#FlashMobWrites Week 1×27 : Here

I kept hearing that damned song in my head. “Momma told me not to come!” That thing kept echoing round inside my skull, which didn’t make what I was doing any easier. My rational, logical side said, “Momma didn’t ever say such a thing.” Didn’t help at all. That song kept playing over and over.

‘Course, it could be the silly thing was stuck in my head ‘cause I was thinking, “I shouldn’t be here,” and “I’m fucking miserable.”

I felt like some mobster in a gray pinstriped suit, with a matching gray hat, and a bulge under his left arm was next to me, saying, “You got no business here, kid. Leave. While you still can.”

It didn’t really matter what was going on in my screwed up head. I was there. And God Damn-it, I wasn’t going to be the first person to say, “I gotta go.” I’d have walked barefoot on fresh lava before I did that.

Once, I’d have found my way to a corner and hid. Or found a clear path along a wall, and paced back and forth like one of those cartoon characters that wears a hole in the ground. But I’d learned I had to mix in to learn new things, so I found a table with people at it, and sat down.

Which was terrifying. I had to keep my hands on the table top to keep them from shaking. I could have moved them, but they’d have have shook like the tines on fucking tuning forks. I could almost hear them making tuning fork sounds. “Tiiiiiiiiiing!” and “Taaaaaaaaang!” So, I kept my hands on the table and told myself, “Try not to push your hands through the fucking table top.”

I toughed it out, and watched people talk. Watched them drink beer. You know, that shit that tastes like the water left in the sink after you wash the dishes? And they were drowning themselves in it, like it was Diet Coke or something. They kept offering me drinks, “You’re supposed to relax, and have fun!”

“But beer tastes awful to me.”

I’d learned to observe normal people. How they behave. How they react to each other. When they laugh, when they get angry. I learned enough to kinda fit in. I had to sit there to learn more, and get better at blending in.

It sucked to sit there, watching, and at the same time laughing, or smiling, when appropriate. It’s about the hardest thing I do. I knew it would take hours to wind down when I got home. I’d try to explain how it felt, but you either understand, or you don’t. And I fucking hope you don’t. Let’s just say it sucks donkey balls and leave it at that.

I hoped I’d survive the stress long enough to get out of there. But until someone else left, I was stuck listening to Three Dog Night belting out, “Momma told me not to come.”

497 Words

This is my entry into #FlashMobWrites 1×27, hosted by Ruth Long and Cara Michaels. Please, go read all the stories in for #FlashMobWrites 1×27. You might find something you like. But if you don’t read them, how will you ever know?


#RaceTheDate : Muay Thai

Gluttony and Greed sat in the corner of the room. They were too lazy to stand. Besides, it was dark in the corner. The light from the TV didn’t reach them. The three male humans on the sofa didn’t know they were there.

“Oh, this is good,” Gluttony grinned. “Watching the fights, getting drunk, eating chips and queso.” He poked Greed in the ribs, “This is great!” He waved his arms at the three men on the sofa. “Look at them!”

Greed shook his head. “So like you.” He watched the TV screen for a moment. “Do you know what type of fighting they’re watching?”

Gluttony belched. “No. And I don’t care.” He rolled along the floor, stopping behind the sofa. “You boys deserve another round of drinks!” One of the men got up, and went to the refrigerator, returning with three more beers.

“These Muay Thai championships are fun! We should watch more of them!” he said, as he handed out the beers, and sat down. He and his buddies talked, as they watched.

“I wish I could fight like that.”

“Yeah. I’d make the boss shut up. Make him stop yelling at me.”

“Oh, and if we looked like them.”

“Bitches! Bitches everywhere!”

Greed whispered once again, “Keep watching.”

“Oh! That was a good one!” The three men cheered, as a foot met a nose just right, and drew blood. The victim’s nose had a nasty bend in it, with bone sticking out of its side. Cheering for more violence. More blood.

Greed let Gluttony enjoy goading the men to eat more, and drink more. Far more than they needed. “Let them enjoy their entertainment,” he thought. “They’ll pay for it soon enough.”

He smiled. “Oh, yes. They will indeed.”

293 words.

A little story of the Demons I couldn’t resist writing for Cara Michaels‘s Race The Date flash fiction challenge. Hope you enjoy it. Please, go read the other entries in the challenge this week. I find it amazing the stories people can create in 300 words or less.


#FlashFriday #27 : What Happens In Vegas…

As I started to wake up, I remembered the guys had thrown a bachelor party for me last night. I tried to remember what I could, but it wasn’t much. Something about a pile of naked women, and oceans of beer.

My head hurt. Lots.

Realizing I had to pee, I opened my eyes, and noticed I was in my BVDs and a life jacket. Looking around, I saw a boat paddle. Then I realized I was in a wooden barrel. Floating on Lake Powell. Somewhere.

I swear to God, when I get to shore, I’m gonna kill the guys.

250 Words

I wrote this for Rebekah Postupak‘s #FlashFriday, Week 27. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #Flash Friday. They are good reading.

#ThursThreads : But It’s Not Enough…

“Have I told you what an idiot you are?” James let his beer bottle thunk down on the bar.

“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.” I answered. Letting my own bottle thunk down. “Only about a zillion times.”

“Then how come you never listen to me?” James shook his head. He had a valid point. Sometimes, I was just flat stupid. “Turning off your brain cells, listening to your pecker again.” He took a big chug of his beer. “You know that’s always trouble.”

Yeah. I knew. I stared at my beer. Michelle. She was absolutely stunning. Any guy I knew would be happy to call her their own. And she’d been mine. Until I saw Stacy. Sexy, hot Stacy. With those hips that swayed as she walked. Those perfect knockers. It was like my brain cells just quit working.

We had an affair. Me and Stacy. Damn, but she was fun. But, she was trouble too. And I knew if Michelle ever found out.  And she did find out. And I went home one day, and my keys didn’t work. And I couldn’t call her on the phone. And her lawyer walked up and handed me the papers. Divorce. Just like that.

“You had the perfect girl, bean-dip,” James took another chug of beer. “But it’s not enough for you, is it.” He chuckled. “Was Stacy worth it?”

I laughed. Paused. Grinned. “Yeah. She sure as hell was.”


I wrote this flash fiction piece with the intention of posting it to the #ThursThreads challenge today. But, that was not to be. Sigh. So, I’m putting it here, on my blog. All 243 words of it.