#FlashMobWrites 1×01 : What Kind Of Man

Friday night, and here I am, alone, sitting in my reclining chair, a bottle of Jack Black on the table next to me, and the remote in my hand. She’s been gone five years now. She didn’t even say goodbye. I came home from work and she was gone.

I talk to God, the universe, life, whatever it is that’s there, “Hope she found what she was looking for.” I grab the Jack, turn the bottle up, and drink until it burns so much I can’t feel anything else. I put the bottle down, and try to breathe. “What to watch tonight?”

I pretend to surf the channels, looking for something to watch. A movie, the news, a documentary, I even check the religious stations. “Nope,” I quickly skip through the channels with people praying, “Not drunk enough to deal with it.”

She left me, ‘cause she had to. I didn’t really give her much choice. Kinda hard to live with a dead man, with a stone frozen heart. Between work, and the kids, and the bills, and the yard, and church every Sunday, I kinda went numb, and stopped feeling anything.

I still don’t really feel anything.

I grab the bottle again, and drink ‘till the fire in my throat makes me stop. “No tears, you wimp. No tears.” I find the sports channels, it’s Friday night, I know there’s a fight on somewhere. I settle on a channel airing UFC matches. Men, beating the shit out of each other. Good. I pretend I’m the winner in each match. Pretend I’m the tough guy, beating everyone else up. “Take that, you bitch!” I cheer when someone gets knocked out.

Cathartic release of stress.

I take another long chug of the Jack. After five or six matches, I’ve had enough. They all become the same. So, I go back to surfing the channels, until I find one of those shows about car chases and crashes. Watching stupid people be stupid. That’s always fun. “And after his joy ride, he spent 8 years as Bubba’s bitch in prison.” I laugh every time someone survives a horrendous wreck, and the narrator says, “He returned to the track three months later, only to crash again.”

“More Jack!” I chug more down as I look through more channels. I find the movie channels. Friday night boobs flash on the screen. “Boobs are good.” I watch a curvy blonde sitting on top some generic male, her boobs keeping time with her rocking motion. Too soon, the scene ends, and I change channels again. “There’s gotta be more of that somewhere.”

I end up on pay per view, where I buy, “Hot Navy Wives, And He’s At Sea”. Absolutely no plot. But by that time, I’m drunk enough to deal with it. And I don’t care I’m alone. And I don’t care there’s no one to hold.

By that time, I don’t feel anything.

And that’s how I want it.

WordCount : 493

I wrote this in response to the prompts and song for this weeks #FlashMobWrites Flash Fiction challenge. The weekly challenge is hosted by Ruth Long and Cara Michaels. Please, go read all the stories in this week’s challenge.

#ThursThreads Week 114 : Go Get The Man

I walked toward my car as the voice in my head urged me on, ““Go get the man.” I got in, and drove. “Go get the man,” echoed in my head.

I’d done everything right. Talked with him every day. Went to lunch with him and his friends. Dressed for him. I wore skirts that showed off my hips and legs. I wore as little beneath my clothes as I dared. I showed off my boobs. I knew he saw. I wanted him to see.

I always joined him for lunch I knew all his favorite places to eat. I tried countless perfumes until I found ones he liked. I styled my hair different ways until I found the ways he liked. I even colored my hair red, because it was his favorite. I learned what kind of clothing he liked to see me in, and always wore his favorites.

He knew I loved him.

But he got engaged to her anyway! Another woman he would hold, kiss, sleep with. The thought of him fucking her was the last straw. “If I can’t have you, no one will!”

“Go get the man.”

I pulled my car to the curb outside his parking garage, motor running, and waited. When his car came down the ramp, I floored it.” Go get the man,” echoed in my head as my car tore into the driver’s side of his.

I watched him die. I smiled. If I couldn’t have him, no one would.

249 words

I wrote this for Siobhan Muir‘s #ThursThreads, Week 114. Reading the prompt while listening to music, I knew what to write. This piece was inspired by the song “I Want You”, by Delain. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are good reading.

#12DaysBop : Day 11 – A Feast For The Eyes

It’s Day 11 of Stacy Hoyt’s 12 Days Of Christmas Blog Hop. Only one day left. Today, the prompt is the gift of feast. And I did NOT come up with a big meal…

Ramona was ticked. She had that look that said when I’m done with him, I’ll scratch your eyeballs out, and feed them to you, you slimy worm. I tried again to tell her it was an accident. That I didn’t even know who Julia was.

“That’s no excuse!” I wondered if Dave would be sleeping on the sofa in my apartment for the next week. It was my fault, really. For his Bachelor Party, I took him to Desperado’s. Country music. Beer. And lots and lots of dancing.

She’d walked in wearing a corset that squeezed her in all the right places. and jeans that had to have been painted on. I still haven’t figured out how she got her hands in her jean pockets. I just know somehow she did. “Sweet Jesus, feast your eyes on her!” just kinda found it’s way out of my mouth, as I poked Dave in the ribs. So he looked. And she looked right back at him.

“Dave? Is that you?”


I heard my jaw smack the table, “You two know each other?”

They’d been neighbors growing up. They’d done a lot of firsts together. First date. First kiss. First dance. First sex.

I lost track of Dave after that. My eyes kept feasting on her. Ever line. Every curve. Legs. Hips. Boobs. Tush. God, what a woman! All I remember was sitting there, watching that body. Wishing I was the one dancing with her. The one kissing her. The one she going home with her that night.

I found out Dave did.

Now, Ramona, Dave’s fiance, was ready to run over us with a truck, gut us, and barbecue us in a pit, so she could feast on our remains…

Please go enjoy the rest of the stories in the blog hop. There are some really gifted writers out there. It’s well worth reading their work. You can find the other entries here:

The 12 Days Of Christmas Blog Hop, Day 11 – The Gift Of Feast