flash fiction friday #83
flash fiction friday #83 trigger: origin story.
rules of engagement:
you will send in your suggestions for flash fiction friday triggers (starter sentences/phrases, closers, titles, inclusions, structural/thematic challenges, etc.) anytime during the week up to 11.09a.m. friday, trinbago time; i will post the new fff trigger by noon friday trinbago time.*
if your trigger is not chosen and you think it is too brilliant not to be chosen, you will send it in again the next week.
you will write an anecdote, short story, song or novel length prose poem using the trigger provided.
you will add comments and appropriate linkage to this/my trigger-post indicating your desire to participate and the completion of your piece (don't need a blogger/gmail account to comment here).
you may join in at any time prior to deadline.*
you will display your piece as a post on your own blog (or as a comment on this/my trigger-post or fasbook note or instastory or whaever, once we can all read it; please make sure we can all access the link to read it, not just those who are your friends online).
you will be done by monday noon trinbago time.*
[in light of collective busyness and my general mentality, i not pressed about these deadlines 'cause i'd rather have fun reading late than never, so if you want to fff past deadline, go through hard, just make sure you comment on the appropriate trigger-post so we know which it belongs to, and if is a real old trigger, comment on the most recent post as well so we know something new to back-back+read...if nobody fffs i leave the same trigger up until at least 1person other than myself writes a piece]*
write fresh!
walk good.
posted by sweet trini @ 12:00 pm
13 comments
13 Comments:
So whenever I think of an 'origin story' I usually think of something extraordinary, happening to someone who is or who would become extraordinary, but I wanted to challenge that idea of grandness with a story of an everyday kind of character, who would go through an everyday kind of event that would be important enough in an everyday kind of way to make him who he is or becomes at the end of the story:
“In the matter of Holm v Holm, Mr. Scott appears on behalf of the Petitioner, Eugene Holm. Mr. Arlington appears on behalf of the Respondent, Robert Holm.”
“Mr. Arlington, where is your client?”
“M’lady, I spoke to my client only a few minutes ago and having encountered a traffic exercise by the Police Force, he is most regrettably delayed. In the circumstances therefore, I wish to seek the Court’s indulgence to have this matter stood down for 30 minutes.”
Mr. James Arlington, Esq. hated lying on behalf of his clients, but he had just lied, pretending that Robert Holm was on his way to Court.
Lying. Robert Holm was at home, lying in bed the first time he heard his phone ring. He was still in the same position, staring at the nothingness now, as “Mr. Arlington - Lawyer” was flashing on his phone’s screen for a second time.
Robert left the phone, that was sitting on the floor beside his bed, to ring. He could have rolled over and turned the phone off but Robert didn’t care and he didn’t have the energy, so he left it.
Turning. “The world still turns without me in it. Let Eugene go and let her take whatever she wants” Robert thought.
Robert believed that Eugene was right to leave, that he deserved whatever the lawyers and the judge would to do to him. Nothing they could do could be worse than his realization of who he really was. Nothing was worse than him, his existence.
Existence. Robert went back in his mind to the first time he saw Hailee. He couldn’t believe that something so beautiful, so tender, so precious could exist because of him, because of Eugene, because of love. He was supposed to be there with Eugene but it happened so fast and he got the call so late that by the time he had rushed to the hospital, Hailee had already come in all her radiance.
Rushed. Robert was always rushing. He had been rushing that sunny day too, that day when the markets crashed, when windows up, he locked the car, and tumbling over himself, he raced up the stairs to his office. It had only taken him 10 minutes to run to the office and half the time to sprint back, but by then Hailee was gone. She was there, just as he had left her, just as beautiful, just as peaceful, asleep in her chair in the backseat of the car, but she was gone.
Gone. Hailee was gone but the memories stayed. Robert still marveled at every expression, every gesture, every sound she had made in the 26 weeks, 5 hours and 10 minutes that she had stayed. How could he have destroyed what love had made? She was gone but she had left a hole in Robert, a fortress of collapsing emptiness that he was trapped inside.
Trapped. Robert felt he would never escape the trap he had set himself - his regret, his loathing, his shame had taken root and were weaving their dark vines tightly around his soul. There was only one solution that he knew, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He spat out the pills and allowed the liquor flow down his throat alone. That was the first time that Robert Holm drank until he blacked out. It would be a lifetime before he would try to stop.
