five-hundred or less. short stories.

26 Jun

so i am going to put on a few short stories as for some reason i am in a writing mood, which makes me terribly happy. rather than writing it all online, i’m going to scribble it out in my handy-daddy notebook and then post it.  yay everything.

Bananas and Cigarettes.

I sit on the edge of dirty sheets pulled over the body of a used mattress; and those usual thoughts rehash and persist no matter how many pills I take, men I lay, drinks I make… I swallow, no matter the occasion and I frown at sunrise. The night was fleeting like the lust, and I couldn’t stand the morning, the sight of broken needles, bottles and boxers that didn’t belong to me. The stranger and his body crowded my space, his arms flung wide like a bird after its freedom. I lean forward, moving my hand through the pocket of his pants, finding his wallet and I probe through, discovering old business cards, an expired condom and I.Ds that showed him by different names: Ivan, Warren and Dave. He told me that his name was Chuck. There were two twenties, a dozen singles and a picture of his wife and kids; I tuck it all back in. I find what I am looking for in those jeans, sliding a cigarette out of its paper fitting, placing it between my slightly cracked lips. I wrestle with the thought of waking him when his cell phone does the job, buzzing alive. He answers and I immediately know it’s his wife or someone else he loves, he curls and huddles over the speaker and receiver like a campfire. He speaks quickly and ends with a hushed “I love you”. His phone closes and he waits a moment before rolling over to gaze at me. He flashes me those tinted teeth and insists that I get back into bed, beside him. I decline and stand, moving across the room to my empty refrigerator; nothing inside but curding cheese and a blackening banana. Chuck climbs out of bed, in his nude and makes his way close, plucking the cold banana from my hand and eating it down in a presumed pseudo-sexual fashion. I stare at him throughout the action with mostly blank expression. Once consumed, he winks, dropping the peel onto the counter and kissing my mouth roughly. He lifts me and sits me where I am sturdy. He makes a whiny noise at the back of his throat as he kisses my neck and down past my pecks. I take a drag of my cigarette and I consider asking him to just leave. The whiny sound gets louder and he looks up at me for validation, like I did sometimes, after the few times I’d done it. I gave the grin that he wanted as he moved from my hips to my penis; and I shoved my bud down, singeing the skin of the banana with my cigarette.

convertible and backpack

Every few moments my eyes were over my shoulder, checking the oncoming traffic. I kept my thumb up and sturdy and stayed on the side of the road, away from the emerging and submerging headlights in the late September night.
I felt myself slowing down. The hours in the sun had burned away my energy and the night air made me want to sleep. The laces on my timberland boots were undone, hitting the rocks of the Arizonan road, collecting the red dirt –which probably slowed me down. My heavy eyes, heavy backpack and the heavier I’d gotten over the last three months contributed to my sloth, and wanted to just lie on the side of the road until I was mistaken for road kill. I moved on, though my knees started to creak and my hips began to scream about its age. I paused for a second to catch a breath, maybe even more than one.

A horn blew and a car slid to a slow and then stopped beside me. I looked over at the drawn back top of a black convertible and a too thin woman in the driver’s seat. She nodded her head and leaned over, popping the passenger door wide. I tucked my backpack into my lap and plopped down, strapping in. She extended her hand. “Margret” and I responded with “Mike” and a handshake.

I felt the wind against my face as the car blazed down the interstate. The lack of division between me and nature was similar to that of me ambling along the road except less strain on my physical. She said she’d take me as far as Albuquerque. She was headed toward Lincoln, Nebraska and I was headed toward Austin.

Margret encouraged small talk, asking me where I was coming from, heading to and where I was from originally. My responses were short and sweet because my mouth wasn’t ready for conversation. I hadn’t eaten or drank a thing since Tonopah and I’d been walking for miles upon miles.

I winced at her dirty windshield as she changed lanes, wondering how it is that she could possibly see the road ahead. I couldn’t even make out the words or logos for the oasis that would be coming up ahead, nothing beside the golden arches of McDonalds signs. It reminded me of how hungry I was and how I didn’t have a dollar or change to put toward a meal.

She turned on the radio and let it play loudly. She sang along and when she didn’t know the words, she hummed along with the song.

I pulled my bag against my chest, counting the miles toward Albuquerque and kept catching stray glimpses of my sun burnt face in the rear view mirror. will be continued


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