‘She should have been yours,’ Lana said.
‘She was never going to be mine.’ Anders emptied the beer bottle.
On the far side of the room Neal and Kerry revolved in a slow dance.
‘True, but you fell for her anyway.’
‘You can’t control your heart, Lana. The best you can do is suppress it, but it still knows.’
‘Who’d have thought you’d have a soft-centre?’
‘The worst of it is; he doesn’t really care for her.’
‘She can’t control her own heart. None of us can.’
‘And she’ll get hurt.’
Lana cast Anders a forlorn glance. ‘We all will.’
A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.
2 comments:
Poor Lana! Thank you for such a well-drawn portrait of unrequited love(s). I'd really like to know how it all works out--although I have this omnious feeling that it doesn't. I really enjoy your drabbles.
That's just it, isn't it, Rob? We can't control our hearts. And even when we control what we do about it, we can still get hurt. This is really, really well done, and you've nailed the dialogue.
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