There was and is only blackness before this. The mind wakes, in stages and moves in stop-start motion recalling pieces of the night before, fragments and bits and she feels like she is in pieces. There is the sense of a body, of a thing that the mind moves and is moved by. The sense of a thing in pain and she wonders where she is and how she got there.
The American walk in the bar like he own the place. Is something he learned from his time there. It is what was expected of him. Better to give people what they expect, that way they not looking at you when the unexpected happens. And true to form, the other conversations didn't stop. Nobody changed from what they was doing to stop and stare but he knew, he felt them notice him.
Is years now he here, years now he getting braver. He is not the only American on the island. This is by design, by intent. There were hundreds of them but he mostly kept to himself. He didn't befriend the other Americans. He wasn't trying to integrate, just to blend in enough to not be noticed.
It is very hard, as a white man, to go unnoticed on an island full of black people. At first he tried his usual 'don't mind me, I'm not even here' approach. Back in the States, this was what he did, He was the wallflower. That didn't work here. Here, Americans were not quiet beings, they weren't the quiet ones in the room. All the Americans here were in oil, and everyone on the island expected J.R. Ewing types. He was in fact making himself stand out, raising attention to himself while deafening everyone with his silence. He caught it early though, so he changed. He learned to do the expected, to walk in like he own the fucking place. To embrace the convention, to seize everything, to make a scene. He would be noticed, yes, but he would not be remembered. He learned that he was most anonymous when he was at his most obnoxious.
Seeing no eyes but feeling all eyes on him, he walks to the bar, pretends to ignore the people in front of him who are clearly in the middle of ordering a round of drinks and shouts his order, up and over them. This is what he has to do, to stay hidden. After he has gotten his drink, he goes to a corner, next to a group of girls in a booth.
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Tonight will be the night. He has been working his way to this for so long, practiced it over and over in his head. What he wants is to make his choice and be on his way. He must, however, be careful. He must create more of a scene so that he can be forgotten. He turns his attention to the group of girls. He is charming at first, so charming they invite him to sit with them. They are all giggling during his stories. He buys them a round of drinks and brushes a hand on one's bare knee. He touches another's shoulder in mid-laugh, playing it off like a casual thing. After coming back from the bathroom later on, he definitely rubs the breast of the bare-kneed girl while squeezing back into the booth. She starts giving him puppy eyes and is touching him on the legs and chest herself. She bores him.
At the bar is a young, Indian woman drinking alone. She was there when he first walked in and has not moved for the night. She has paid no attention to him but if you asked her the following day she could tell you an American man was in the bar that night and with a group of girls. He was getting really friendly with the girl in the real short skirt, but she wouldn't be able to describe him, no.
'He was kind of obnoxious so I didn't want to stare at him too long.'
He walks the group of girls out when they are ready to go. This has worked out nicely. He had a plan for if the woman at the end of the bar made to leave before they were ready but he didn't need it. The bare-kneed girl is very tipsy and leans on him on her way out. He can tell that her friend's are not drunk enough to not be protective of her and he is happy with his choice. He makes no offer to take her home, or to follow them, he is the perfect gentleman. When they drive off, he waves while he watches them go and scans the parking lot at the same time. He sees no one, picks a dark corner, and waits.
She comes out within an hour. There has not been movement of any kind for ten minutes before she appears. He is salivating and it makes him happy. He is aware of all the sensations coursing through him. Saliva means excitement, means his heart rate up, means hearing it pound in his head which will bring the high pitched ring in his ears, means blood flowing through him, means erection. He stays in his shadowed corner, reaches his hand down and starts rubbing himself, his breath now coming in short, raspy bursts. His luck continues as she makes her way toward the part of the car park where he is also parked. He emerges from his corner of shadows. The thrill of the realization rushes through him. This is his first hunt and he wants to scream at the top of his lungs, release something primal, to see the fear in the eyes of his prey.
Soon enough.
Let the games begin.
posted+edited+reposted@ https://urbanfolktales.blogspot.com/2020/05/fff83.html
walk good.
