The Floormate

“To answer your question — yes, and she likes dead prey,” he said.

His video game system lit up a flat panel. We played a racing game. The stones glowed in the television light. I expected him to recite “Lord of The Rings” the whole time, but he said nothing at all. I didn’t feel like talking, either. I was supposed to only hang with my best friend, Colt, but he’d broken his wrist and was in the hospital. Perhaps that’s another reason for accepting the offer to join in video games. When the game ended, the floormate showed me his rock collection. I wondered the whole time about those scratches.


The previous morning, we’d gotten in a fight. Some unruly teenagers walked by — one called Colt and me . . . Ebony and Ivory. Colt went to hit the guy who’d said it, but the guy had a crowbar. He hit Colt in the wrist. The group of kids then ran off. Colt left for his dormitory and called his parents. I sat on the sidewalk. I was thinking about the situation, how Colt should’ve just let it go, but yet I also wanted to see them get demolished.

“Hooligans,” an old man said.

He’d rushed across the street and now stood over me.

I spat on the ground. “Who? You mean me?”

About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)