Sunday, August 27, 2006

early-ish fff

i feel so early, getting done before sunday night's out. i might get disbarred from being trini.
and yes, i have another, non-fff post in the works, but i'm writing something else for deadline that i hope (desperately) to parlay into something important, so everything else but paying work is on hold...
but fff's valuable to me, and this one helped clear the path through my other piece, so it was a worthwhile break.
big-up jj- i break for flash fiction friday #50:

"And then, by God, I killed the son of a bitch."
reading those last words threw his mind back 9years as if no time had passed.
his hair was back and better than ever. he’d known all along this was what triggered the loss – he’d felt the difference in his follicles waking up the morning after.
this was strange, though – he was aware he’d dropped back, and had his future knowledge available to him. was he supposed to try to change things? why else would he be later-conscious?
once he was done checking out his favourite side-effect of dropping back, he went back to the living room where he’d dropped the book. he knew better than to leave his gate unattended. he’d also known well enough to make sure all his notebooks were pocket-sized.
he stopped to think through the facts at his disposal, current and future:
he was later-conscious.
he was back just before the kill.
he needed to grab some pomade at the store.
he had his gate, whenever he needed it.
then the questions:
was he here to stop the kill? what would happen if he met himself?
then the reality kick-in-the-head:
he shook it off with a quick step over to his cigar box. he sat in his big chair with the box on the arm, lid ajar, and took out his fire and his father’s old wooden pipe, smooth and glossy, already packed from the small bowl that fit so neatly under the grinder. this was back when his shit was impeccable. he was already starting to feel like his old self, just observing his stash.
just as his visual and olfactory appreciation peaked and he leaned in to partake, thinking to soften the scene he knew he was back for, the door flew open and he watched his face register shock, then fear.
damn. why didn’t he check the clock? he was supposed to know better.
without time to think further than what was already in motion he lit the pipe.
as the puff of smoke dissipated, so did he – in the chair and in the doorway.
the son of a bitch lived.

walk good.


Blogger The Peong said...

Love the time travel! I suppose its good that they/he didn't negate all existence.

1:56 pm  
Blogger Writeprocrastinator said...

Niiiice twist!

8:10 am  
Blogger angel said...

bucking frilliant trini!
time travel and its complications fascinates me- i loved this piece!

4:50 pm  
Blogger crazyfool said...

sometimes i think you may be too good at this. wonderful work.

5:18 pm  

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Monday, August 21, 2006

vampires on a train- an almost fff

big-up jj for taxing us this week, by continuing to call this thing flash fiction, but requesting use of the hero's journey in 3acts. as a result, this is neither flashy, nor within deadline, but after all that work and weeding, i wasn't gonna not post it. fuck that.
and yes, i'd describe shit more if brevity weren't such a difficult target this week, and yes, i also admit that when the goal is brevity+creativity by deadline, it'd be nice if i achieved @ least 1 of the 3- but in my defense, i apparently can't read, and when i checked our assignment on friday i thought the hero's journey was optional, and quite frankly, wasn't gonna. so i'd set aside a little of sunday/monday for this project, then discovered neither block of time was enough, and the phone's ringing off the hook so far today...
so to compensate a tiny bit for this being mostly format with a few words hung on it like too-small fig leaves, and especially since i missed fff#48 on that v.a. beach trip, in a nod to last week's unwritten fff, i threw in a little sacrifice:

