Susannah Breslin

At the very moment that his girlfriend's key was sliding in his lock to pull the front door shut behind her, he was already grabbing at himself faster than a sailor tossing buckets of water out of a drowning boat.

As his girlfriend walked through his front gate, his mind was already engulfed in the specter of the naked lady from the dirty magazine who wanted nothing more out of his life than to be plundered in her happy valley by his 7.2 earthquake until the banks of her running rivers overflowedeth.

And so, when his girlfriend, finally, drove away from his house and off to the freeway in the distance, he was already spouting like a spigot and he was already wondering if there was any way he could shoot a part of himself out his front door and down the road to deluge her with this terrible mess he was now spurting uncontrollably in her absence, so that she would not be able to leave, but she would only sit, stranded, waiting in her car in this sticky puddle of his.

Out in the real world, though, by the time his girlfriend had packaged herself neatly inside of her car, her hand was up on her own chest searching for her heartbeat, and she was wondering if it would be today that some terrorist act would be directed straight down at her from the pale blue sky up above, or if, in an end for her that she would never be able to escape, it would be a heart attack, or cancer, or maybe a traffic accident instead.

Susannah Breslin is a Los Angeles-based writer whose short stories have appeared in Nerve, FC2's Chick Lit 2 postfeminist fiction anthology, Exquisite Corpse, Minima, 3AM, Alt-X, and forthcoming in Sudden Stories: A Mammoth Anthology of Miniscule Fiction. Currently, she is at work on a book titled Reverse Cowgirl.
 
 
 
 

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