Spoiled Waffles

7:30am

You wake up on a cold surface that’s nothing like your pillow. There’s a terrible crick in your neck that makes you feel somewhat deformed. The monitor is still on and shining, and the Microsoft Word document is still empty except for “afdzcxzzzzzzzz” from where your sleeping forehead rested on the keys at some point through the night. You remember your old Health teacher telling you that trees die every hour an electronic appliance is turned on. You briefly try to calculate how many trees you’d massacred while you dreamt, but ultimately give up.
+++++You turn off the computer and shuffle to bed after turning up the heat a little. You still have plenty of time.

9:23am

A dog is pissing on your carpet, and for some reason can’t hear you yelling at it, probably because it’s blossoming into a phoenix that’s setting the room on fire. Cars pile on top of each other on the freeway below at seventy miles per hour, and little stick people twist and bend in unnatural ways under the pounding metal. God shakes your hand and says “Welcome to Paradise. This is as good as it’s ever going to get.” Your ears are ringing.
+++++A voice on the answering machine wakes you up. We’ve been trying to get a hold of you for awhile now, etc. Just hearing it makes you throw the blankets over your head. It’s still way too early.

9:25am

Someone’s knocking at your door. You tell them to fuck off.

11:11am

You notice the time and make a wish.
+++++The neighbor’s dog is yelping at invisible people in the front yard again, and you know from experience that it’s never going to stop unless you drag yourself out of bed and get out the hose. Still, you try to bury your ears under your pillow. This doesn’t help, just as it’s never helped the 200 other times you tried it. The landlord made it very clear that no pets were allowed. Also for the 200th time, you vow to turn her in. Instead, you shuffle into the kitchen.
+++++The phone rings again, but you don’t think it’s them this time. Even so, you don’t want to talk to anybody. It’s time for waffles.

1:04pm

Your armchair is plush and comfortable. The few times it’s empty throughout the day, an imprint of your ass can be spotted on the cushion.
+++++There are only two waffles left in the box. You can’t bring yourself to eat them, because you’d intended to share them with Rebecca. If you ate one now and then she came back there wouldn’t be enough for the two of you to share after you made up. She’s bound to come back any time now. Eventually that asshole would break her heart and then everything would align itself back into balance.
+++++The waffles are starting to thaw. You’ve been sitting with them for a long time now. The apartment is quiet, and even that damn dog isn’t yelping anymore. Hunger is starting to nibble patiently at your stomach, just a friendly reminder for now. This isn’t like you. You put the box of waffles down next to you and turn on the TV.

1:33pm

You can’t get over how huge vampires are these days. Back when you were growing up, it was thanks to your love of vampires that you discovered atomic wedgies were actually physically possible. Of course, back then vampires didn’t have six pack abs. They didn’t make out with vulnerable teenage girls either. They plunged their teeth into throats and sucked until the victim was dry. You imagine that if anyone knows what a soul tastes like, it would be vampires.
+++++Before you know it, you’re cursing at the television so loudly that spit is flying out of your mouth. Vampires don’t glow in the sunlight like some kind of faggy vaudeville clown! They aren’t perfect! Nobody is! How can anybody believe that exists?

2:54pm

Sitting in front of the laptop now. Again. That stupid cursor won’t stop blinking at the top of the page. It’s distracting. Almost as though the software itself is mocking you. Who are you kidding, it seems to say. All the white space on the screen sucks you in and blindfolds you and spins you around in circles. How can anyone make sense out of so much chaos? It’s too much responsibility, being the god of your own little Microsoft universe. You need limitations, you decide. The excuse is enough to justify you snapping the computer closed again, but still you feel like the unwritten document is shackled to your ankle and you’re sinking, sinking, sinking. Getting older and older.
+++++You still haven’t eaten yet today.

4:30pm

Somebody has slipped a note through the crack under your door and you’ve only just noticed it.

Hey,
+++++I came by here at about 9:30 to pick up some stuff. I’ll try to come by later tonight.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++With Love,
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++Rebecca

She’d been here today. She’d been here today and you told her to fuck off.

5:48pm

It’s starting to get dark and she still hasn’t shown up yet. You remind yourself that she said later “tonight” and not later “today.” Maybe that means she wants to spend the night. Maybe she’s finally having problems with asshole and needs somebody to talk to. Or maybe she just wants to pick up her stuff.
+++++The ink on the paper is blue, and you can perfectly picture which pen it probably was. There is one crease across the middle from where she’d folded it. On one half was Rebecca and her words, on the other was nothing. She hadn’t put your name on it, instead addressing it as “Hey.” She might as well have put “Hey dude.” Why had she signed it “With Love, Rebecca?” Did that mean something? It certainly was different than just saying “Love, Rebecca.” That way was sort of like her asking you to love her. The extra “With” way implied that she had a little love to spare, but it’s not the cornerstone of how she feels about you. Or maybe it means that she loves you, but you’re going to have to work for it. When she’d written the word “Love,” had she thought about that first night together, how dark it had been and how easily her clothes had seemed to slip off of their own accord? Had she thought about your breath on her bare shoulder? She didn’t dot her i’s with little hearts the way she used to. This is a sign so bad that you find a blue pen and do it yourself to ease the knot in your stomach.
+++++It’s getting so hard to concentrate on anything anymore. No wonder you never get anything done.

