My birthday was, in fact, a few days ago, and this is a little flash of fiction I wrote because of it. I first scribbled the words on paper two weeks ago, and I meant to post this on the 16th of September. So it’s late. I hope you enjoy it anyway.
Oh, look at the calendar. It’s my birthday.
I used to have a girlfriend born the same day, so there was never a good excuse for forgetting. Her hair was reddish brown, or brownish reds, and her eyes were vibrant, and she had a wicked right hook.
She asked me, “Do you know what day it is today?”
“It’s our birthdays.”
“Oh.” I probably blinked.
“The cake they brought you at work, that didn’t clue you in any?”
“I figured it was somebody’s birthday.”
“Yours. It was your birthday. Is your birthday. And mine. Did you remember to get me something this year?”
Obviously, no, but I wanted to be cute or romantic, so I said, “A kiss?”
That was when she shot me.
Forgetfulness isn’t my only superpower. So, she’s gone now. Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yeah, the calendar. Today’s my birthday. Give me a kiss?