She grew up steeped in religion. Selassie was the way and the truth so it was bible quizzes and late-night meditations on the Word. The mother start off Catholic but followed her man in the way of the ‘Fari. As African people, it feel better when your savior black. The mother side of the family always had a lil extra sauce. Who does dream straight and call de whe-whe man, who could sense and smell their dead when they came to visit. She-self used to get lil visions: if she see or dream yuh dead, is bess yuh take front and get your affairs in order. The ‘Fari father, possibly due to childhood trauma, developed the ability to hear people’s thoughts. As their firstborn, I suppose it was no surprise she come out lil saucy sheself. Strange things always happened around her and she was always talking to God. She was particularly sensitive to African drums and spirit music. They say a time she was in de Emancipation Village after the parade. Miss Ella playing loud loud on the speaker and jess so de sistren hold on to a tent pole and despite the boulder-as-anchor, start to pick it up and drop it, rockin de whole tent. It take a while before she come back to sheself. Curious at the call to her spirit, she put on a CD with Miss Ella songs when she was home alone. Her mother came home to find her on the living room floor insensible, full-body pulsing to the heavy rhythm. After that, her mother ban her from Miss Ella and all “obeah music”. Her uncle was an Orisha drummer and warned her to avoid them. Said he’d seen too much dark and her spirit was too open. Too easy, he warned.
Some early morning she was sleeping and dreaming; it was scary and confusing. She woke up in a fire-filed room with what could only be ancient symbols on the walls and the number 33 carved into her forearm. Terrified, she ran to her father. His ever-serene demeanor shifted momentarily at her tears and the raised skin. He went immediately for his Bible, blessed some water, and poured it and fervent prayers into every room of the house. By time her mother got home from work her arm was smooth. After that, she did her best to mind her mother. Avoiding drums despite the call.
Her grandfather was her best friend but he died when she was very young. She love him so much is like she could never let him go. Daiz musse why the dead know they could come to call. She went to stay by a friend for a month and barely last a week. The house had fresh dead but spiritually inert living so is she they come by to send message. Her grandfather was one thing but stranger dead is a whole next scene. You know what it is for people ghosts to be hounding you when night come? When a heat and a odour following nobody but you? Fraid to open your eyes, feeling somebody standing over you when you know nobody there? She deliver the message and buss.
She took a vacation in Tobago. She wanted peace and quiet to recalibrate. She had leaned away from the twelve tribes of her people but God was still her north star. Her intention was to fast and cleanse, to pray and connect. She found a pretty guesthouse online in a quaint village called Les Coteaux. She had a deep love for Shadow and was only too pleased to find out he’d grown up there. What her guesthouse research did not tell her was that Les Coteaux known for the mystical.
True to her word, she fasted and prayed for her family and friends, for the world in turmoil. She always had to remind herself that she deserved her prayers too. So she asked for healing and strength, for clear purpose and determination. She knew god doh come, he does send. So she prayed, “Send me, Lord. Prepare me. This world too wicked and it cyah stay so.”
I’ve read that there are certain places on earth that are charged with special energy. God energy, I suppose. They say ancient churches and places of worship were built along these powerful lines of latitude and longitude and there, manifestation power was multiplied. If that is true, I suspect Les Coteaux is one.
The next day she took a drive to the north side of the island. She drove past the crystalline waters of Castara and Parlatuvier; her destination was Speyside. She had a friend who worked at a hotel there so she had access to the idyllic private beach. She lay on the fine white sand and absorbed the mid-afternoon sun, she could feel it energising her skin and going deeper – a delicious tingle. The sea provided cool relief. She dove deep, enjoying that quiet world then swam far out into the blue; the horizon seemed to call her. She floated there with the cool at her back and the sun on her face. It felt like balancing on the cusp of the liminal. When the sun began to dip she swam in. She stood at the water’s edge and thanked God and the ocean spirit for welcoming her and keeping her safe. She used the hotel’s outdoor shower, gathered her things, thanked her friend and headed to the car.
If you know anything about Tobagonian topography, you know the north coast roads are treacherous. Narrow, winding and plagued with overconfident local drivers who clearly long for flight. It was dark now and she could feel the exhaustion from her day in the water. The sea is like that. It gives but it takes, it fills the heart but drains the body. It was a longish drive back home but she knew sleep would be sweet.
