Flash Fiction

I was going through some old school stuff this morning and found a story I had started writing for my English class last semester. It had some interesting requirements that made for a clever writing assignment. The story had to be 26 sentences, each sentence beginning with a letter of the alphabet, in sequence. One sentence had to be 17 words long, and one had to be a fragment. My incomplete hand-written version stops after letter P, but I may complete it if I have the time.    

 

     A 1992 Toyota Camry drove noisily through the silent night. Beat all to hell, its rusty maroon paint job barely reflected the harsh moonlight. Cold air rushed over the ancient, square-body design. Dimly lit with the artificial light of a cell phone, a man’s face glowed behind the windshield. Electric audio poured from the speakers. Furnishing the back seat were scattered fast food bags and empty soda bottles. Garish beats thumped from the old subwoofer, reverberating through the hard pavement and sliding back into the worn-smooth tires. Hot air fought valiantly against the cold within the car, but died a hand’s length from the vents.
     Into the morning the man drove though sunrise was still hours away. Jagged shadows fled before his headlights. Killing his last cigarette in the ashtray, he exhaled slowly. Little tendrils of smoke escaped his nostrils and dissipated around his head. Making an almost inaudible grunt he glanced down at his phone. Never had he thought that-
     Overly bright red lights blasted through the windshield as he slammed the brakes. Pumping through his veins, a fresh burst of adrenaline heightened his previously exhausted senses.

 

This was as far as I got during the allotted time in class, but I’m happy with the result. Fencing in creative writing with such harsh rules forced me to write in a stylized manner I barely recognize as my own. Inspired by this result, I began a similar yet more difficult experiment while at work. This was 6 months ago or so, but I kept this unfinished project in the same folder. Anyway, this second story maintained the alphabetical structure only this time I tried to include contrasting themes in every sentence. The result was this:

 

    After the icy rain finished polishing the sizzling city, a quiet mist coated the streets. Breathing calmly, the man in the snakeskin jacket shattered the crystalline silence with a single gunshot. Cold and calculated, he stepped from the shiny, soft-lit street into a dirty, shadow-filled alley. Death came slowly to the other man who caught the speeding bullet. Each breath came rougher than the last while his fingers traced the pavement until they found the smooth, metallic shell casing. Forcing a final burst of energy, he raised the spent shell to his mouth and swallowed painfully.

 

I didn’t get nearly as far on that one, and I doubt I would be able to finish it 20 more sentences. Unlike the first story, I know where this one is going. I have a vague idea about who the man in the snakeskin is and I know why the other man swallowed the shell casing. If I decide to continue it I’ll flesh it out into an actual short story. I just wanted to digitize these two little bits of creativity and perhaps get a little feedback. Or even better, inspire you to write your own. Additionally, if you have read this entire post please leave a comment. I’m curious to know how many people, if any, wander over here when I update every three months or whenever. Even if we used to kind of know each other and now we never talk, but you stalked me on Facebook or something anyway and found this, leave a comment - I won’t think it’s awkward. So yeah, make it anonymous if you want, but please leave a comment.

Say somethin’ that you know they might attack you for

 

 

 

Quite Alarming Really

Early this morning my alarm clock acheived a critical hit on my eardrums. The blaring beep beep beep was like the Roadrunner on steroids singing death metal while inside my brain. 6:00 AM – an unholy hour before dawn which is best spent beneath a mountain of blankets. I quickly (albeit groggily) assessed my situation; I could likely make it to work on time even if I slept another thirty minutes, if I rushed. So I reset my alarm for 6:30 and returned to the world of dreams.  I awoke again, this time without the unrequested aid of an alarm, my clock’s demonic, red characters reading 7:42.

“Oh, fuck,”  I thought to myself. On a side-note, most days beginning with “Oh, fuck” don’t usually turn out to be very entertaining. I decided that learning to teleport would take longer than 18 minutes and that I should probably call my supervisor and explain that I would be clocking in a smidgen late this Friday. Fishing my cell phone from the shadows between the bed and the wall, I immediately blinded myself with the tiny LCD. The image that slowly shifted into focus informed me briefly that I had a fully charged battery, more bars in more places, and that the time was 7:14. My world collapsed. What rip in the time-space continuum had caused this nigh-erogenous time-lapse? Of course, what I had done was reset my clock for 6:30, not the alarm. Which is why the beeping never returned to torture me, and why I slept until quarter after seven, which was the real time.

Aside from the obvious snuffing of exciting science-fiction plots and time travel paradoxes that could have enterained my morning, I did receive the priceless gift of thirty minutes. This gift allowed me to enjoy a quick shower, no breakfast, and rainy, rush hour traffic. I did make it to work in a reasonably timely manner.  Victory.

It’s business. It’s business time.

