Flash Fiction: August 19, 2016

I’m not a shopaholic. Not even close. Like a puerile moron, I’d used every penny I’d made since Christmas on beautification and a plane ticket to Rio. I essentially made myself homeless and lived on nothing but a burrito and an endless supply of mushy pineapple for months. I just wanted to get a glimpse of that Olympian smacking a shuttlecock around.  Abibliophobia overtook me because I was close to having read everything there was about badminton. Now it was time for action.  


The truth is, I hadn’t seen him since our Freshmen year. His existence became a thing I couldn’t talk about, and my exulansis led to procrastination, and being indecisive. And my misanthropic ways caused athazagoraphobia. But I was only afraid of HIM forgetting me.  I didn’t care about everyone else.


After he lost the Olympic Gold Medal, I followed him from his hacienda, past an acolyte to a stinky Brazilian discotheque. I hesitantly approached him while he danced a weird hula to the funkadelic music.


The minute I got close, he pressed his moist lips onto my neck and gave me a hickey. I was perplexed at our weird rendezvous.


Is this real?


“I was hopeful you’d find me here,” he said with kindness in his eyes.


What is this amazing, bodacious man saying?


“You were?” I asked, sounding exasperated, but I’d never been capricious about my feelings for him. Though I’d also never uttered them other than in a bombastic soliloquy.


“Yes, its serendipity,” he replied before kissing me.

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