A simple complication

   

    The mattress beneath him is soft, soft like the fleshy part of his soul, visible through the hole in his exterior. The walls are bland, like memories of a good time, failing to satisfy a whirling mind, like flavorless food on an eager tongue.

         A dog sleeps on the floor, good company for a man who hates people. A black pug, shrouded in the night. He can't tell what the canine is thinking, he's not curious. she looks content, grunting in untroubled sleep, and even if she is not, there's no way he would know The dog can't speak, but even with people, words are not where the trouble lies. But the dog can't act unpredictably either. the dog can't manipulate him, break his heart, or call him out. Because dogs are simple, adhering to basic needs, food, sleep and occasionally you let them out to shit. The black pug can't bother him, bound by this simplicity, but the dog can't satisfy him either, for the same reason.

         A woman is complex, driven by feelings and motives, apart from basic survival. a complexity so deep, so mysterious and unrelenting, the only thing that satisfies, the only thing that can make him feel, make him love and the only thing that can truly harm him, the only thing he truly fears.  It's the women in his life that taught him the most, women that gave color to a bland viewpoint, women who showed him the treasure buried beneath. A chest of richness buried beneath the soil of friendship, of sweat glistening on hardworking flesh, of a perspiring glass filled with beer, of sex. It was women who made him appreciate life...and it was women who showed him the merciless power of love, who made him feel something beyond the juvenile thrill of showing off a hot girlfriend, the masculine motives urging one to have the best, making one show off, telling a woman you love her because she's expecting it.  Women turned him into something else, something one might call romantically tragic and for that he will always be grateful and he will always be angry, a crushing, relentless furry.

         The night encloses around him. A rigid back resting on a soft mattress. a soft soul, tormented by a self induced rigidness. As he lays there, as the TV flickers in the gloom, he feels her next to him. for a moment she is in his arms, the sheets are a mess, her skin is sleek with moisture. A faint scent, and the rushing elation inside are the only embers burning, hinting at the fire that blazed as they made love. a stillness permeates the air, a rest comes over him  as they hold  each other close and theTV flickers in the dark.

         Then he was back, in the same bed, in the same room, empty. The TV  still flickered, white flashes revealing a  black pug in the corner. The bed was still soft, but less sturdy after the weight of what she left behind, her and others before, and the others that followed.

         The silence was oppressing. the old urges came back, they always did. He felt like falling in love. He felt like complicating a simple life, enriching a dull life, at least for a while. He felt like caring like he never thought he could, he felt like having all his flaws called out over time, he felt life feeling joy and sadness at an unprecedented level. With one more look at the sleeping pug, he got up, picked up the old phone book...and made  a call.