Sunshine, sunburns, and sundry people

Sunshine

     I know many people truly enjoyed this film from both an artistic and entertainment perspective. I was intrigued by both the plot and the minds behind it. It was written by Alex Garland (28 Days Later) and directed by Danny Boyle (28 Days Later, Trainspotting) and consequently claimed my attention. Unfortunately I was dissapointed by the experience. In its entirety it felt like a sci-fi mashup of psychological confinement, morality, and religious controversy. There were a handful of scenes that stood out and it was an interesting character study, but I never truly felt for those characters. Aside from one nice plot twist, the story arc is largely formulaic. And lastly, this was not a film Danny Boyle should have directed. He loves quick cuts, shaky chaos inches from the camera, soft focus and obscure lighting effects. He certainly stylized the film but his rendition took away from the final product. This is not to say I don’t respect the intelligence and creativity of Boyle; I am still looking forward to seeing his work in the future.

Sunburns

    Warped Tour 2007 – Cincinnati – Riverbend Music Center

A fellowship consisting of Lelia, Rob, Carolyn, Megan, Hassan, and myself traveled to Cinci to have our faces melted by high impact audio and sweltering heat. It was an all day event containing over sixty bands, a plethora of overpriced consumable items, and pure, reverberating rock. The main attraction for me was Red Jumpsuit Apparatus. To witness RJA up close one was required to survive the initial bottle throwing battle in the final minutes before the concert (projectiles also included free hardback meditation books and sandles). When the music began the crowd became one giant, living organism. Crowd surfers were tossed about in a wave of hands as they lurched toward the stage. It felt like 120 degrees in the pit, but nobody cared. The mass just reveled in the chaos as bodies slammed against each other and more reeled overhead. When the last chord was finally struck and the final vibrations were silenced the massive organism died and began to dissipate. The guitar picks and drumsticks used during the rockfest were tossed into the crowd along with open water bottles and t-shirts. I was a few feet from where the bassist’s pick landed but it was swept into the mob instantly. I walked out of the oven of people and realized I looked like I had just survived a hurricane. For a moment I feared I had destroyed my cell phone. Despite almost losing my hat and having several human bodies land on me, it was a supremely awesome experience.

 Sundry People

    Wednesday evening was a conglomeration of several bars and adventurous cohorts. The group met and essentially took over Bambi’s, being as nobody else was there aside from the bartender. Then hunger for triple-fried foodstuffs drove everyone to Cahoot’s, where Long Island iced teas were a mere $3 each. To reiterate that, it comes to four shots for $3. Nice! The crowd kept shrinking and eventually became Rob, Lelia, Carolyn, and myself. We found the hidden ally of Hideaway Bar and enjoyed several shots and a few cold beers at the new location. The night continued in a blurry and haphazard adventure of both luck and misfortune including but not limited to:

• Rolling around in Bardstown Rd
• Demanding delicious Frisco Melts
• Pulling an unconscious person from his car
• Evading the police
• Watching sugar gliders devour a peach

The above is the definition of what summer should be.

If you wade around forever you will surely drown

Empty Glass Bottles

Friday evening found me walking along 4th. Street in Old Louisville after dark carrying two fifths of Patrón hand bottled tequila and a handle of Bacardi. Leiz was having an early 21st birthday party at her place. Drinking, dancing, and debauchery ensued in large quantities until the wee hours of the morning. A refreshing crowd of friends both old and new combined with lots of really good tequila made for a transcendental gathering. The sun rose on a floating keg, empty liquor bottles, an unfortunately shattered guitar, and several unconscious bodies, one of which was my own.

After a groggy full day of work, during which I nearly finished Deathly Hallows (nice!), I found myself celebrating Leiz’s true 21st again on Bardstown Rd after midnight. During yet another deja vú bar hopping experience I made a fatal mistake. It wasn’t the first time I have forgotten to close a tab. It was however the first time I had forgotten to close a tab for which the bartender kept my plastic prerogative. So this afternoon I ventured back over to Willy’s. Still tattooed by several bar brandings and looking slightly disheveled, I wandered in to find the daytime bartender.

I located a gaunt, grey-bearded fellow waving his hands dramatically behind the bar. After he finished telling a profanity laden tale about being saved by Jesus Christ to his similarly grey-bearded Sunday afternoon regulars, I inquired about my debit card. While I waited I glanced around at my now daylit surroundings. As if in a parallel reality, hundreds of previously unnoticed details popped out around me. Seeing a dark, crowded bar under the influence of choice beverages is quite the inverse of seeing it nearly empty under sunlight and sobriety.

Fast food…literally

Here are some strange things that have happened in the past 48 hours.

1. I was driving behind a black Acura on Herr Lane when a hand appeared out of the passenger side window and threw a McDonald’s bag into the air. The ridiculous part was that the bag arced, a parabola of fast food chaos, and landed in an open trashcan. We were both traveling at 45 miles per hour, I checked. About two blocks up the trash thrower turned around and looked me in the eye, knowing that I was the only other witness to his feat. We shared the rarity of the event for a moment through two moving panes of sun-glared glass.
2. The aunt of a friend of mine insisted on reading my astral chart. After taking all of my information, she conjured an image on her laptop of several different sized circles all sharing the same center. Astrological symbols skittered along the edges of the arcane rings. She then explained to me that I was immensely creative and that it was imperative that I should travel the globe and get into adventures. I agreed.
3. I was walking diagonally across the dusky parking lot of Sam’s Club after work as a maniacal jet black SUV roared onto the scene. The rear tire promptly smashed a sideways Taco Bell cup, shooting the plastic lid off with a soft pop. A horizontal column of decarbonated soda appeared inches to my left, hovered for a moment, and splashed to the ground.

