When I first saw him there across the room, my brain and my heart both stuttered to a sudden, grinding, halt.

Could it be?

The man I’ve waited for all my sad life was right here in front of me in this diner where I work. He’s paying for the muffin he ate, and I spill the coffee that I’m holding wondering how I didn’t notice him earlier, sitting at the bar of the diner.

He looked at me out of the side of his eye and smiled half a smile, and I looked quickly away before slipping in the coffee that I just spilled.

This is physically difficult for me to write. I am shitting words out right now. Painful, Chipotle-seasoned sentences are tearing my writehole apart.

When I turn for a second glance, he’s already left the diner, and I’ve already missed my chance. I am such a loser.

I go about the rest of my day doing my same-old job, knowing that I’ll never again see the man I truly love ever again. I wobble to the parking lot, lost in the thoughts of what could have been, when a night-laced voice stops me dead.

“Where are you headed without saying hello?”

I stumble and turn, and there he stands.

Muffin Man.

This reaches a level of language ignorance I am having trouble comprehending. I am having chest pains knowing it’s come from my own hand, from my own mind.

I suppose the capacity to write heinously, like the capacity to kill, is in all of us. 

“I um…uh…um…hello,” I retort smally, knowing that my stupidity will surely send him packing.

He laughs like a wolf laughs at the sunlight, his moon-bathed eyes drinking up my soul.

To realize you can write like this is akin to finding out your uncle is Charles Manson and that he often babysat you as a child. Also he taught you how to throw knives.

“Calm down, sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere. Not without you anyways.”

Oh my God. I looked around the parking lot to see who else he was talking to, but no–it was just me. Unless he wanted to have his wicked way with the streetlight. I shake the silly thoughts from my head and turn around to my Muffin Man.



“That’s beautiful. Almost as beautiful as you.”


“Oh me? Oh…gosh. What would you ever want with me? I’m just a waitress at a diner who spills coffee.”

“I don’t see that. I see a beautiful woman hiding behind her insecurities, waiting for the right man to bring them out. I see a sensual lady who wants to awaken her hungry lover. I see only perfection, only truth, only light.”

His words hang in the air like origami cranes and the smell of acetone around Chinatown. I realize that at this moment, there had been only two people in this world–Muffin Man and Me.

This is an uncomfortable part of my psyche that I never wanted to examine. 

That night in his opulent home overlooking the city, I feel so unwomanly in my jeans and hoodie; with Muffin Man dressed to kill in his tailored suit and probably five-years-worth-of-salary shoes. He splashed his whisky around in his crystal cup, and his molten obsidian eyes ripped away at my shell. I felt like prey; I could see that there was only predator in his very soul.

He crossed the room, his feet playing games with my ears on the cold marble floor and the richly flocked floor covering.

“I love you. I always have. I’ve known that I loved you since before I even met you today at that diner. But, I have something to tell you,” he moans.

“I love you too. Don’t become worried, Alecsandere (as I had since learned was his name), it’s forever me and you against the world.”

“No, no, you need to hear this. You need to know everything about me for your own protection because there’s no telling what I’ll do to you, or anyone else, minute to minute, hour to hour.”

“I will love you no matter what.” I grip his arm firmly in my grasp. Hoping that he’ll feel the love in my arm prodding him to safety.

Jesus Ham-Eating Christ. I’m mad at this. I acknowledge that I wrote it, and I’m still so mad at it. 

He turns away from me, loosing his arm from my grasp. He smashes the crystal against the floor and lighting strikes like the mighty god Thor warning me of impending doom.

“I’m a Grimace.”

I know I should run away. I know I should leave this place right now, knowing what he really is. But I don’t. I won’t. All I’ll ever see is my Muffin Man, cool and calm in that parking lot waiting for me after he paid for his muffins at the diner where I work.

I throw my arms around his middle and he shoves me away. I move closer to him this time, holding tighter though he shoves even harder.

“I don’t care what you are!” I screamed like a proud eagle in the canyon of our love, soaring the bends of our relationship’s trials and tribulations. “I only want you to love me Alecsandere! You are the only person in the world who loves me and can make me happy and who sees me for me!”

He turns, and for a moment, a flash of purple moves across his face, and I do all I can not to flinch at the horror of the reality of the situation that we’re in. He kisses me fiercely, and I slump in his bear-like arms, taken away by the majesty of this moment.

“I just want you to promise me this one thing. I need to know that you hear me, because if you don’t listen, it will ruin literally everything ever.”

“Anything. Alecsandere, I will do anything for you.” He clamps his sexy hands around my flimsy arms and shakes me a few times until I stare him completely in his moon-streaked globes of vision.

“Never, ever, ever go near the Hamburglar.”


And it hurts so much.

Alecsandere G. McDonaldson IV

Ever read anything that angered you so much you threw it across the room? I feel that way when I read Jane Austen, as well as the time I tried Twilight and 50 Shades of Grey.
Favorite Comment From The Last Post:
From Janene: “Came across this name in my travels: Dick Harder. While bad enough, the system displays last name, first name, so he’s Harder, Dick. Went to school with a kid named Flash Flood. His sister’s name was Spring. Imagine hearing, “Would Flash Flood come to the attendance office. Flash Flood to the attendance office, please.” Some parents are just too cruel.”


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