I threw it on the ground and burst into tears. The dull whir of the ended call echoed into my mind like a drill. Mocking me.
"It wasn't supposed to end like this. It wasn't supposed to even begin, you know. You're better off now" I told myself but the tears kept coming. I walked away, leaving my phone to fend for itself, leaving the last bit of you, of us, out in the cold. "I deserve a gold star, good karma, a million dollars for putting up with your emotionally wretched shit" I screeched, as if you could hear. As if saying that made it all better. Why was I still bawling my eyes out? I got rid of you for a reason so why did it still hurt?
a fiction piece for the Speakeasy at Yeahwrite