 Oh yeah, one more thing. I recently told Hassan that I wanted a vault of gold in Gringott’s bank all for my own. With great fervor he exclaimed that he desired this also and that he would smelt a massive, golden testicle. He demonstrated the vast size by raising his arms into the air and caressing the imaginary golden object.

Ninja tactics and wizardry

Everyone knows and appreciates ninjas and their stealthy tactics, but did you know that you can customize ninja tactics for your own use in an urban setting! That’s right, you no longer need to live in feudal Japan to let loose your inner ninja. Saturday’s evening adventures brought me to a bar with a long line to enter and wide open windows along the front wall. My partner in crime had the idea, and a minute later we were within the bar. No wait, no cover charge, as it should be. The celebrated amazement regarding the act of climbing through a window from a busy street and onto a table in a crowded, dingy bar is that nobody said a word. Perhaps the thirty or so potential witnesses in the vacinity saw nothing at all. Perhaps our stealth was that prodigious.

Sunday afternoon I found myself at the local Border’s with the intention of reading a healthy portion of Harry Potter’s newest adventure. I don’t want to buy a copy because I don’t own the first six books, and a lonely book seven in hardback would be an unavoidable motivator to spend cashmonies aquiring other six. So I grabbed a copy six inches inside the main entrance, where a massive bookstand of Harry Potter novels encompassed my reality. I then worked my way to the back of the store in search of a cushy chair.

It turns out the Border’s on Shelbyville Rd. has one cushy chair in the entire store. It was occupied. The only other chair in the store is a wooden horror in the romance section. I was desperate enough for a place to ensconce myself that I would have sat even among the romance novels, their pink covers with shirtless men watching me with unblinking eyes. But alas, that chair was also occupied by a strange creature reading a novel titled none other than Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I found a bench in a location where I could see both chairs, and as I read I would glance up occasionally to see if either of my enemies had departed. Karma was on my side, because not five minutes later, the character in the cushy chair simply disappeared. Without thinking I was suddenly in the cushy chair myself, it was mine, victory was at hand. I settled in to be lost in the world of witchcraft and wizardry.

Minutes later a haggard voice dug into my skull. Ripping my mind from my magical destiny, I looked into the face of death. The Oldest Creature on Earth (TOCE) stared back at me, with a cruel frown and drooping features, this man may already be dead at the time of this writing. Perhaps I was hallucinating, he looked like a man-sized Ent, but I spoke to it anyway. “Excuse me?” I asked, already regretting the request for him to repeat that vile encantation that interrupted me initially. His mouth opened slowly, “I have seconds on that” he said, pointing at my soul. Fear gripped me cold and true, Toce the Ent, Merchant of Death, wanted my soul! I thought furiously, replaying his wretched finger motion in my mind. The book. He was pointing at Harry. I needed confirmation of this, he couldn’t want the book. There were 3 million more copies just inside the front door. Surely even at his age Toce couldn’t have avoided the assault of joyous literature upon entering Border’s. “The book?” I asked, prepared to remind him of the plethora of treasure fifty feet away. “The chair,” Toce said. The lights seemed to dim, he wanted the chair, the only chair, my chair. “Seconds” he had claimed, as if he could not see the 900 page epic in my hands. As if I would not remain in this chair far longer that he could wait, Ent or not. Toce’s evil plan was to use guilt and sympathy for his ancient frame, a vile manipulation to aquire my chair.

His plan had two remarkable flaws. One, the Grim Reaper cannot extract sympathy, and as Toce was obviously a close friend of Grim, I cared not about the comfort of his rear. The second, I don’t care if Santa fucking Clause gave me warm, fresh-baked cookies and requested politely to sit in my chair, I’m reading fucking Harry Potter for God’s sake! I finally replied “Ok”, confirming that he could have seconds, as if I would contact him with necromancy hours later and inform him that I was finished with my chair, and now he could sit. Defeated, Toce switched to plan B and began hovering in my peripheral vision. For ten minutes he remained in the outer arc of my sight before surrendering and wandering away. I had defeated Toce and maintained control of my chair, but my elation didn’t last long. I was already back inside the world of J.K. Rowling, victory forgotten.

In the beginning

This blog slid noiselessly into the interwebs in a rather dreary manner. A manner I assume is similar to births of most other blogs out there. Spawning recklessly out of a need for simultaneous creativity and productivity, Month Zero (an entirely tentative title, I assure you) is beginning on a Saturday evening shortly before I venture out to the local bars. The other reason I’ve brought this abomination before you is because I need to write. I’m now an English major, sort of, and this is my personal project to keep me writing. My hope is that over time it will turn into a witty, sharply satirical ongoing growth with perhaps a dose of inisight. Right now it’s a trainwreck. I’ll keep you posted.