There was a tingling in her toes, her feet. She frowned, clenched and released, wiggled her toes. She guzzled some water. It was probably just mild dehydration; she had been in the water for hours. The tingling continued and seemed to rise up her calves. Interesting. A mild numbness had set in but she could still use her feet so she increased her speed; best to get in as soon as possible. The tingling numbness continued its ascent as it crawled up her thighs. She was really worried now. Was she having a stroke? She couldn’t feel her legs but the car was still moving so they were clearly still functioning, just not under her control. Something was taking over her body. She could barely feel her arms. A car flew around a blind corner, headed straight for her. She screamed in terror and shut her eyes, fearing the end. She felt her arms jerk the wheel to the left, dodging the car, then right itself. What the actual fuck was happening to her? She felt feverish. There was something else inside her, around her, moving her.
The car pulled into the driveway. Her head was spinning, her vision was coming and going. She felt herself being lifted up and out of the car. She saw her hands turning the key in the front door, then nothing at all.
She awoke on the kitchen floor. Her body felt achy, her neck at an odd angle. She rolled gingerly to her side, slowly pushed herself up. Her limbs felt heavy and her mind was foggy. What the hell happened last night? She went to the kitchen sink, filled a glass of water, drained it then had another. She walked slowly to the bathroom and into the shower. She let the water run warm over her body then cold over her head. When she got out she felt better, clearer, more in control of herself. She walked toward the dresser, picked up the coconut oil and slowly ran her hands over her body as if reacquainting herself. Only then did she look in the mirror. She looked like herself: brown, smooth, a little less round from fasting. For the most part, felt like herself. She started to turn away then heard a voice in her head say, “You called. We have come. Let us begin.”
Well the real shit is how I end up in the middle of a cafe in Belmont in a towel tuck into a panty.
"I lose mih bag I lose mih hat i lose mih clothes I lose mih keys i lose mih wallet."
"yuh lose yuh bag yuh lose yuh hat yuh lose yuh clothes yuh lose yuh keys yuh lose yuh wallet? Jesso jesso? yuh wallet? jesso?"
"he lose he bag he lose he hat he lose he clothes he lose he keys he lose he wallet? Jesso jesso? He wallet? jesso?"
Allyuh yuh know is shit we like so by the time the third somebody repeat it you know is because they make a whole rhythm section and man wining like this ain't one of the saddest and most peculiar things they ever did see: a grown man stand-up normal normal in the middle of a stranger kitchen in a towel and a panty.
Well yuh remember how the Corona come and mash up Carnival 2021, so the government decide to treat the big football match and dem like it was a small carnival nah. So say come and all the teams come in the country and is bacchanal in Port-of Spain. Girl instead of bands in costumes it was all the people in their t-shirt or volunteer team outfit for whatever job they was doing for the big event. Anybody who was anybody was in town mixing and mingling with all the nobodies. I wasn't in no section or team. It was a spur of the moment thing when I bounce up mih two good good friends Fatty and Christophe by QRC. Hear nah is wine wine wine wine all d way up until we reach right by Cadiz road there. Fastness nah because yours truly foot start to burn and the best wine turn into a small limp. By the time we reach all by Gerningham it was real pressure.
"I go ketch up with allyuh just now".
"I now saying you reach real far".
"Yeah better you sit down here and wait, it have a Bus in d back for all the Tanty and dem day cyah make".
"Why yuh doh haul yuh ass? I ever Tanty with you?" All this time I cyah even laugh good because I breathing hard. "Yeah I go wait here. The crowd not so big man, the bus soon come".
When I tell you is knock out I knock out clean. When I open my eye the place empty; No bus, no music and no evidence of any parade or festivities.
"Strange". I get up and test mih foot.
"You ain't tellin me".
Well hear nah if I had to shit I woulda drop it right there and then. The fright that run up my back was almost as strong as the sudden grip on mih vocal chords that only allow me to let out the smallest "eep!" as I jump and turn a full 360 to see where the voice had come from. Today, today the gymnastics people couldda send me for gold. Standing quietly right next to where I was sleeping was a little old man. His purple volunteer T-shirt about 5 sizes too big and drooping all around him made even more ridiculous by his extra slim-fit jeans on his extra skinny legs.
“Sorry Uncle” he look more scared than me. “I was just wondering where everybody gone”.