Vampires on a Train.
sitting quietly, ashen. in rows on benches in musty cabins, leaned back, trying to melt into the shadows on the walls behind.
the vampire express had run forever – not that any of us could verify that – but we could tell it’d take another forever before it carried them all back. they were so many that they’d been unable to hide, overrunning the planet, leaving swathes of empty darkness where they’d laid waste to entire colonies. the few colonies who’d managed to keep them out had banded together, our best and brightest designing the pre-emptive vaccination that made us their kryptonite. then there was war.
the world was relieved when the agreement was reached, and the express started shuttling. that was forever ago.
now that it was our turn to hold up our end, we had no idea what we should do. there was no history to look to, no precedent to follow – when the agreement was reached the leaders thought they’d have sent them all back on the express – one-way, with no means of return – well before having to fulfill promises.
now here we were, delivering up our son as sacrifice to the unholy gods – and what else were they, immortal would-be puppeteers – to save the diminished masses.
none among us had ever ridden the express. being the first seemed a dubious honour.
we’d tried to fight it, but there was no way to win – who were we to hold everyone to ransom over one life?
we boarded, eyes downward, trying to be still enough that our blood might cool. we felt the stares burning holes through us, searching our veins for value. he cried then, the first and last time since he’d been told he was saving us all. he begged us not to make him do it, and all we could do was tell him we loved him the more for it, that he’d be the most loved among us forever.
once we got settled the door whispered open for one of them who was also one of us – we didn’t understand how he could be possible, but when the others almost destroyed the train car to get to us and we knew he was the only force between us, we didn’t care about his species. we watched the metal box around us crumple from inside a snow-globe-like shell, our son forgetting this was not an adventure he could return to tell stories about. we asked no more questions, just accepted that this was the angel our son insisted he was.
the angel stays with us for the rest of this journey and his presence comforts, except for his eyes’ concession that this is only the beginning.
we disembark cautiously, conscious of our alone-ness. we look to the youngest and least experienced of us to lead. he must know the way.
he starts moving without a word. he’s stepped into his role as if engineered for this landscape. we follow hastily, struggling to keep up with youthful legs that walk this path with the certainty of a longer lifetime. he doesn’t look back. we realise that we are now merely his witnesses.
as watchers we see him navigate his journey, taking pitfalls in stride, learning the lessons failures teach, led ever northward by his internal compass. we see him choose his battles along the way and feel he’s become his own angel.
then she comes in the night, stark and stunning, bringing visions of what he could have with her, what he could be with her, forever. she shows him the life he knowingly forfeits by continuing to follow instinct’s lead to his ultimate purpose; the life that could be his, should he choose his life over the others. and she shows him much more – she knows the meaning of his dreams, so vividly lingering in the days since this began. he learns and grows in her light, becoming a man as we watch, thankful for each glimpse of what he’d have become.
she empowers him, but must necessarily try to persuade him to stay with her, and we watch him fight his ego to keep forward momentum. their combined power could have been awe-inspiring but he knows his quest is the only thing. he must continue as surely as she must try to keep him.
he makes his way directly to the centre. he’s never stopped – the angelic presence lingers like his dreams, seeming to mask our own existence – none of them notice us as others; none of their senses pinpoint life walking in their midst.
when we get there he lets us know that it’s time. now he is the parent and we the children, but in another moment we will be the ones in control. our relationships are fluid now, shifting as each phase in this history we write comes to pass.
he climbs into the marble throne and sits, regally, growing into the place carved out for him by the moment. he pulls the blade out from what seems like nowhere and holds it out to me. i am the servant, he the master, but i will be the end of him. we feel the hum emanating from the other end of the tiny drainage system that is the only decorative detail on the massive throne, and know that the time is well nigh. they are ready, their machines are ready, the system is ready to be satisfied. all i have to do is use the blade to spill him into the network of miniscule channels, taking the answer to their unquenchable need for life to fuel the undead forever.
i lean into him, ready for the sacrifice.
he asks why i have abandoned him.
i lose my resolve. he is my child and this is not what parents do – i might as well be one of them if i do this deed – are we worth saving if this is what we demand of each other?
he asks again and i have no words to explain. i do what i know i must, slicing as gently and delicately as my shaking hands will allow. it’s over so quickly.
i lift his limp, drained body down and wonder what to do next. i hold him in my lap. his mother tries to fill her loss with her tears while i think how warm he still is, and how his warmth is connected to the steadily rising hum of the machine and the almost-life it supports – he remains warm in spite of sacrificing his internal source of heat, and they remain cold in spite of assimilating his life.
i look up from what remains of my family and into his angel’s face. i’m suddenly struck by how much his angel looks like her, the one who explained his dreams. then i see that they are all one – our son, his angel, his temptation, all share the same face – if we’d taken our eyes off him we would’ve seen it, but until now everything looked like him because he was all we saw.
they approach, dual incarnations overlapping and coming together as one as my eyes focus. he kneels at the body in my lap and closes its eyes. he holds his mother while she cries, never telling her it is himself, but waiting for her to open her eyes to her grief and discover him – alive?
as the question resonates in my mind i see the ashen pallor and realise that the sacrifice has been made successfully. his mother will see him again, but not truly alive.
he takes us below, under the centre, showing us what his life was worth. we see them already feeding off a million blank versions of him, each vacant face a perfect replica, lacking only the spark of true life. these carry his blood, but are merely vessels to produce and pump a neverending supply for the hungry, still arriving in droves on the vampire express.
we try to make him come back with us, but know his place is in this world now.
eventually we leave.
going back we’re the only ones on the express. none of them can ride it in this direction – part of the agreement – and now that we’ve delivered their savior, they don’t need to. their irrigation system’s mainline is tapped into the source. his dna was perfect for them, and the engineering and cloning were simple enough, so we gave him up to pre-empt the harvest of us all.
we return to no empathy.
we dream of his return, but know that he is beyond the parameters of our world. we know them but can never be of them the way he is now. although we’ll never see him again, any time we think of him we will know he’s out there.
he will be. forever.

