I stood by the comic book rack in the liquor store near school looking for the latest X-Men issue. It must be here. It was Friday and the new issues are always here on Friday. There it is. I found it. The last copy. Why had they gone so fast this week? I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t care because I had found a copy.
I stood there flipping through the pages when I heard it. The sound of the bell over the door announcing that someone was coming into the store. I looked up and saw him, Logan Dingleberry. At least that is what I like to call him. Well, not out loud. He has picked on me since the third grade. Not today. I wasn't going to take it. Today was the day I was going to find the courage to stand up to Logan Dingleberry.
“What you reading, dork? He said as he walked toward me.
“X-Men,” you giant pile of dog excrement, I replied.
“Give me that.” he said as he snatched it from my hands. "That's what I came here for."
That was it. I couldn’t take it anymore. Three years of his crap was too much. He continued to talk, but I didn’t hear him. I was too busy searching for that illusive courage I needed to end this reign of terror. Suddenly, in that moment, I realized that the courage I yearned for, was nowhere to be found. Oh well, I guess the Dingleberry, wins again. Maybe there is a copy left at the 7-11 by my house.
I saw this over at bluemama's place and decided to try it. Creative writing has never been my forte, but this seemed like fun. Write a short story using the following parameters.
FLASH FICTION CHALLENGE #1:
The setting: A convenience store.
Length: 250 words or less.
In your story, you must include the following bit of text: nowhere to be found.
Friday, February 25, 2005
Flash Fiction #1 - By Bran
I did not write this, but Bran left this in the comments of my original story and it was so good, that I had to save it for all eternity.
I found myself drunk and having sex in the 7-11 bathroom and I realized that at that very moment pride and self respect were no where to be found. As I stood there, faking enjoyment of semipublic fornication with a stranger, my thoughts took me to a higher elevation of thinking.
“Why is there one tile in the ceiling that does not match?” The tile was not completely off; it was a slightly darker shade of white than the others. If I ever get enough motivation up to write a political novel, I think it will be about the presence of these mismatched but still white ceiling tiles. The classic theme of the white people holding the black people down in this model gas station society; where sex and slurpies and 22oz beer can be sold and purchased. Not that I was getting paid for the sex I was having, but prostitution always makes for a better political novel.
There is a knock on the door followed by a melody of words in a harsh language that I did not understand.
Fuck. No wait. Stop Fucking. Stop drinking. Stop ending up in places like 7-11 bathrooms thinking about writing a book and go home and write the damn book.
“Stop”
“I almost done” the stranger says.
“Almost done is close enough, closer than you thought you were going to get tonight right?” I say as I back away from him and start out the door.
As I fake confidence and stumble out into my new empowerment, I notice the white cashier.
I found myself drunk and having sex in the 7-11 bathroom and I realized that at that very moment pride and self respect were no where to be found. As I stood there, faking enjoyment of semipublic fornication with a stranger, my thoughts took me to a higher elevation of thinking.
“Why is there one tile in the ceiling that does not match?” The tile was not completely off; it was a slightly darker shade of white than the others. If I ever get enough motivation up to write a political novel, I think it will be about the presence of these mismatched but still white ceiling tiles. The classic theme of the white people holding the black people down in this model gas station society; where sex and slurpies and 22oz beer can be sold and purchased. Not that I was getting paid for the sex I was having, but prostitution always makes for a better political novel.
There is a knock on the door followed by a melody of words in a harsh language that I did not understand.
Fuck. No wait. Stop Fucking. Stop drinking. Stop ending up in places like 7-11 bathrooms thinking about writing a book and go home and write the damn book.
“Stop”
“I almost done” the stranger says.
“Almost done is close enough, closer than you thought you were going to get tonight right?” I say as I back away from him and start out the door.
As I fake confidence and stumble out into my new empowerment, I notice the white cashier.
Flash Fiction #1 - That Girl
I did not write this, That Girl did. She left it in the comments of my original story. It was so good I decided to post it so I could keep it for all eternity.
I had a gyro for lunch today and ran out of gum. Therefore I took a cab to the 7-11 in Hampden because I didn't want to lose my parking spot at work.
Once at 7-11, I looked for the Dentyne Ice, but I was distracted by the Frappuccino in the corner of my eye. I walked over to the case to get my extra large mocha Frapuccino bottle, turned around and decided I was still hungry. Monterey chicken taquito will do the trick. Portable, non-messy-fake-mexican-for-a-dollar. Good deal.
As I approach the counter, spot the Dentyne ice, lay all of these cravings out on display with the pride that I'm getting exactly what I need to be happy, I find that I have forgotten my debit card. No where to be found.
SHIT.
I had to save my cash for the waiting cab and I really needed the gum, so I put back the Frapuccino, said "nevermind" on the taquito (which was heart wrenching) and counted out all of the pennies in the "spare a penny" cup to get my gum.
Ha! The minty taste of giving something up in order to get what you want!
I had a gyro for lunch today and ran out of gum. Therefore I took a cab to the 7-11 in Hampden because I didn't want to lose my parking spot at work.
Once at 7-11, I looked for the Dentyne Ice, but I was distracted by the Frappuccino in the corner of my eye. I walked over to the case to get my extra large mocha Frapuccino bottle, turned around and decided I was still hungry. Monterey chicken taquito will do the trick. Portable, non-messy-fake-mexican-for-a-dollar. Good deal.
As I approach the counter, spot the Dentyne ice, lay all of these cravings out on display with the pride that I'm getting exactly what I need to be happy, I find that I have forgotten my debit card. No where to be found.
SHIT.
I had to save my cash for the waiting cab and I really needed the gum, so I put back the Frapuccino, said "nevermind" on the taquito (which was heart wrenching) and counted out all of the pennies in the "spare a penny" cup to get my gum.
Ha! The minty taste of giving something up in order to get what you want!
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