Sweet Surrender

A Story by Erin Lee

Just a little something for a writing challenge about sweet surrender. Had fun with this, but, be forewarned, my spell check isn't working and I'm a horrible speller!

Sweet Surrender

She was the type of girl to write "sorry ladies, he is taken" on her boyfriend's My Space page. I chuckled when I read it. I wondered, does she realize, she's just set us all up with a challenge? Her insecurities blazed on the screen as we read it again. And I wanted to scream, "sorry, sweetie, you just set yourself up!"

Was it youth or naievete that told her such a statement would throw up chain link fences and barbed wires around him? I thought back to the man who taught me, once, that wedding bands can be attractive to the predator sort.

I watched as Molly's eyes widened. She'd had him first. And she'd have him again. I could write the script in my mind without even needing a middle to get to the ending. I didn't know whether to try and stop her or to just laugh. And I patted myself on the back, in my mind, knowing full well I'd once been the type of girl to do the same.

Aw! Sweet surrender. A place where you lay out your heart and beg to be eaten. A sport where they don't bother with a fork or a knife. Instead, they rip into your soul with the teeth of vampires and kiss your fantasy of loyalty, honesty, and truth goodbye.

I watched as she sank her teeth into My Space girl's heart. I watched as the blood of her tears rolled down her cheeks that next day at school. He was walking with Molly, waving at others, who'd also seen the site. He walked right past her.

Was it youth or naievete that told her a man wanted to be chained? Had no one taught her that the best way to keep a man is never to keep him at all? What was that saying? Maya Angelou said it, "I know why a caged bird sings?" A caged bird sings to attract the attention and affection of a wiser one. One who will let it out to fly. And once it does? It never sings again.

She was the type of girl to cut Emo hearts into her wrists and hope that someone would notice. She'd remove her braceletts for the day and be sure to yawn too high or reach for the book at the top of her locker. She never was into studying or school work. But today, just for today, that chemistry book would do the trick in getting someone to see her. Her pain tattooed on her sleeve like time when you are running late, mocking. I wanted to scream, "we all know if you really wanted to do it, you would have done it right the first time!" Then it'd be a different story.

What was it that made her think anyone would care? Cause they wouldn't. They never did. No one does. It's about the chase. It's about the me. It's about the win and victory. I wanted to approach her, and tell her this. I thought maybe if I shared what I knew, she may spare herself the scars she'd one day have to cover with ugly tattoos. But I froze, in sweet surrender. Then, I waved, as Molly and he walked by.