walk good.


Blogger The Peong said...

Wow! Just wow!

This is so unlike anything you have ever written. It's fantastic. You don't need anymore description, it works so well as is. Great work!

3:44 pm  
Blogger mamalujo1 said...

Nicely done. I can see why (and I'm glad) you wanted to get it posted. Thanks!

9:32 am  
Blogger angel said...

brilliant, fabulous, spookie, scary, vivid, suprising, LOVED IT!

3:48 pm  

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Saturday, August 19, 2006

of female empowerment and midgets shopping

so the other day a brilliant woman's (private) blog led me to an article about brilliant men betraying significant others, and this other brilliant woman commented on the fact that the article relegated we women to mindless conquests of said brilliant men, and didn't investigate the tendencies of we brilliant women- and she's right.
when i read the article it never crossed my mind, i guess because i'm already used to compensating for the world. my mind automatically inserted all the appropriate he/she's and (s)he's and him/her's and i simply assumed that it all applied to us too.
maybe that's giving myself away too much too easy.

completely separate story:
i must big-up kelvin farley @ the pac-sun in montgomery mall (m.d.) for being man enough to spontaneously invent a midget story for my personal entertainment. i was in there with a friend the other day and commented on the ridiculous height of their checkout counter (about 4feet, thus chest height on me, making it impossible to sign a receipt with any degree of ease) and kelvin jumped right in with a very involved tale of back in the day when the counters were regular height and a midget pulled up outside in a clown car with 20-ish friends (yes, inside the mall) and came in to try and return some pants (too long?)- apparently the pants were unreturnable, @ which point, according to our boy kelvin, the midget whistled for the rest of his midget posse, who bum-rushed the store, jumped up onto each others' shoulders and vaulted over the then-lower-counter, and assaulted the employee @ the register.
i was duly impressed with kelvin farley's innovation and have decided to share him. he says he's nivlek2004 @ myspace, which i've never been to and prob'ly never will because i know where to find him in person, but if you interested, now you know how to find him, too. i found him very entertaining as we meandered through his store, and you might enjoy him.

i'm working my way back to regular blogging- this next week i'm home writing for a project that i hope will place my collection of short fiction right where it needs to be. i'm prob'ly wrong, but i can hope and write with purpose for this, so it should be good for the blog too...
walk good.


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Tuesday, August 15, 2006

the jewish mother

big up blake chipok @ the v.a. beach jewish mother- and sorry about the unexplained silence, we had a wedding down that way- for knowing where the nearest headshop was, even if it was too far for my purposes.
and jon stewart just had sam jackson on talking about snakes on a motherfucking plane, and by the time jon told sam he was his favourite actor, he was mine too. that shit was too funny.
talk soon. walk good.


Blogger JJ said...

I so can't wait until the end of my 12 week alcohol free zone so I can go to the drafthouse and watch SOAP. Actually, I will probably have to fall off the wagon one night.

3:10 pm  

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Friday, August 11, 2006

at the risk of making grims think i'm trying to tell him something i'm not... could i not post this after last night?

