She said I drank my coffee like I lived my life. Fast and however it came.

Dumb bitch. What would she fucking know? All she ever did was sit on her fat arse and play computer games. She played The Sims; not even a fair dinkum strategy game. She was a loser. Couldn't even get a job. Who'd put her on though?

We fought a lot. Right now, I didn’t even want to go home. I’d just go riding; scrub bashing. Just me and me bike.

Her words got all stuck in my head, all scrambled up like and loud as shit. Christ, even miles away from her, in the middle of nowhere, I couldn’t get that bitch out of my head.

I stopped for a shit. There was no one around so I didn’t even have to hide. That was how I liked it. I wanted to be free, open and live life in the moment. I wanted to feel and hear the revs of life.

Fuck. No toilet paper.

The leaves around the place all looked a bit dry and crackly. What did I have? Socks? Nah, needed them to put my boots back on. The bandanna? The bright pink and lime green bandanna she bought me for my birthday, with my fucking money. She loved it and said it was sooooo me. I hated it and was happy to wipe my arse on it.

I left it for the dingoes to find. Merry fucking Christmas.

I knew it was over and that I had to end it. She wouldn’t. I didn’t want to hurt her but, fuck it, I also wanted to smash her head in.

Time to make a decision. I could either head home in time for CSI or I could head north, head to freedom. I had my wallet, my swag and my bike. All the other material stuff back at the house was just shit. Shit built up from living together and not having the guts to leave.

I had guts and I was leaving.

I patted the tank, put her into gear and swung north toward the roadhouse on the highway.

I drank my coffee like I lived my life. You fucking bet!





If you wish to join the Writers Prompt Daily simply use the above photo as a prompt and post a short story, poem or paragraph to your blog. Leave a comment and the link here so that all participants can come to you and read/comment/encourage. Story above is copyright and is Megan Bayliss' writing around the above picture prompt.