8/22/07 | Fly on the Wall - Page 2 - Writers Forum

eggo · 08-27-2007, 08:39 PM

Hey guys,

The link to my story over in WW,

"That Creepy Guy"-500 words

Good prompt

IrishLad · 08-28-2007, 09:38 AM

Not sure if I missed the mark on this, but I believe it falls within the parameters.

Author's Note:

Harsh language

Special Delivery

(497 words)

“It’s open,” the man mouthed, waving me in from the other side of the massive glass door.

I stepped into the foyer.

“Important call,” he whispered, cupping his cell phone, “my wife will be with you in a minute. Set it on the table and have a seat.”

He disappeared down the hallway bitching out some poor bastard on the other end, yelling that six weeks just wasn’t acceptable, something must be done.

Standing in the sunken living room, I heard a woman talking—probably on the house line discussing the latest sale at Bloomingdale’s—just the other side of a set of oak doors, which I guessed led to the den. I set the pizza down on the marble coffee table, and sank into the sofa. I felt like a hobo waiting for an audience with a queen, my torn jeans a sinful contrast against the expensive white leather.

I looked around the room. Streamlined sculptures abounded, screaming fragile from their pedestals and threatening to tip over at the slightest touch. Now that I’d stopped moving, I could make out the woman’s conversation.

“You have to keep up with your things, sweetie. Oh, don’t cry, we’ll get another one this weekend, Mommy promises. I’ll help you download your music again.”

Nope, not on the phone, just tending her spoiled offspring. My son was home, probably watching something with a parental advisory. I couldn’t really jump in his shit. He spent his nights alone until my shift ended. Even so, he sure as fuck didn’t get rewarded for losing the few belongings he did have.

Anger began to well in my chest, my blood carrying contempt to every cell in my body. Forty-five, busting my hump sixty hours a week to make in a year what just one of this rich bitch’s crystal artwork cost?

“But, I had my songs in the order I liked,” said the child.

Give me a fucking break, kid. Jesus, a new iPod’s not enough for this little prick.

My son would have given his left nut just to have a goddamn cheap CD player. I suddenly wanted to push one of the sculptures over.

“Ma’am,” I shouted, “I have other deliveries.”

It was a lie; this was my last. Fuck her. My time was just as valuable as hers, or little Rockefeller’s.

“Who’s that?” the kid asked.

“I think it’s the … pizza man! You want to pay him?”

What, now I’m this little shit’s entertainment?

I was leaving, had my hand on the doorknob, when the double doors opened and she wheeled the child in. Bald and skeletal, smiling and holding a fifty, I recognized end-stage cancer. It had taken my wife, years earlier.

“Wait,” said the woman, “We’re sorry to have kept you.”

“It’s on me, ma’am,” I said.

I cried on the way home, for my wife, my son … for that poor family. But mostly, I cried for myself.

Foxee · 08-28-2007, 01:54 PM

My submission, Twitch is in the Writer's Workshop.

I'm looking forward to the comments (as always) and I'll be on deck for helping to judge the next LM if needed.

FrankBlissett · 08-28-2007, 05:01 PM

Fly On The Wall submission (461 words)
ps: Some of the lines are meant to be italicised, but it's not showing up too distinctly (IMHO) in the preview. *shrug*

+++

Her plastic-glazed eyes gazed up at the fly on the wall. It twitched a bit now and then, cleaning its wings. So long as she didn't move too suddenly, it seemed content to sit there and do its thing. From the kitchen, her father staggered into the room, stiff jointed.

"Daddy?", asked a distant voice - somewhat uncertain. Sometimes it was hard to tell for sure.

"It's me sweetie - don't worry. He won't hurt you again." And with that her fear melted away.

He approached, arms slightly akimbo, and they embraced rather awkwardly. His touch did not feel as genuine as she wanted, but that didn't matter. She could remember when his embrace had been warmer. She could remember brushes of his butterfly kisses on her cheek and whispered "I-love-you"s. She could remember all that, and be warmed throughout by her father's hug even now.

"I'm sorry that he hurt you sweetie. How about we make some pancakes? Will that make you feel better?"

"Yea - pancakes! Can I crack the eggs?"

"Sure you can. Anything for my little baby doll. And after that we'll watch a DVD together."

Pancakes were her favorite. Her father made them for the family every single Saturday morning, during cartoons. But this was a school-day afternoon so it would be extra special to have pancakes. Pancakes with strawberry jam, all rolled up and eaten like giant burritos. And she would do her very best not to get her hands all sticky.... A shiver traveled up her spine.

"Well, come on," her father beckoned as he staggered back into the kitchen, "Let's make some pancakes!"

