Closure Room

“Write a story,” Kevin told himself as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He could hear the echo of heavy bass in the background shaking the hell out of his walls of his house. “Hmm…yes…that’s some more bubble gum shit,” he told himself. His lips pressed against one another, pupils hitting 360’s in the back of his skull as another BET Minstrel Show rapper’s trash (I mean, excuse me, music) blared through out the whole house. His forehead bore the parallels of a Hanes T-shirt in a closet, wrinkled and in dyer need of ironing. His eyes gazed around the four-cornered living room, peering at his imaginary company around him. Shrugging his shoulders and welcoming the phone call of an ex-girlfriend while the television watched itself. The sunlight no longer pressed through the Venetian blinds; the air outside began to kiss the windows leaving a frosty dew reminding him of the wet kisses we used to get from an ex flame. Yes…the one he shouldn’t have left for “her.” His lips now chapped and in need of his occasional tongue to keep them moist and his eyes still entertaining his imaginary company that stared back at him tearing two abysses through his skull. The lights on his phone starting to flash as his pupils grew wider and his lips parted showing all of his 58 teeth; only to be replaced back again with more wrinkles in his forehead and a heavy gust of wind leaving his mouth. The caller I.D. read a phone number that was over ten digits and started with the digits, “011.” For he was in Maryland at a farmhouse on his college campus sitting in his living room as the Sun died being suffocated by Night, and he knew that “she” in the UK wasn’t even thinking about him. Like she said, he could easily be replaced.