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just a picture of a cloud
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Bradley, it seemed, had finally decided to participate.

Even listening to his voice made you feel the need to clean yourself, Georgia Lee marveled. If government scientists were actively trying to produce the most revolting human specimen imaginable, they could not have done a better job than Bradley.

Georgia Lee had been playing in her garden, many years ago. She had been barefoot, as she was wont to be at that age, and she had stepped on a slug. The poor creature had oozed between her toes, slimy and appalling, with a sound like a boot being drawn up out of mud. The sensation had been awful and indescribable, but on a purely emotional level what the experience most resembled was a conversation with Bradley. The disgust, the regret, the self-hatred: those feelings had been so powerful then, and now she was feeling them again.

Bradley had an awful lot in common with that slug, she now realized. He wasn't going anywhere. He probably wasn't even capable of ambition or direction. He was aimless, pointless, and worthless. Nothing about his life mattered, and the only really meaningful way he existed was as an irritant to her.

She turned and met his beady, piggish eyes with her steely ones.

"What a lovely suggestion, Bradley. Why don't you go there right now and wait for me, and I'll definitely catch you up?"

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Swipe Rite · After the Dance