Your Ideal Relationship is Polyamory
You want to have your cake... and everyone else's.Which isn't a bad thing, if everyone else gets to eat too!You're too much of a free spirit to be tied down by a traditional relationship.You think relationships should be open and free, with few restrictions.

walk good.


Blogger JJ said...

I think that's only legal in Utah

2:53 pm  

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Thursday, August 10, 2006

getting back in the habit

ok, so it's more like semi-regular posting.
but here's something that made me smile.

You are a Brainy Girl!
Whether you're an official student or a casual learner, you enjoy hitting the books.You know a little bit about everything, and you're always dying to know more.For a guy to win your heart, he's got to share some of your intellectual interests.A awesome book collection of his own doesn't hurt either!

that said, i hear that brilliant people always betray their significant others...hmmm...good thing grims keeps me busy...
big up stacy-marie for keeping me entertained, late-night.
walk good.


Blogger crazyfool said...

youre brilliant.

9:44 am  
Blogger The Peong said...

This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

12:09 pm  
Blogger The Peong said...

What you tryin to say fool?

12:29 pm  
Blogger sweet trini said...

now, now, boys...

walk good.

9:41 pm  
Blogger Kari said...

Not to be a feminist here, but I find it curious the article didn't look at both sides of the coin. There are, after all, brilliant women as well. Are we prone to infidelity too? (Yes, I did say 'we' b/c I'm one and so are you - brilliant, that is, not necessarily prone! :))

1:55 pm  

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Monday, August 07, 2006

i love jj

i know i said there'd be posts other than flash fiction fridays, but i did need the week to gather myself and my thoughts now that i have my life back, so the previously mentioned return to regular posting should happen this week.
in the meanwhile, i'm in love with this week's fff, so big-up jj who really thrilled me with these requirements...
And an orange.
400 words exactly:
she flirted mercilessly, determined to remind herself that she was still attractive. one fool’s differing opinion did not make her less of a woman.
she wouldn’t rest until she had him – not that she’d do anything with him once her goal was achieved – it was enough to know she could still have whatever her heart (or loins) desired.
she’d fixed her eyes on him, knowing he had to look – her gaze was too direct to go unnoticed, even to someone mostly plastered – not that he was, or he’d have been no sport at all. she didn’t need the charity of some drunk’s beer goggles. never had. she’d probably be hurt by the suggestion that she might have benefitted from such figuratively-rose-tinted lenses, even once.
she’d waited patiently for him to feel her watching, and look up.
next, she’d smiled and crooked her finger at him in that universal gesture of ‘come hither’.
when he’d glanced over his shoulder, confused, searching for the person she was beckoning, she spoke.
whispered, actually,
“you. come.”
and that time it was unmistakeable, even to her slightly bewildered prey.
he’d hesitantly slid over, immediately confirming tentative hopes.
“you mean me?”
almost curt, so he’d know she certainly meant himself, but warm enough that he wasn’t scared to stay.
her game was on. she played with the joy of someone denied a simple pleasure for too long, for no good reason. she felt the strain melting away as she indulged in what felt like her first real conversation in forever.
by the end of the night the hurt was gone, now just a distant memory as he walked her out to her car. they said their goodnights, which she knew were goodbyes, regardless of the exchange of digits – by this time tomorrow it’d be a new life, and she planned to never revisit this place on her travels.
as she turned away her bagstrap caught his lingering arm, opening wide enough to spill most of its contents.
she laughed – these items scattered in the dirt were meaningless now – identification, keys, and the one item that caught his eye and made him smile with her.
he stooped and collected them, inventorying as he handed each item over individually so that he could touch her hand each time.
he smiled again at the last one, brushed it off gently, and handed it to her.
“…and an orange.”

walk good.


Blogger angel said...

i enjoyed that trini, very mysterious!

3:35 pm  
Blogger JJ said...

Good on ya, babe. I shall always have a special place in my heart for we few, we happy few, we band of brothers and sisters, who shed our blood together on this stupid assignment.

4:04 pm  
Blogger Writeprocrastinator said...

Vivid, short and sweet.

11:37 pm  

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