I'm a chemical engineer, not a writer.

I aspire to be that glass of warm water surrounding your hand in the dark.


The suppressed giggle dancing in your friends palms, pressed against their faces.


I want to be the urine in your pants.



I want to be that Saturday afternoon when you clean your couch and navigate your slumbering amigos.



I am the thud in the dryer as you toss a cashmere sweater, the one that you urinated on, into the drum.



I am the thought in your head when your girlfriend yawns, and says stretching, "Where's my sweater?"



But you.

You are the bed-wetter.

Want to comment on this Flash Fiction? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Flash Fiction and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...