7:12pm

Still not here. You find the box of waffles on the floor and realize you never put them back in the refrigerator. Are they ruined? Do waffles spoil? The possibility is so distressing that you sprint with them to the kitchen and almost fall on your face. The box goes back into the freezer, and you catch yourself praying for the first time in your adult life. You’re praying that the waffles can still be salvaged.

8:22pm

There’s nothing on TV that you haven’t seen at least seven times, so you turn it off and take to pacing around the room. More to distract yourself than anything else, you check your answering machine. That beeping red light is getting on your nerves, just like the cursor on your laptop. There’s one new message, and it’s from this morning.
+++++“-as this is the tenth time we’ve attempted to get in touch with you in the past week without any apparent effort on your part to even give us even the courtesy of returning our call, we regret to inform you that your position here at J. D. Software Inc. is being terminated effective immediately. Furthermore, we looked up your mother’s name and she’s still registered as being alive and well in her small home in Kentucky. When searching elsewhere for employment, I would advise against listing J. D. Software Inc as a reference, as your work here has been very unsatisfactory. The fact that this insanity has culminated in requiring us to fire you over an answering machine speaks volumes about your dangerous lack of any sort of discipline or-”
+++++You turn the TV back on. Your lips move in perfect sync with the dialogue.

8:40pm

Music is pounding through the walls from your neighbor’s apartment. People are talking and laughing. Probably drinking. Nobody invited you. That’s alright, because you don’t want to be around those assholes anyway. You have an important date coming soon. If you wanted to, you could call the police on them.
+++++Your stomach is so empty you feel as though a whole barren canyon has bloomed inside you. The taste of stomach acid is wafting up your throat and into your mouth. You gargle it away with mouthwash four times, just in case somebody tries to kiss you at some point today.
+++++The internet tempts you with masturbation, but you push the thought away with all your willpower. You don’t want to be running on empty when she shows up.

9:02pm

-she isn’t coming she was never going to come she hates you and after all she should hate you shouldn’t she because you’re such a pathetic loser you’ve never done anything worthwhile in your entire life all you want to do is let everything revolve around you what a joke you’re a joke she’s probably laughing with asshole right now about what a joke you are laughing and eating waffles YOUR waffles admiring a shiny engagement ring probably and telling asshole all about the time when you couldn’t get hard for her even though it only happened once and you were really tired what a bitch what a heartless BITCH you hope she chokes to death on her own-
+++++There’s a knock at the door.

9:15pm

Your eyes are red and splotchy, and no amount of dabbing will get them to stop spraying tears every which way. It’s as if a vein had been sliced open and no matter how hard you pushed, it was still seeping through the cracks in your fingers draining you until you were dry and withered. Like a vampire. That’s what she is. A vampire.
+++++You feel you won the fight. Her stuff is still in your room, after all.

10:30pm

You slide the two waffles out of the box. They look fine on the surface, but you know in your heart they’ve rotted. You bite into them without microwaving first, and they taste like cardboard. You finish anyway, swallowing hard with all the strength you possess. After that it’s done.

11:11pm

Still a bunch of reruns, but you keep watching. You surf message boards on the internet and write angry posts about how Greedo clearly shot at Han Solo first in Episode IV. After all, if Han shot first, than what kind of person does that make him? A murderer, and no better than Jabba. This completely undermines his character, and keeps him from being trustworthy.
+++++At this point in your life, if you can’t trust Han Solo than you have no one.
+++++There’s not much time left until the day is done. As you type, the icon for your masterpiece waits patiently on your tool bar. No hurry. There’s still your whole life to get it done, after all. You turn up the volume of your TV and close your laptop. The characters perform the exact same way they had since they were filmed with no new surprises. You notice the clock and make a wish as you recline backwards in your favorite armchair.
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Nathan Wellman’s publications include short stories in Midwest Literary Magazine, Arkham Tales, Tales of the Talisman, Daily Science Fiction, Full of Crow and The Western Online. He’s also had poetry published in Breadcrumb Scabs and Children, Churches and Daddies Magazine. Nathan is soon to be a graduate of Morehead State University with a BFA in Creative Writing and a BA in Theatre.