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Writer's picturealiya anand

LXXI. Yolks and Cokes and Stupid, Stupid Hearts!

The Little Martian spills coffee down his favourite pair of baggy Irish jeans, soaks his tattered Birkenstocks with a too-sweet cappuccino, and curses all the way back to his desk.


He crosses his legs on his cool, swivel chair that doesn’t feel as cool anymore, and now just feels too fucking swivelly.


I nudge him with my own irritable elbow, “Who pissed in your cornflakes this morning?“


“I had eggs.” He responds back flatly. As if the fulcrum of the universe and all the Martian's emotions fit neatly inside the yolky word.


Eggs.


“Stupid fragile egg yolk perfection. So easy to break so ducking hard to make. I hate human relationships!" Mutters the Martian under his breath.


“Woah woah woah, slow down. What's happening?”


“Nothing. Everything. It's stupid. I feel stupid. I make stupid decisions." The Martian takes a breath. “It's all your fault.” He concludes.


“My fault?”


“You told me to care and open up and all that shit I hate you. “


“Hate is like an eyelash away from love.”


“Well, I hate love.” Responds the little Martian and I swear I see a little tear wobble down his cheek. He swipes at it angrily and continues to glare into his coffee.


I inspect my own cappuccino carefully and shrug. “Me too, broski."


It's 4 pm, and the Little Martian has decided that the only way to fix a stupid heart – the Martian argues that hearts don’t break, they just glitch and act stupid, like toddlers on too much sugar – is through vigorous retail therapy.


He drags me from store to store and empties my wallet till my chest doesn’t hurt anymore.


“I feel like I’m spending my inheritance on knickknacks."


The Martian doesn’t even look up from his triple-layered chocolate mousse cup. Cocoa is his cocaine.


“Does it feel better of wot?” he says, popping the T like an idiot with a stupid heart.


My stupid heart seems to be acting up as well, it caves in and shudders, irritating me with its own flimsy dance.


“Yup." I lie and he shakes his head sadly


“Samesies.” He sighs.


We toss our stupid hearts into our backpacks and try to get on with this whole lovely, life thing.

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