Monday, September 28, 2009

2nd fff as host

this flash fiction friday's trigger was an inclusion clause and i wasn't sure i would make with the packing+moving+grims-stress, but this week we have multiple entries (big up everybody who wrote something this week and our trigger-contributor; doh forget to send trigger suggestions for friday coming) so i couldn't lapse. we even have at least one fff written directly into the comments on the trigger post (abovelinked) so make sure you check it out. and participants without blogs, remember if you want constructive feedback you have to post somewhere public for others participants to read...
this is me, including the words crumb, bum, thumb, rum, dumb:

“i hear at the end of the scrimmage, one man thumb was knuckle-deep in some nex’ man bottom, horse…”
“wha’…”
“tellin’ yuh, dread, i doh business with dem ting at all.”
that thought settled their excitable chatter into appalled silence as they continued walking to the end of the island, holding ground at the very tip of the longest finger of sandy grass and scrub, toes almost in the sea. she giggled to herself, trying to remember how they came to that topic, her random thought associations making her realise she was very probably drunk – but that was the point of rum punch, right? she giggled again at the persistent image of a grassy finger of land tickling an unsuspecting rugby player’s bum.
he raised eyebrows in her direction, but didn’t ask, guessing it would make little sense – he’d been drinking considerably longer and didn’t think he had the energy to make sense of a semi-drunk’s amusement.
they stood still, civilisation at their backs, the whole starry world spread ahead of them, silence shifting from appalled to awed, broken only by the occasional giggle. eventually he dug in his pocket and pulled out a not-quite-cube-shaped bit of foil somewhat worse off for having been squished in there during the night’s journey. she smiled and took the sticky foil package.
“for you. i wanted to get high and stay high whole weekend and not think about...stuff...so i made brownies with some of the bag i bought to smoke. you could save that one for when you go home if you want, we have more back in the tent. for right now…”
he reached into his pocket again and retrieved a bent and battered white stick, tiny brown crumbs clinging to it. he cursed happily, licking crumbs from his fingertips.
“yeah…maybe demonstrating tackling techniques with food and smoke in my pocket was a little dumb. next time you holding since you have a handbag…”
she nodded agreement, stashed her foil and produced a lighter from said handbag, and took the proffered spliff. she put it between her lips, set her drink down and lit up as she sat on the edge of the island, kicking off her slippers and stretching her feet toward the dark water. she patted the ground next to her as she looked back at him, then held out the burning spliff.
“come, sit, doh think about stuff. you doh need she anyway. you have me, you have rum, you have grass, you have as much of eternity as you stick around for in this amazing place…”

he took a long drag and held it, staring out into the milky way, trying not to wonder where in the galaxy or which new galaxy the being he’d thought was his woman had disappeared to.

walk good.

3 Comments:

Blogger Lisa Allen-Agostini said...

yes, miss lady. that was well sweet. i think i was writing channeling you a little bit, somehow i had this staccato voice in my piece that is more you than me. :)
yours is very good, i like the voice as usual, exquisite poetry in the scene, fun and surprising use of the trigger words.

5:18 pm  
Blogger sweet trini said...

thanks, dude- when i started i had no idea where i was going with those words; i see what you mean about the staccato voice in your piece- maybe something to play with? walk good

4:39 pm  
Blogger crazyfool said...

this piece created beautiful imagery for me.

2:42 pm  

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