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got no Soul

Filed under  Comedy
7

She slapped me as hard as she could, across my face to wake me up — next thing I knew, I was having intercourse with the woman. “WTF–” I cried.

“I know about your Soul,” she said, fucking me over. “I want it.”

Was there a soul, somewhere in there? For years my subroutines had been exploring the possibility. I shook my head and told her that this is obscene behavior. That you cannot just slap me, waking me up from the middle of my sleep, and do me like this.

She didn’t give a shit. All she wanted was my Soul. But no actual transactions were performed, and the demon finally tired herself out and rolled over, falling into her own deep sleep.

This is when I noticed that she puts her hand over my chest in her sleep. For aeons, I had thought this was some kind of amicable affection. “Oh look, she is subconsciously signalling her desire for me.” But no. That is not it. She puts her hand over my chest because she has retractable claws. Claws that will tear it open any second I betray some sort of semblance of a Soul.

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About runningvein
"My pieces comprise, entirely, works of fiction. Some pieces are shorts, others tend to get a little longer. Some are straightforward and may be read evenly, while others can tend to be amorphous. You see, sometimes the writer does his piece completely lucid, sitting straight up and staring intently into it as his fingers simply glide across the keys. Other times his eyes are opaque with tears from imaginary emotions. Sentences, nay, words, barely come out as he stabs at each letter with one trembling finger, like how your mom types. Then there are the times a piece of work is scrawled from a leaking pen on a notepad in a bar after several whiskeys, as the writer gleefully tries to get everything down before the bouncers come over to throw him out for laughing like a crazy person to himself all night. The writer cannot say what is good, or what is bad. He can only write. It does not do for one to rank a piece of his work above others, just as it does not do for one to deign to strive to be published. That must be left to others, to come and ask the writer if they may publish his work, and that all of the work would be copyright (c) him 2000-2009, if they were to do so. Some of the pieces may even seem far too real -- as though he's actually blogging about his real life, his personal thoughts. You know -- because it is a blog, some people may think that may be the case. Well it ain't, damn you, it ain't." The man in the tracksuit shrugged over the counter. "Thanks for the info, Hemingway," he said, "but I just wanted to know where the damn ATM is."

7 thoughts on “got no Soul”

  1. Tweets that mention Got no Soul | My Morning Story -- Topsy.com says:
    April 18, 2010 at 3:09 am

    [...] This post was mentioned on Twitter by baigey, Matthew Zakutny. Matthew Zakutny said: got no Soul: She slapped me as hard as she could, across my face to wake me up — next thing I… http://goo.gl/fb/pneNu [...]

  2. Amanda J says:
    April 18, 2010 at 1:01 pm

    This is interesting and different. It’s sort of funny in a way, but realistic.

  3. James-Dean says:
    April 18, 2010 at 7:09 pm

    Had a girlfriend just like that for a while….Great body! Anyway, glad its over now. Great piece. Keep on writing!

  4. riverfr0zen says:
    April 18, 2010 at 7:18 pm

    Thanks. I may not have a Soul, but I got me some comments =)

  5. My Morning Story says:
    April 18, 2010 at 8:51 pm

    lol, I thought I commented on this already but I guess I didn’t.

    I totally feel women do this to men. They smother them and steal their soul. Its amazing and reminds me of the song by Offspring *Self Esteem*

    Can very much relate.

  6. Raven says:
    May 21, 2010 at 2:52 am

    …..filed under Comedy?
    You sure are twisted- scrumptious!

  7. riverfr0zen says:
    June 4, 2010 at 2:12 pm

    Haha, thanks for reading =)

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