This is the first short story on this blog! That means it doesn’t need to be good, because it has seniority 🙂
This is called Sacrifice. It’s based on the Elton John song about sacrifice called “Sacrifice”.
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“Sacrifice is actually impossible, you know,” she said seriously. He blearily lifted his gaze from his computer screen to stare across the table at her and raise one eyebrow. “Sacrifice doesn’t exist. If you can sacrifice something, it sort of means you aren’t sacrificing much.”
“That doesn’t make any sense”, he interjected, letting his hang-over pain and exasperation show plainly in his tone. “Loss exists. People lose things; you can’t twist that any way you want. Yesterday, I lost that printed photo from the lovers’ bridge in Paris. I lost it. If I choose to lose something, it’s a sacrifice. You’re saying you can’t choose to lose something?”
His slow, deliberate tone irritated her, as always. He always spoke to her as if she was a child when she disagreed with him. “No, you don’t get it,” she snapped, “but I don’t blame you, you didn’t give me time to finish.”
He cut her off again: “Well? Are you going to explain?” He had a small smile to banish any doubt that he was being a jerk on purpose.
“Well, since you ask, it’s just that nobody sacrifices something for nothing. You had a reason to throw away the photo. It represents memories that you don’t want to think about anymore.”
“For the last time, I brought it to the exhibition and some staff must have brought it to the wrong sec-“
“Let me finish. You weren’t really losing the photo; you were protecting your peace of mind. You make a choice of what’s most important, so it isn’t really a sacrifice.” She stands up and starts to pace around the tidy kitchen and cutely decorated kitchen area. Her slippers make a soft, scraping sound against the smooth stone floor, as he frowns into his tea and finally closes his laptop. She turns to glance at him expectantly every few seconds, and his frown deepens and settles.
“Wait,” he says, as the strain of thinking fades and anger returns, “even if that were true, that only means you can’t sacrifice for yourself. You can sacrifice for others. What’s your point?”
“My point,” she answers tensely, her eyes narrowing triumphantly, “is that your text last night doesn’t make sense.”
“You breaking up with me wouldn’t be a sacrifice. You’re safeguarding your peace of mind, time to work on that failed photo expo!” She slowed down to let everything sink in, “A sacrifice would be me, breaking up with you, kicking you out of my flat, because I can’t continue to watch you be so pathetic, lying to me about where you go in the evening, pretending to sleep when I wake up.”
He let out a sigh. “I guess… I guess I should go, then.” She stared for a moment, surprised to find resignation instead of anger. “Yes… yes, you should.” She fumed for the next half hour as he collected his belongings and left the flat. In front of the door, he called his best friend.
“Kevin, you asshole, how did you get to my phone? That’s five to five.” Pause. “Hah! The stalemate won’t last a week, and more to the point, neither will you and Lisa.” Pause. “Yeah, pretty much. Can I crash at your place while I find somewhere?” Pause. “What do you mean, it would make it too easy?”.
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PS: If you don’t get it, don’t worry, it just means I’m a bad writer.