No Thrills

Three minutes into the horror movie, and she was already on its Wikipedia page. My queen of no thrills, he thought of her habit which had once been cute, then quirky; had morphed in annoying, and now presented him with a unique opportunity at amusement.

“Come on, honey, I thought you wanted to spend time together,” he yelled at her perched at the table, bathed in bland neon from her laptop.

“I want to know what you’re making me watch. Geez.”

Once upon a time she trusted him on movie nights. Once she wasn’t afraid to be afraid around him. To feel and be vulnerable.

After five years of marriage, the new normal for both of them was neutrality. Never being too mad, or too happy. Never too offensive or ready to fly off the handle over minutia. They now fought over important things. They only felt when it was an act of survival.

Not tonight.


“Fine.” She rolled her eyes, clucked her tongue.

She cuddled with him under a tattered blanket, incapable of keeping them warm. He smiled at her, in preparation of his laughter a few hours away. Oh, and the inevitable fight.

For one night, she wouldn’t see it coming. Their night would be rewritten, temporarily, like the movie’s Wikipedia he’d edited a few hours before.


About lacolem1

I'm a first-year Physics graduate student who spends his long drives from Mississippi to Texas thinking of new ideas and writing/enacting stories and publishable content in his head. I've been a comic book geek since I was 12, an internet philosopher since 18, and a wannabe media inventor since five minutes in the future. I love the beauty of short form fiction a la Maupassant, the ticklish excitement of flowery prose a la Bradbury, and the strict directness of blunt imagery a la Hemingway. Alas, this is countered by my love for bad black-and-white sci-fi from the 50s, bad Benetar-esque pop music from the 80s, and Bridezillas and the Real Housewives of Atlanta. I'd like to think I have a natural talent for words and storytelling, but I guess it's up to you guys to decide
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