Tuesday, February 01, 2011


big-up alooicious for always-willingness to play, keeping my mind entertained; so many ideas, so little timespace!
my flash fiction friday #38; pick-a-pronoun-trigger:

what they didn’t know was, jesus went for lunch. it had nobody there besides me and i wasn’ feeling the wuk. ah mean, who really need tha’ kinna responsibility, unless you’s jesus self and eh have no choice? and i done make out how he grindin’.
but the blasted phone keep ringing and as time passing i start to wonder, wha’ if some tortured soul desperately dialling+redialling? then i study how jesus leave me here, solo, i alone responsible for the hotline to hope…and then it hit me hard: wha’ jesus would do, dread?
the question shake me, listen, i even pull one of the heavenly smokes from he pack- you know he eh doin’ dat in public!- and smoke straight down to filter, i was so shake. but when the smoke clear, my mind clear too. nex’ time the phone ring, i walk over by the desk, siddong, make sure they want a answer, when i feel moved to help, i pick up.
“afternoon, young lady.”
“good afternoon…but…you know is nikisha?”
“miss nikisha…who it is you think you calling?”
now between me+you, i jes answer the phone so, not knowing who on the other end, jes being polite, as is jesus’ phone, nah…me eh know who tell me say “young lady” but as it wuk, i roll. so i talk to she.
and the nex’ time phone ring, i pick up 1 time.
“ahm, yeah…right…wait, wha’? you know me?”
“i know you confuse ‘bout why you talkin’ to me, but doh study it; alla dem ting go wuk out…”
“wait, how you know…”
“wha’ i jes say, bredrin? dem ting go wuk out. jes pay attention and do wha’ yuh know yuh hadda do. right? right…”
“but how…”
“an’ is jesus’ phone yuh call?”
i put down with my words echoing in my ears. the second after i say them words i couldn’ believe i say them words. i back offa tha’ phone so fas’ and outta the room, jes praying for jesus to come back, after i disappear.
my eye squinge up tight tight, i scrambling, and when i reach out the door into wha’ i think is the yard and dare peep, i find meself in my own yard, home. home, hoss…
my mind cyah take this kinna stress.
i look round to make sure where i is, pelt inside my house and promptly swallow the 3quarter-bottle of johnny from on top the fridge. as that done and i wish i had supply plenty enough to erase the afternoon, i look up to find meself here, barman handing me a johnny+coconut like i had siddong and ask he for it, except i know i eh do no such ting; a moment ago i was in my kitchen staring down a empty bottle.
ever since then, is like everyting i think i want, jes happening…like i get a miracle touch…i feel i do right by nikisha and the bredrin.
is either that or i waking up in hell; i figure, either way, drinks on the i, ent?

walk good.


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