Why Can’t I Be Robert Smith?
It’s 10:15 Saturday night, the last day of summer. What a strange day.
I’m cold, I almost feel numb. We’re in your house in Fascination Street and I’m homesick.
All I want is to write a letter to Elise in six different ways, but now it’s Wendy time.
“Trust me,” you said. “Don’t doubt. Have faith. Let’s go to bed in the upstairs room. It will be just like heaven.”
“Its’ not you,” I replied. “This is just a short term effect.”
“So what?”
“Maybe another day.”
It took her seventeen seconds for dressing up.
The perfect girl is gone.
From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys
Hervé SUYS (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and hasn’t stopped yet. He usually writes them hatless and barefooted.
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