“What? You’ve lost my favorite book?”
Sheila was mad at me, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I’d lost her Gatsby in the subway.
“I knew you are irresponsible and dull. Why did I lend you my dearest book?”
She kicked me out of her apartment and told me I could never see her again unless I found the Great Gatsby. Only God knows how much I hate him now.
I immediately went back to the subway station that I had left earlier to search everywhere and ask everybody if they’d seen the book.
“What are you looking for, sir?” a station worker asked.
“A damn book in English. It’s a novel, but not that thick.”
“Is it so important that you are throwing all this dirty trash out of the bin?” He asked in a sarcastic tone.
I didn’t know what else to do, so I just sat there on a blue plastic chair and fell asleep after a few minutes. Nightmares soon snatched me. Sheila was yelling and screaming, and I was weeping like a baby, begging her to forgive me.
“Sir, is this your book?” the same station worker grabbed me out of my bad dreams. He was holding the Gatsby I’d lost. I wiped the saliva off my lips and said thank you.
Sitting in a pizzeria near Sheila’s place, I thought if this was a suitable time to break up with her. Why did she let herself insult me for a book?
My Italian veggie pizza was so yummy that I almost forgot everything about my girlfriend and her annoying words. The black olives and the yellow corns were my favorite.
Damn Gatsby is the first flash I share online since 2014 when my Santa Claus in Iran got published by Shortbread Stories. I use simple words and structure on purpose. English is not my mother tongue, so I tell stories in a way that sounds natural to me.Maysam Kandej