a spark started. Once the hot flickering flame burst onto the pale fragile stick, I quickly threw it into the trashcan filled with old newspaper to watch it burn. Yes, perhaps this was not environmentally safe.
I took in a deep breath and grabbed the cardboard box next to the trashcan and looked inside.
When most girls go through bad relationships, they usually curse off the male race for quite sometimes. Even the most drastic believe that they should just give up dating altogether. But come two weeks, one handsomely dressed asshole comes up, makes a move on her, and suddenly, she's back into the dating world like someone just handed her a piece of free candy – a really delicious piece of huge gorgeous sexy candy. How could she refuse?
Well, isn't that giving up a little too easily? I think so. But not for me because I'm not going to give up that easily. Actually, I'm not going to give up or give in at all to the eye candy that we know as tall, dark and handsome.
Perhaps I am being cynical, but I am through living with extreme hopes of love.
I highly doubt I'll ever find a man who will ever live up to my idea of love. Maybe I have high expectations of them. Maybe I'm too picky about what type of guy I want to date. Maybe I'm looking in to deep about whether or not he'd make a good husband.
Or maybe, the male race is filled with a bunch of moronic assholes.
I'd personally like to go with the last explanation.
The funny thing about this whole situation is that I dumped him. Yes, I dumped my four month long boyfriend because he was fucking some chick behind my back. But it still doesn't take away from the hurt and the pain of it all. Even though he's an ass, he still deceived me and made me believe in all the things that could never be. That jerk.
The boyfriend before that dumped me because I supposedly got "boring".
The boyfriend before that turned out to be gay (so I guess I can't exactly blame him per say).
Do you really want to know about the boyfriend before that one?
So I hold in my hands the cardboard box containing every thing I've kept since the first relationship I ever had with the idiotic race we call men. I picked up a small Valentine's Day card from the box that said, "You are the only one for me. You are the only one that's worth being with. You are you and I am me and together, we're perfect. We're perfect together." See, the only thing wrong about that statement is that he forgot to add, "We're perfect together, but I like that blonde girl from the bar. Would you mind if she came back to my apartment and spend an hour in the shower doing God-knows-what, curse my evil and stained soul?"
A Greeting Card may say all that's needed to be said, but not all that should be. Thank you, Hallmark. I'll remember this the next time I'm shopping for a nice Christmas card.
I threw the card mercifully into the fire and watched the flames consume it.
Then I pulled up my first box of chocolates I ever got. How quaint, huh? I flipped the box over to reveal the nutritional label. Hm, it says that there are five hundred calories per every three pieces of candy. That mother fucking asshole tried to make me fat.
I thrust the box into the red arms of the fire and watched it dissolve.
Well now, what do we have here? I remember this pink teddy bear that I got for my birthday. If you squeeze its hand it'll tell you in a cute little voice, "I love you. You're the best."
I grinned mischievously and discarded that into the trashcan. As it slowly disintegrated, I heard the batteries slowly die because the bear was incoherently screeching syllables I couldn't exactly decipher.
As much as I would take pleasure in conversing with you on how much each memory in this box would gladly make nice firewood for this cold December evening, I think I'd be quite easier on you and me if I just thrashed the contents of the cardboard box into the trashcan. And so, I did just that.
The flames grew brighter and more fervent than ever.
I tossed the cardboard box to the side and picked up an opened bottle of Johnnie Walker – the best damn whiskey known to woman. I undid the lid and took two gulps of it down, feeling the bitter and strong taste of this alcohol slither down my throat. I felt the blood rush to my brain as the alcohol made it's way into my body. But overall, it was a good feeling. Or at least I think it's supposed to be.
Cheers to being single.
Cheers to getting rid of any physical and emotional attachment to the male race.
Cheers to a despondent triumph – a quite clearly despondent triumph.
Casually, I glanced at the bottle and then nonchalantly threw it into the fire, hearing a great crash at the bottom of the trashcan. Alcohol plus fire equals a very nice display of some sort of tribal torch. The flames rose quickly and died quickly as well, but it was a nice show for me to see. Too bad I wasted a good bottle of Johnnie Walker. I mean it was the blue label and everything.
But when I had thrown that into the fire, I couldn't help but whisper, "Burn, baby, burn."
And hell yeah, cheers to that.
Author's Note: This is actually a story I was thinking about writing a while ago, but never managed to actually write it down. I know it's short, and somewhat "anti-romance", but there's a day and a time for a story like this one. Sometimes a woman has just had enough with lying scum.
But – mark my words I am never promoting alcohol. This is just for a nice little story. SO DON'T DRINK!Eva