And this is why love is for suckers…

How was everyone’s weekend?

Wanna know how mine was? I’ll tell ya, it was strange, as usual. I ordered my books online for my courses this semester. I’m really looking forward to Ethics or Journalism. And yes, I mean “or.” People keep asking me if I mean Ethics of Journalism. I suppose they have never seen the course guide at the university before. Well, someone should check that out…but back to the strange.

When finished maxing out my credit card on eight books, I decided to walk over to Hairy’s Diner and load up on caffeine while I went over my list of possible story ideas.

I came across one that piqued my interest a few months ago during February. Though, for some reason, I dropped the idea and pursued the disappearance of a gumball machine. Anyway, back to what happened in February and what it has to do with this weekend.

During Valentine’s Day, there was a whole lot of breaking up going around. I steered clear of it. It wasn’t hard since I don’t ever date because no one asks me out, and I find no one the least bit interesting enough to spend time with and I’m too busy anyways. Moving on.

After this massive break-up, an old, creepy looking statue was dug up by some equally creepy guy in a dirty robe. His fingers were caked with blood and his nails cracked and some were broken off. Police took him into custody when he started raving about prophecy and cutting people’s hearts out. Nothing more was ever reported. Not in the papers or on the news, which is strange in and of itself. But that brings me to the strange of this past weekend.

On my way to the diner, I bumped into the guy. The one who dug up the statue. His robe now clean and hands healed. Around his neck, a withered, crusty heart hung from a leather strap. He was handing out fliers and I grabbed on.

New group for the heart broken

Come share your stories of pain and suffering

Meetings every Tuesday and Thursday at 9PM

In room 999 of the old refinery

(Call for special appointments***-***-****)

“Is this some kind of self-help group?” I asked.

He turned to me, thin lips forming a kind of smile. “yes, but I don’t think you have anything to share.”

“How do you know?”

He raised a finger and traced it along my jaw for a second before moving it to his chest. He opened his robe just enough to reveal a giant scar. “I see the scars a broken heart leaves behind.”

I walked away, totally creeped out but also wondering what the hell happened to him and the statue and the digging and the crazy talk. When I turned to question him more he was gone and the flier in my hand had disappeared.

And this was before I loaded up on coffee, so no blaming that.

As usual, keeping you up to date on the strange and unusual.

 

 

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