Tagged: flash fiction
Ninety Shades of Green
For Janet.
“Oh God, yes! I do, I do,” I confessed, closing my eyes tighter.
Opening my eyes, I could see disbelief in his baby blue eyes as they maneuvered to find my eyes through the tendrils that now covered them. Never having the courage to broach the subject myself, I instantly affirmed his suggestion. After so many years, I was still unable to resist his eyes–those intense, honest eyes.
Immediately, I regretted everything. What if I was wrong? What if this is all he was really after and after he got it he was going to leave me? No. He wasn’t like that. Not this one. At least that’s what I told myself in order to sustain the warmth that had come over me.
“You ready hon? I don’t think I can wait any longer,” I half-heard him say.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” I answered, trying to hide my excitement. I wondered if he knew how excited I really was. I felt like a volcano about to erupt. Just think of it. No, I couldn’t think of it. Just the thought of it was too much.
“Michelle! What are you doing up there?” I later heard him call from across the house. I was so thrilled that I didn’t even realize I had stopped buttoning my blouse and taken a seat on the edge of our bed. Flushed, I stood up, straightened my skirt, finished buttoning my blouse, looked at myself in the mirror, pulled the comforter back to perfect, and headed down the hall to the stair case.
“I’m here. Sorry, I still can’t believe this is finally happening,” I burst.
“Geez. If I would’ve known you were into this, we could have been doing this for years,” I heard him say with his decisive, genuine voice; a voice that reminded me why I loved him.
The way he was standing, so far below me, head tilted up, slightly turned–it was striking.
“You’re sure you meant it?” I couldn’t help but double check, feeling ashamed for infecting the moment with doubt.
“Yes. Wow. You really are something. I’m just sorry it took me 35 years to ask. Why didn’t you ever say anything all these years?” he inquired.
“Oh, I don’t know.”
Dirty Car?
For Preston.
“Alrighty. I’ve got the car towels, window towels, soap, vinyl cleaner, leather cleaner, leather conditioner, window cleaner, gloves, plastic belt, long sleeve shirt, hat, and comfortable shoes. Most importantly, I’ve got a winning attitude,” he said aloud to no one. What he wouldn’t utter, even to himself, was his plan.
The roar of the turbine-engine-sounding blowers startled him out of his daydream. “It’s go time,” he thought to himself.
As soon as the car made its way from the tunnel to his side he went to work. First the exterior, then the wheels, then the inside. “Wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am,” he proclaimed to himself, whip-cracking the ground with his damp towel. “Ford, ready!” he called.
A gentleman walked his way. Standing ready at the door, he surmised he’d get a decent tip.
“Thanks for coming in today. Have a great day,” he said, his voice without expectation.
“Thank you,” the gentleman replied in kind.
Closing the door, he walked empty-handed around the back of the car. Checking that the driver wasn’t looking, he ducked low. He only had a moment to decide. “Fuck it,” he said, the purr of the exhaust causing his heart to race. He opened the back door and quickly slid across the back seat until he was directly behind the gentleman.
Noticing the intruder before the pain, the gentleman released a terrified gasp. Struggling to get a word out, the gentleman realized the trespasser had thrust a knife into his right side and was now yelling, “Drive! Drive you cheap, ungrateful, son of a whore!”
The tires smoked as the car launched forward. Forgetting to follow the generally accepted “stay on the pavement” rule, the gentleman sent the car straight ahead. The incision lengthened an inch as the car jumped the curb. The assailant felt this unexpected delight and thought, “Serves him right.” Filled with a boyish excitement, he maintained his grip on the ribbed knife handle and twisted frantically, as if he discovered suddenly that the door to the room in which he planned to hide from an approaching devil was locked.
“Now, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to drive. You’re going to drive until you’re dead. You are dying today, and I am the man who is going to kill you. There is no chance to change this course of events,” he dictated, calming at the sound of his own voice.
“Wh-what? Why?” the gentleman asked.
“Don’t ask questions,” he said, pulling the knife and some entrails out of the gentleman’s side.
“Mother!” the gentleman cried. “I’m sorry kid. Whatever I did, I’m sorry.”
“Ha. Arrogant to the end, eh? Like anything you did deserves death at the hands of a car wash kid? No. Call for your mommy, call for your daddy. Tell me to pass a message to your wife and kids. But do not believe that this is about you. This was never about you. This is about me. The only thing I want you to regret is your choice to get your car washed today,” he said, plunging the hunting knife into the gentleman over and over again until the vehicle crashed into a billboard which read, “Dirty Car? Stop in Today for $10 Off Our Standard Wash’n’Vac Service.”
