Friday 20 December 2013

250 Words: Regret sleeps in a tent

A whole night time of chances having passed by, regret sleeps in a tent.  Maybe she wasn’t interested, maybe she was too young (the latter something his friend had no problem with).  Whatever.  Not so much as the merest contact came to be.  And so regret sleeps in a tent.

They saw their friends make out, left them to it.  Then walked through the campsite, talked, met some guy smoking, spoke to him (he longed for the fucker to fuck off, nice as he was), then came back and sat in her tent doing the same- just talking.  Neither made a move.  And so regret slept in a tent.

Or so the idea runs.  Maybe he was regretful as he lay his head down, most of the night having gone by and the Red Hot Chili Peppers a distant memory.  But what really started the regret happened the morning after:

Having packed up, her and her friends started the walk away, never to be seen again.  Thirty seconds or so away she suddenly shouted back her opinion of him.  Being reasonably clueless he simply shouted back, “Thanks,” and began to pack up his own monkeys and parrots.

Maybe the regret ultimately came later but the memory of that regret will forever sleep in a blue tent on an August night in 2001- only to unzip and exit the door when a monumental enough event occurs to wipe away the memory of regret for not leaning in and taking a chance.

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