THE ROOMMATE
Word Count: 444
It began with an invitation I posted as a joke. I mean, where did the man have to go? He was hated by half the civilized world and his own country would surely hang him if he surfaced there. So I twittered that I had a spare room where a deposed ruler might care to recuperate.
He showed up on a Tuesday night without giving notice but as he explained, it would have been dangerous to reply. He looked much shorter in person, though I wasn’t about to say so since there was still an aura about him that was more than a little intimidating. We ironed out the details over a latte I made with my coffee machine, a gift from an old girlfriend. He seemed to enjoy the blend which was one of my own favorites.
His funds were tied up, he explained, and promised me great wealth if I was willing to wait while he re-established his contacts. He gave me a very nice gold chain necklace that with the price of gold rising, I accepted as a sign of good faith. He moved in that night.
He never laughed, never smiled, which I found rather creepy. The first signs of trouble were as you’d expect, arguments over control of the TV remote. He also didn’t care for Chinese or Italian and wouldn’t touch pizza but would pout and mumble and then order in some French. He did drink wine though, and beer. He loved beer. He was adamant about not doing his share of the cleaning and to tell you the truth, was a bit of a slob. His reasoning that he only used the shower once a week defied my subtle hints about his personal hygiene.
It built up to an unbearable scenario and we just couldn’t come to agreement about anything. The smooth charm gave way to childish demands and a general silliness about having his own way. His little slit eyes started to bother me. Days went by where he holed up in his room. I heard giggling sometimes, and I suspect he snuck women in, several, no, many, at a time. After he gave me yet more excuses as to why his connections couldn’t tap into his resources or at least loan him some cash, I finally asked him to leave. I kept the gold necklace. It took a while to get him to physically leave.
He wasn’t a very nice man. The chain, I found out, was only cheap gold-plated. I read in the news that they still haven’t found him. I’m tempted to call and suggest they check the lower East Side.
