Monday, October 27, 2008

Count him as south america

She inched closer to the computer.

Her mind willed her not to open the laptop, screamed, No! No! No! You'll regret this. Bad Idea! Bad Idea! and for a moment it sounded so realistic she wondered if her inner voice has somewhat detached from her mind, but she could only hold out for so long. Four seconds later, her fingers were flying across the keyboard. Ten seconds after that, she was face-to-face with his Facebook page.

"Oh, god, no," she moaned aloud, stretching backward in her chair and staring at the computer warily, as though it might explode. She knew she shouldn't click on it, but there was no turning back. She sat up straight with her shoulders down and her chest jutted out, took a deep breath and moved the cursor to the link. Before anything, she saw several thumbnail shots. She knew this was a very bad idea, that it was stupid from an intellectual stand-point and toxic from a sanity one, but by now it was out of her control.


The image smack right at her face. The first frame remained frozen on the screen. She studied, examined, every square inch of very single photograph consumed her. Then... she saw what she has been looking for. A reassurance that something is no longer there. She swallowed hard, forced herself to lift her finger and continuing the clicking.

Click. Click.

Click Click. Click.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

She finishing clicking through the entire album, briefly surveyed her level of nausea, and hunkered down to start again from the beginning.

It was going to be a very long night.

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