Flash Fiction Writing

Dolores on the Dotted Line

The bartender sat a swan glass full of peach schnapps in front of me and called me Lolita, though he had never read the book before. He knew enough to know I was one, he said. He knew enough to know that I knew nothing at all. With 23 years, jet black hair and a few broken hearts to my name he said I knew nothing at all. He said not to call anything intense unless it had to do with sex because nothing else should ever be that intense, unless it was fucking.

I sat with my friends beside me and pushed dried up tears into the deserts in my tear ducts and let men buy us shot after shot, knowing that as drunk as my body got, my brain would never follow. I’m not even crying over you anymore is the hard part; I’m crying for my horizon and how long it will take the sun to set. I’m crying for a San Francisco apartment with exposed brick and piano keys. I’m crying for a seemingly endless fall and a chance at a warm December.

I’m crying over losing my Lolita and wanting her gone.

via *


  • Lola Day

    Fuck that bartender. First and foremost.

    There is no changing what's already happened. Where you end up, wherever it may be, physically as well as in your mind, know that every choice you made led to there and that it will take you beyond.
    so everything led to that shitty bar. but do have faith that you're going somewhere beyond, some place where your mind wont be so disconnected from where you stand physicallt.
    You are already becoming the person you haven't become yet.

    you'll be alright. Keep your head up.

  • The Purple Assassin.

    I don't think anyone has the power to decide who we are to become. The choice has always been completely ours, without fear face him again, and this time make him see who you really are.

    More importantly, his jusgment doesn't decide anything for you.

  • meg bird

    Well hey there, stranger! It's good to have you back.

  • Bas

    Beautiful writing 🙂 Thanks for your comment on my blog, it makes my heart full to know that people read my words and also identify with me! I look forward to reading more from you.

    I was saying to a friend today, that heartbreak and shitty experiences with love, although they tear us apart, they also make everything more interesting and give us stories and words and feelings, things to write about. And although no one would ever choose to feel such pain, I'm always glad when I look back, to have had these experiences, the intense highs (even if they are always followed by the worst lows)

    xxx Bas


  • Y

    Let's move to San Francisco if it could lessen our worries.

  • Stella

    Lolita is a book about vicious and violent childabuse, written from the perspective of the abuser and so cleverly or peefidiously done that the novel is still widely mistaken for a love story.


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