Caution: Wet Floors:

They had been shopping for what seemed like days, but had really been less than an hour. Nothing much had been accomplished, mostly because He was too picky and She 'had no fashion sense.' Her ears had pricked at the comment, but like everything else He said, She allowed it to slide off her back.

A sun shone through bright white puffs of cloud, the sky a sparkling blue. Shoppers of all kinds were taking advantage of such rare weather to shop along main street. Everything from T-shirt vendors to handmade crafts were displayed on narrow tables, lined along the sidewalks. He of course complained that there were 'too many of them' and 'how was anyone supposed to get by?' She rolled her eyes and went to clutch his hand. He jerked it away and gave a look of innocence, as though nothing had occurred between them.

Finally she could stand his snobbish distaste for all apparel chosen no longer. She suggested a rest at a café nearby. He poked his nose in the air and gave a grudging jerk of his head, barely perceptible. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes again.

They had been dating only a few short months. He was 'a catch', being not only handsome, but wealthy, and despite warnings from her friends, She had pursued a relationship. At first he had been charming, gallant – everything any girl could have ever wanted. Soon after their fourth month, however, She noticed his cold shoulder, derogatory comments, and apparent dislike for everything she said. Hoping for the best, she had let things slide, things that had caused even a tear or two. And, despite her friends' urgings not to, she continued to pursue him.

Oh, of course she knew He had other girls He saw, but it was She who was special, was the favorite, the one He always came back to.

They stood in a small line-up that He complained was 'too slow.' She didn't notice as He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at the pretty barista making drinks.

'What are you going to get?' She asked, unsure of what she wanted.

He sniffed distastefully. 'Nothing. This place is not to my liking.'

'Fine' She tried to hide her annoyance at his childish behavior.

'You're no help, you know. Dragging me down here to this unsanitary strip mall was bad enough, not to mention your horrid taste of fashion. Do you really think that I would buy a suit not made in Italy? How disgusting. Why are you wearing that dress? I told you a thousand times that it makes you look fat. Do you want to look fat?'

She felt a tiny bubble of some foreign emotion as her cheeks went red at the mention of her dress. She had received it from him to begin with. Not two months before he had told her it matched her eyes and made her look beautiful. Her mouth gaped open for a brief moment.

'Oh do stop gaping. You look like a fish. Now hurry up and order something.'

The bubble of emotion grew and her heart began to pound as she turned around to face the barista. Placing her order as quickly as possible so as not to get him impatient, she waited for her drink.

A hand suddenly pressed against her rear and squeezed, his breath near her ear in a low, whispered growl. 'After this we should go back to my place – get some tango going, don't you think?'

She swallowed hard, the feeling of his hand on her butt highly embarrassing and uncomfortable.

At her silence he sniffed and backed away. 'No, I suppose you don't think.'

The emotion had grown so that it encompassed her very being now. She couldn't breathe or blink without feeling it.

The barista hander her the drink, which she took with a shaking hand. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively again and smiled the rare-seen charming smile. She couldn't help but notice that it disappeared as soon as the barista turned to greet another customer.

'What is wrong with your hand? Do you have Parkinson's? Hurry up so we can leave – and make it snappy. I've decided I'm driving you home after this. What a waste of a perfectly good day.'

Before she could place it, the emotion grew until her eyes blurred. No longer could the pain be pushed down.

'Stop it.' She whispered.

'What did you say to me?' He seemed surprised and angry.

'I said stop it. Just shut up.' She said, this time with a darkness in her voice that she'd never used before.

He glared. 'Don't even think of speaking to me like that, you ungrateful, ugly –'


'I hate you!' She yelled loudly enough for everyone to hear. Their heads shot up as though someone had shot a bullet. He did not look pleased. She no longer cared. 'Every word you say is never nice; you sleep around with other women while I wait for your phone call; you only want me as some…some play thing! I hate you! Everything about you is repulsive!'

Beads of sweat began pouring down his face as she continued, but She didn't notice, her anger turning into white hot rage.

'I don't know why I've put up with your abuse for so long – maybe I though you would change – but you're a pig! You're a big, lying, ugly, chauvinisticpig who deserves to be…castrated and sent away!'

His face suddenly began to crack right down the middle, perspiration drenching his entire body. The whole room froze at the gruesome sight.

Drip…drip…drip… A small puddle encompassed his shoes and began to grow as his feet and legs began to disappear.

'I happen to like this dress! I don't care if you don't like it, and you know what? I have good fashion taste – it's you who's the snob! You wouldn't know good fashion if it hit you in the face!'

Most of his face had melted and rolled down his slowly melting body. The puddle grew, and she went on.

'You made me think that I was special, but never loved me! You wouldn't even do anything on Valentine's Day! And I don't like the color grey for my apartment, or for anything – I think it's the most disgusting color I've ever seen! And you know what else? I happen to think that not drinking alcohol is perfectly fine for a party! Who cares what people think! Who cares what you think! I just – I just want to be myself again! I hate you!'

The last of him melted into the floor, spreading like slow-oozing jelly. She threw her drink on top of what was left of him and stormed away, finally feeling free from the weight that had been shut in for so long.

A sign sat innocently near the puddle that had once been a man. On its yellow self, in bold black letters it read: Caution: Wet Floors.

This story was written based on a picture I drew in art class. If you want to see this picture ask me for it and i'll send you the link. Thanks for reading! Please tell me what you think!