Short Fiction
The Diary of Self-Doubt
A short fictional story
I slither, I creep. I wait until you’re about to slumber.
I don’t care about when, where, beauty or age. If you’re a budding CEO or struggling to pay the bills.
A single moment of ballooning happiness can be burst by just a sliver of my presence.
A bride awaits, pampered and proper, hair cascading down her back, veil propped up in the right position. The photographer clicks-clicks-clicks, getting his fair amount of jollies, internally boasting about how f*cking good these photos will look. If this bride and her mother don’t cry when I show these then I’ve truly lost my touch.
I lay in wait, more patient than the bride, watching, ready to make an entrance at the right moment. A bridesmaid already done up, but just the right amount of done up, somewhere between prettiest of the uglies and girl-next-door innocence, enters. ‘It’s started to rain.’
The bride whips her head around, despite her mouth being full with a cheese and cracker, she shrieks like a hideous strangled swamp creature.
The ever-cocky photographer begins to sweat, side-eyes the mother-of-the-bride, wondering if she can see through his sh*t eating grin, knowing he can’t pull off a photoshoot in the rain.
If I had hands I’d be dusting them together, a job well done.
I slither, I creep. I wait until you let your guard down.
A subpar finance man throws back another scotch at the bar, eyeing off a woman sitting diagonally across from him with two of her friends. He’s with a work buddy who's gone for a piss, and who warned him against hitting on the law students without him there.
Screw that guy. Do it.
He stands, straightens his tie, checks his breath. Bruh, it stinks like the last three glasses of scotch you’ve just guzzled.
The women make eye contact and stop chatting, like they know exactly what he’s planning to do. Suddenly the whole world is watching. One leans into her friend’s ear and says something, they break out into a giggle, all the while still locking eyes with him. Their expression of mild entertainment and disdain was enough to tell him don’t bother. They grab their bags and stand to leave.
He hates himself just that little bit more than he did three seconds ago.
I like this self-loathing buffoon, think I’ll stay a little longer.
I slither, I creep. I wait until you’re relaxed with no plans.
A twenty-something music student settles in for the night, a tea and a blanket, her poodle-cross of a mutt at her feet. She’s mindlessly flicking through her streaming service, her wide and bright eyes reflecting the changing colours of the TV.
Though her face is blank, she’s actually glad for it to be the end of the week, music exams almost over. One to go, you’ve probably failed most of them …
And there’s my in …
Anyone on the outer looking in, or if a fly on the wall, might observe a nice, quiet night in, a treat of self-care for someone who’s worked hard.
But I can see it all. The wheels turning, the cogs grinding, the echoes of worry in her mind bouncing around one another like bingo balls. Her pupils dilate, her pulse quickens, her jaw sets in a hard clench. Then …
Spoken aloud, as if she can see me, feel me, sense me there … ‘GO. AWAY.’
I stagger, I cringe.
‘Get. Out. Of. My. Head.’
She smiles, takes a sip of her tea, finds something to watch and lets self-doubt be but a fleeting moment, nothing more than a silly thought.
You can find me on Instagram — pop over to say hi. Be sure to also check out Short.B.Read publication for short stories and articles on writing tips. I co-curate SBR with writer and editor (and sister) Melissa-Jane Nguyen.
