CRYSTALS AND WRITING
“You know why amethysts are purple?” Keith didn’t let her answer. “Because Bacchus, the god of wine, one day he was bent, you know, on a bender, probably with a jug of Sangiovese in tow. He’s raging drunk and pissed at all mortals, probably just sick of living, you can imagine.” He played the dork role fine but luckily KC thought he looked cute. “So there’s big Bacchus all mad at the mortals when he declares that the next one he sees will be eaten by tigers. Then the beautiful mortal Amethyst comes along, on her way to worship the goddess Diana. Follow? Now Diana didn’t want Amethyst to be eaten by a tiger. They probably had a little lesbo thing going on. Anyway, to save Amethyst from the tigers, the goddess Diana turned her into a clear crystal. Eventually, Bacchus finally calmed down and decided to get off the sauce, so he dumped out all his wine, right, like this one’s for my dead homies, and here his red wine landed on the crystal Amethyst. And that’s why amethysts are purple.” Keith smiled proudly.
“Manganese produces the color purple in amethysts,” KC corrected.
“It’s a mineral. It’s on the periodic table, bro.”
“You knew why amethysts are purple.” Keith pinched KC’s leg. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted to hear your story.” She smiled and tossed her red locks.
“It must be great to be a writer,” dreamed Keith.
“Horseshite. You gotta be outtta ya head. The writer’s life sucks. You spend all your time revising and revising. For what? No one cares. It’s not real. No one cares if you ever write again. In fact, the design of the world is a construct to stop you from writing. Then to add insult to suffering, all you have to look forward to is rejection, fierce competition, no money, and the wackiest business on the planet, publishing. Yeah. It must be great to be a writer.” KC dug deep into her cooler and grabbed a Red Stripe. She popped the beer open with a blue lighter. The bottle cap flew ten feet into the air and then landed on the cement with a twang. “You know what, kid? It is.”