We thought Mr’s spirit lived in half a house. We were wrong. It roamed the halls once, twice, before slipping inside a box of sports trophies. When these were discarded, all that remained of him was a golf tee.
You were not there when we heard it rattling in that box, barking threats. Epithets from the caged, enraged martinet. Oh how the mighty have fallen, we said and almost crowed, but that would have been hubris.
Mr curled his soul around and around like a dog looking for sleep until he was small enough to squeeze into that tee. He did not think we could see him. Quick, get a pen before we forget who this is.
Civil disobedience. That is not what you would have done. We took pleasure in the pen and wrote upon him in letters as large as you please ‘here lies a CHEAT and LIAR’, quietly sniggering.
Is this how it happened, you ask. History has a habit of revision, of rosying in time. Not where I come from. It is triumph, not defacement, truth, not legend that I hold before you.
Atomic Fireballs
One day she decided to change her name from “Ramona, the town busybody” to “Ramona, sentient daughter of the town’s brothel-cleaner”. It would make for better conversation. Not that it mattered with the likes of him, the crazy artist, last of the Impressionists. Her first mistake was believing him. She could never resist the manic ones, earless, pickled on absinthe.
This one pried off his left ear, dunked it in his drink and fed it to her: sugar-coated marshmallow. You might say she was too easy to charm. That’s what loneliness and desperation can do to you.
Ramona, sentient daughter of the town’s brothel-cleaner was quick to cut off her own ear in a bonding ceremony with the artist. She was equally quick to learn he was not the last of the Impressionists. He did not care to discuss it. She wore wax lips and made no mention of his new ear, made of atomic fireballs and sported as a boutonniere. She smelled the sweet red heat of cinnamon and blinked back capsicum tears as she stepped in the room. Fear will do that to you.
The stupidest woman in the world got a run for her money when she met me.
But l’m telling you, stupidity is boring. Bad enough on its own, but when
boredom sets in, oh oh oh, it’s dang near excruciating. I sat around sighing and
nothing got done around the house.
Here, I’ll lend you my stupid man, said the stupidest woman in the world. He
can’t do a dang thing right, but he tries.
That could be fun, I said. Can I trust him?
Hell no, said the stupidest woman. I shrugged.
Trust is overrated. He can be useful, set a table, maybe.
He doesn’t even know what a blessed dessert fork is, laughed the stupidest
woman. I laughed too. I told you I was stupid.
Why don’t you want him? I asked. It was probably a stupid question. Why mess
with consistency? She looked left, right and then leaned to whisper in my ear.
Oh, I said. That stupid? She nodded. I do have my standards, I smiled. Keep
him.
My own heart is made of enamelled cast-iron, so I am a little bit like the haughty lady. Nice work. Please change "loosing" to "losing" and it's very nice work. :-)
"...black liquid that was not quite blood". Nice 'n' creepy.
Thank you.
This is going to be good, even if resolution rings hollow by the second week of January. My resolution has been rolling between COMEUPPANCE and ACCOMPLISHMENT. COMEUPPANCE is the kind of resolution one makes after the Dutch courage of two Cognac Flips. One's bestie shrieks with laughter and admiration. All's well with the world. The other resolution, ACCOMPLISHMENT, well, that's the one to tell your dental hygienist. She will give you a nod and smile and maybe a free toothbrush to get you on your way.
I'm going to write about COMEUPPANCE - that should be no surprise.
I forgot to mention that anyone who wants to put KITTY EARS into their story... dag nabbit, I'll buy you a Cognac Flip myself.
...or if he's not Italian, Robin Ferlinghetti. Oh wait - that's Italian. Jim Irishblood. The door opened. It was the black-clad figure of James Irishblood. "You can call me Jim," he said, but his eyes forbade this.
Leonard d'Abruzzi
More than halfway through TiNaNoWriMo. Cocktails are flowing. In a good way. I listen to music. Lots of it. Mostly I listen to early Modest Mouse, the angrier migrainy stuff. Dirty Fingernails. Doin' the Cockroach. Tiny Cities Made of Ashes. In regular NaNo, I'm at 32,000 and mostly ranting.
In NaNo for real, I'm at 12,000 words. The novel(la) doesn't have any cocktails in it yet, but I'm thinking... chapter titles. So far there's trespassing, therapy, DNA splicing, duplicity and plenty of revenge.
Plot doesn't matter at this stage. It's word count.
When the last of the leftover Hallowe'en candy is gone, I'll start putting a Ti Na No together.
That in itself sounds like a cocktail.
It's Friday night.
Soup and drinks. If it were the 70s, I could say "drinkie-poo", not be arch, and get away with it.
God bless the 20-teens.
Nice 'n' succinct and even poignant.
TRESPASSING
I creep noiselessly into his den to avenge the final sin, the dealbreaker. It’s not what you think. King of Sleaze, he may be. Man-slut of the highest order. But he went too far when he cautioned her, this latest, on her discretion:
When we meet, we must make plans by oral. I don’t want to risk running into you’re spouse again. I don’t want to step into a den of inequity!
I went wild, my lexicon wrecked then, now and for the foreseeable future. By oral! You’re! Inequity! I read his not-as-private-as-he-thought gmail with laughter, but I’ll never be able to look upon those words without shudder. For this alone, I creep snakelike into that den and take everything upon which I can lay my hands: his first wife’s jewelry, framed art, a first edition of Anne of Green Gables, small pieces of furniture, reading glasses, a Canada Goose parka, his new Superga plimsolls. O gasoline to the tinderbox! I pack it all into my minivan, wipe the doorknobs and leave no trace. The night is clear and cold and perfect.
Hello! Thanks for posting! It's raw and tentative both. A good voice. :-)
I like this line: "My day is wiser spent on earlier hours: when I can do all within my power to be ready before they rise, others into the light"
Nice writing, WritingNow!
Thank you for adding Miniature Literature to Flash Fiction Fridays!
"Then that smirk so smug he could just wipe it off her face." That line is a story in itself. This is a delightfully faux-playful story.
I hope you take this week's challenge and write about jealousy or envy. :-)
I like this: "She only making him realize, breath arrested". Evocative. Thank you for posting this tiny romance.
You are lucky if your emotions feel cut and dried. Alas, for me, it is not so.
I encourage you to write a tiny story, confessional or otherwise, about either emotion, as distinctly or indistinctly as it appears to you.
(As a neighbour, I may feel somewhat entitled to that barbecue if I can smell it. If I am not invited, it feels like a taunt. )
Leptis Magna
As far as definition goes, yes. The distinction blurs when it is applied to a real-life situation. (The smell of barbecued ribs wafts over the fence. Am I envious of my neighbour's barbecue, or jealous that I'm not invited? Either way, there's a pang of fulfillment lost.) Joseph Epstein wrote a slender book called Envy. I enjoyed it. It wasn't ponderous, but neither is a barbecued rib won or lost.
Leptis Magna
You might consider posting more, if it is from a larger work. Vengeance is a favourite theme. I am currently writing and illustrating a long story all about very nasty revenge and will post excerpts here. :-)
Leptis Magna
Taut and full of unspent fury - good work!
Leptis Magna
It is about a woman who is entertained by sweet and awful revenge, but has not had enough of it herself. She remembers someone who wronged her and tries relentlessly to do away with him, but he keeps surfacing. Even when she sets up a collision with an 18-wheeler, and you know she's the one who did, she suspects it may not be enough to satisfy her sweet tooth, her appetite.
Thank you for your kind words!
Good name, too. Stream.



Miniature LiteratureWEEKLY CHALLENGE of May 1 - 7: "Somebody who deserves your wrath"May 09 at 11:57 PM