“Me too yes boy. The last I know they was by the hospital and I was hustling tryin to meet them”.
I stop to take him in as he raised his hand and gestured in the direction of the hospital. Gold bangles caught the sun and clinked quietly as he moved. He had a strip gold sequined cloth tied loosely around his neck.
“Thanks Uncle I going to look for dem. I hadda find mih friends”. I stepped away and started down the road. About two steps in his bangles clinked quietly behind me making me stop and turn. “you comin?”
“Nah nah I go stay here”
“yuh sure?” My eyes stopped on his little gold boots that matched his neck tie. He swell his chest and stamped his feet lightly,
“Dese leave over from when I used to play king sailor for carnival. Yes I sure. I will stay right here man.”
“Arrite Uncle well I gone.” I reach about two buildings when I hear him call out
“Doh worry ‘bout me. Dey does always make sure I find mih way back home!”
I didn’t have time to study if it was the boots he was talking about because I was more worried about why the road was so quiet. The closer I get to the end of the hospital I start to hear a little music so I feel good. They must be turn and decide to go over Piccadilly side. I run een a side street that I see a couple taxis use when they trying to avoid midday traffic and reach over by the plannings quick. I say I go reach on the next side quickly to at least catch a glimpse of any stragglers or maybe the same said bus. Place just quiet. Not a straggler in sight and to be honest I beginning to think that I run up the wrong street. I turn and start back down the little street and I see a little narrow stairs running down between two break down houses yard that look like it lead back out to the main street right by the corner with the clinic. Nice. I run down in there. The passage was tight and I end up having to turn to the side to make it out on to the street. Thank God for Gravity. Mih clothes was dirty but I make it out turn left and start to walk toward the music. Wrong Street!
Well now I really don’t know where I am. Why I didn’t just keep mih fat ass on the street I know. Now I hadda go back up the stairs to the next street and follow It out back to where I come from. I wonder if I was go make because to burst out of a small spot with yuh weight pushing you is one thing. To stuff yuhself back in is something totally different. Chile I turn around to head back and there they were. They were so still that I didn’t see them at first; the three of them. No telling when they got there no telling where they come from. Did I stumble in on them or did they come looking for me? Either way I freeze dead in mih tracks. The only reason I stay quiet is because the one in the middle lock mih two eye and trap me in the gaze. As a child yuh hear about them, you remember? The spirit people they say livin under the all dem ruins in the hills of Belmont? I always throw it away as just chirren stories but I was watching them here plain as day. I watch dem and dem watch me. They looked to be covered in red clay. The small chirren couldda been boys couldda been girls. Same little white tunic that come down to their knees. They were so tiny that it couldn’t have been more than a yard of cloth between them. Same little round heads with tight curls and everybody skin clay red with white symbols look like they write in chalk. I wouldda say same face too but the eyes on each tell a very different story.
The one in the middle, still holding me in that gaze get up and walk toward me. The only thing keeping me together was a big big feeling of peace I was feeling in dem eyes. It was like Peace was on a loud mic then. I makin sense? It was only about four steps but it might as well had been one hundred. I kneel down under the weight of the peace and the three of dem start to sing. Quiet quiet. It was in mih ears like it was a secret for me alone. Peace reach up and touch mih forehead mih eyes and the little hand stop to trace a symbol right where mih neck meet mih chest. Is all I could do not to cry. I get a little ease and I stand up. Peace and the other two was already walking away from me some red dust lingering behind them, obscuring dem. It was back to me in a face-off with the small stairs and a long ass journey to end up in that damn café in a towel and a panty.
@Kristoff. I was slightly confused at first but soon absolutely delighted to roll along in the entanglement of thoughts and emotions that Robert was experiencing. like being ensnared in many vines.
@adam I chuckled to myself as you described "he was most anonymous when he was at his most obnoxious."
It's exactly what the rest of the world expects from Americans and the best way to hide is definitely in the open.
Poor Indian girl. I really want to know what happens next. I scared tho lolz
@winter ohgadoye! i wasn' expecting peace+crew atall atall and that story had me totally enthralled; very natural-feeling, or something...yes, very natural-feeling, and the funny segueing easily into the eerie. i liking your short fiction; collection go be good.
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