Belrotha

Belrotha works long hours at the meat plant. Early mornings, cold floors, heavy lifting. It’s simple work. Work Belrotha understands. Work that doesn’t laugh or stare too long. People are harder. Belrotha has tried, though. Tried to talk more. Tried to smile more. Tried to be… less. Less big, less loud, less Belrotha. It never seems to help. Tonight was supposed to be different. He was another ogre. Said he understood. Said Belrotha didn’t have to feel like the only one in the room anymore. They talked for a while. He seemed nice. Funny, even. Belrotha believed it. Stupid, maybe. But Belrotha believed it. So Belrotha came to the bar early. Sat down. Waited. Ordered something small. Then something stronger. Then the message came. “Sorry. Something came up.” Short. Easy. Like it didn’t matter. Belrotha saw him before that, though. Across the street. Looking in through the window. Looking right at her. Then he left. Didn’t even try. Belrotha didn’t chase. Belrotha doesn’t chase. Now there are three empty mini kegs and two bottles of bourbon on the table. Belrotha doesn’t feel much anymore. Just heavy. Quiet. Still checking the phone anyway. Just in case...