fff#29

my flash fiction friday #29 (trigger: as much/little as...) is another surprise story for me; didn't expect this piece; hope you enjoy, i gone to read allyuh fffs; new trigger tomorrow...walk good.

as much as he loved her was as little as she cared. there was a certain twisted pleasure in turning on her.
it came after the constant phonecalling in denial of rejection, after misery of acceptance, after turning on self.
it came after a week of torturing himself into despising her by smoking a cigarette every time he thought of her, after he spent the whole week’s pay on a habit he had never cultivated and couldn’t stomach the first three times she danced through his memory. there was a nasty joy in wounding his lungs, his throat, his voice, his instrument, and by the end of the week he was joining band members in cancer corner on every break without thoughts of her propelling him.
it came after sunday night practice when he sang his new song and they said it was wicked and jammed it whole night and agreed to put it on the album, and he went up to the roof to breathe now that the smoke had finally cleared from his mind. he stood on the roof looking at the sky and saw how insignificant she was, how she couldn’t control him; his name was man and his destiny in his hands, not hers.
he stretched his arms wide reaching to take in the world, and when he felt himself flying he let the soaring of his soul take him from the pain she left.
when the band finally recorded too little too late, the chalk outline of where his body hit the ground became the album cover that sold millions.