I’m terrified I’ll never be anything, I tell him, that I’m not capable or special or anything and I’ll destroy my life pining after somebody I’ll never be. Damien puts his hand up, a palm out pause, and starts rummaging through his desk, overturning papers, shuffling drawers, and rifling with a bandit’s abandon. I let it last long enough to appreciate the theatrics before asking for the punchline. ‘I’m looking for fucks,’ he says, ‘I swear I had some for you but it looks like I’m fresh out.’ His words sound sincere but I listen to his eyes instead.
Nic Addenbrooke is a freelance writer, editor, content creator, radio broadcaster, part-time poet and sometimes artist. Nic has been coming to terms with existence for years. He currently lives and works in Brisbane where he struggles to turn the cacophony of voices in his head into things of substance. It doesn’t always work but occasionally produces a nice veneer of sanity.
17/06/2016 at 16:17
I always smile at the end of each of your stories. 🙂
17/06/2016 at 16:47
Thanks Lucy 🙂 I always smile when I get a response like that.
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