Damning Words Made of Rust, Never to be Seen

The words are rust on a platter and obscured among a million other bytes of data. The platter is firmly screwed into a hard drive and the hard drive sits in a box under Beth’s bed. If the platters still moves, if it still reads, if Beth has the foresight to own the proper adapter, she might find a .rtf. It’s a bomb on a four gigabyte hard drive and it’s poised to destroy us if it’s found.

It was a different time when Windows 98 was king and no one I knew had a password on their machine. I would sneak in and write silly things, stories mostly. That’s where these words started then about a hundred backspaces later I was writing a confession. It was in bold red 14 point Papyrus and looked tacky as all hell. For five hundred words, I write of ass and tits and all those other things I told myself this thirteen year old girl had. It’s pretty much graffiti but that’s not why the hard drive scares me.

Somewhere in there my thoughts warp as if affected by sudden heat. I start to write about your chapped and awful lips and I can’t think of anything more I’d want to kiss. Then I think of those diamonds that were in your teeth and I realize that those were braces that I was staring at. I had seen one of the great horrors of dental plans and came out more enamored. Being a man of stupid convictions, I saved, closed the window and walked away.

Every time I’m in her room, I look at that box of components past underneath her bed and I think, if she just gave me 5 minutes I could get rid of that old hard drive and she’d never know. Of course, she’s given me 10 and 20 before, so I wonder how much of my stupid convictions I still have left. She never will plug that ATA hard drive in again. Maybe, that makes me sad.

Mary you still warp me.

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