Winning’s Shimmer
Before he knew it he noticed he only had one blue and one green ring left in his cereal bowl. Looking towards her, he saw he was clearly going to win. Coming at the rings from the side, he lifted them out of the milk with one experienced motion. After removing the spoon from his mouth he shocked her with the news.
“Guess what? Looks like I win.”
“Huh uh, daddy. I’m gonna win.”
“Nope. I already won. Don’t you understand? You can’t win.”
“Huh uh, daddy. You don’t get the trophy.”
“I most certainly do get the trophy. I do. Don’t you see that I won? You always tell me very clearly that when you win, I lose. Well, today I won, and that means I get the trophy.”
Her tears really didn’t bother him until the sound of their creation became deafening. And that only happened as he grabbed the trophy. Not a total arse, he put the trophy back on the table. After all, she was only three-and-a-half. The roar softened to a whimper.
Taking his bowl to the counter, he kept up the banter, making sure she didn’t miss the lesson. He came back and saw she was finally done.
“Can I have a little bit more?” she asked, making the universal sign for ‘liddle bit’ with her thumb and forefinger.
“You can, but you need to understand that this only further proves that I won. Having more cereal after I’m already finished means that even if you had finished the first round before me, you still wouldn’t have won today. Today, I won and you lost. Don’t worry about it. There’s always tomorrow.”
She nodded to placate him.
He watched her finish her second helping. Now carrying her bowl, he made his way around the corner into the kitchen. Upon returning to the table, he noticed she was gone. Her bedroom was in direct line-of-sight only 15 feet further from him than the table. Sensing movement, he peered into the darkness and recognized the little girl. “Why the hell is she standing in her bedroom in the dark?” he thought to himself. His eyes adapting, he saw a shimmer of gold–center mass. Moving only his eyes, he looked down at the table. The trophy was gone.
“Like they say, ‘If y’ain’t cheatin’, y’ain’t tryin’.’,” he thought to himself in a southern accent, smiling proudly.
Thinking It Was Not Worth The Energy
Thinking it was not worth the energy it would take to say “bye”, he looked simply looked at the screen to confirm the call was over.
With an uncommon hunger for clarity, he mindlessly walked to the kitchen. “Hah,” he chuckled, expelling a little air from his lungs, amused that there were always dishes in the sink.
Today should’ve been a good day. He had accepted a new job.
But now? Now he just wanted clarity. He had to trust himself. “Focus man. Focus,” he lectured himself. “Just like you, she’s hurting. You know the truth of the situation. You know what you value, and you know how you came to value it. Look to the Truth. The solution is living in the present. Don’t let yourself get distracted. You know how to filter out the chaff. The conversation was just chaff. Filter it. Filter it.”
Before he knew it, he felt the stainless steel faucet handle, cool and sterile, giving in to his fingers request. The pot, soiled by left-over spaghetti sauce, filled with warm water.
“Time to do the dishes,” he breathed, his energy building.
She’s A Djeeen-yus!
“Trees,” she said in response to the prompt he gave.
After hearing “I see…” and seeing his finger point to the cars on the page, she responded, “Cars.”
He turned the page. The next page had two scenes. In the first, the main character painted a wall blue. In the second, the main character’s friend colored the wall red with a crayon. He continued the challenge-response game.
“I see…” he queried, pointing to the blue.
“Paint,” she finished.
Smiling ear-to-ear, he chuckled. “Ha. Good. I would have also accepted ‘Blue’.”
Walk of Shame
Her elbow as the hinge, her hand lowered the phone to the bed after she finished her morning dose of Dieter. She pushed the sheets off her body, bumping him, and climbed out of the bed.
Pulling her underwear followed by her pants over her hips, she remembered feeling the electricity of his fingers as he took them off only hours ago.
Fully dressed, she closed the door to his house and began her walk. Thinking about the night, she recalled her surprise at his home’s level of décor. At the bar, he was nicely dressed, but so were most of her other conquests. She discovered early on that not many men had the stamina to match the presentation of their home to the presentation of their body. But he did. She liked that.
She recalled that the wine he served her was remarkably smooth. “Then again at 2:00 am, (or was it 3?) what wine wasn’t?” she laughed to herself. They drank it in his wine cellar before he led her upstairs. She remembered thinking that she didn’t need the comfort of a bed. Loving how he was so in control, she willingly followed.
Already 9:00 am on a Sunday, she was sure everyone driving by could guess how she spent her night. After all, her hair was disheveled, she was in heels, and her clothing was not exactly the type women wear for a coffee run. Let them wonder, she thought. They would never guess everything. They would never know her feelings for him. They would never suspect that afterwards she turned his head–always heavier than expected–so the draining blood wouldn’t soil her half of the thousand count sheets as she slept it off.
Captain’s Log 