She heard the front door open downstairs - she knew it would be two more hours before mer mother returned from work. The door closed, then the clunk of shoes dropping on the tiled entryway. Maybe he didn't know she was upstairs. Maybe he was tired. Maybe he did know she was here after all but things wouldn't be bad anymore.

"Don't worry," her father whispered, "Just stay quiet and try to hide. It won't be like before."

"Margie?!," a voice shouted from the stairs as one of the steps creaked.

Her hand shot into the doll house and the fly darted out in a panic. Into the nightstand drawer went her Ken-doll father, atop her old diary and several plastic butterfly barrettes. The drawer slid shut, barely making a noise.

"Margie?" He was outside her bedroom door now, "You in there?"

She paused for a moment. Carefully, she lifted the edge of her mattress and placed her baby-doll underneath - safe and sound, facing the floor. The fly lighted on the closet door, just above the top hinge. It began cleaning its wings once more.

"Yes, daddy."

+++

-Frank

Frabes · 08-29-2007, 03:45 AM

Two more weeks, then the new semester would start and Damien could finally get what he wanted. No more silent afternoons in the diner. No more making small talk with the locals. Two more weeks, and he would finally have something interesting to listen to while he sipped coffee on Court Street.

For now, he’d have to be content to dream of pretty coeds sunbathing in the early September sun and endless nights at the bustling little coffee shop. As he sat at his favorite table against the wall, lost in thought, he failed to notice the door open, didn’t see the two men walk in and sit at the table near the window. It was only when one of them spoke that he realized he had company for the first time in months.

“Hey, buddy, can you pass me some napkins, we’re out.”

“Sure.”

Damien pulled a fistful of napkins out of the small rectangular box on his table and passed them to the man who’d spoken. He was tall, with short dark hair and small, green eyes. The other, shorter and blonde, stared through the backwards lettering at the street.
The waitress walked over to their table, and Damien heard them order two cups of coffee, one black, the other with just cream. Surprising, he thought, how much you can tell about a person just by knowing how they take their coffee.

A few minutes passed, and the two men seemed content to sip from their mugs in silence. Eventually, though, the man with the dark hair cleared his throat and got the attention of his companion.

“Say something, dammit. You’re making me nervous.”

“I’m not pissed at you, ok. I’m pissed at her. That fucking cunt.”

“Little harsh, don’t you think.”

“Considering she walked out on me, got drunk, and fucked my friend—not really, no. I think I worded that perfectly.”

Great, Damien thought. Another girlfriend story. Well, at least it’s something…

“And we can’t forget about her aborting our fucking kid without talking to me first, either.”

Whoa, here we go.

“Well, when you put it that way.”

“Don’t joke, asshole. It isn’t funny.”

“Fine, but I still think you dodged a bullet here.”

“Oh yeah? How do you figure that.”

“Fuck, come on, James. Do you really think you’re ready for a kid? You’ve still got another year of college. And let’s face it, with a mother like that, the kid would have to be delivered by a fucking psychiatrist.”

Now that was funny.

“Look forget about her. Let’s just go get hammered and throw shit off the bridge.”

“You didn’t hear? They put fences up on both sides.”

“Well, let’s just get fucked up then. We’ll probably have the bar to ourselves.”

“You paying?”

“What’s the matter, that cunt steal your wallet too?”

With that, the two left, leaving Damien alone again. He watched them walk up the street, ordered another coffee, and smiled to himself.

“It’s going to be a good year.”

man, that word count kicked my ass this time

Amber Leaf · 08-29-2007, 04:00 PM

The musky interior of the Bedouin tent was too inviting for a knackered and thirsty raver like me. After being up all night dancing to the loudest techno and rushing off the strongest amphetamine known to the party I got angry at the sight of my best friend talking to my boyfriend.

When I confronted them about it my boyfriend alleged I had taken too much speed and his defensive stance confirmed my suppositions. He even had the nerve to tell me to ‘chill out’.

Shocked by their betrayal I went for a walk to calm my frenzied emotions. I came along an enchanting Bedouin tent. As I entered I coughed slightly from the thick smoke inside.

Arriving at a bar I asked the eastern bartender where I could sit without irritation. He showed me to the back of the tent. Lifting the heavy velvet curtain back he took me to a dark room lit by candles. There were scattered cushions and a table.

The air was clear and at long last I felt relaxed. The thirst, however, was over-whelming and spying a cup and a kettle; I decided to pour myself a drink

Amber liquid ran from the spout and the steam hit my face. The room filled with azure dust. It formed the shape of a man with a beard and a strange hat.

Wondering what was on his head I looked at his face. His stare went right through me. I asked him how he had got out of the spout and his voice boomed;

“I am Makukhen. I shall grant you three wishes.” I felt tremors as he spoke and I wondered if someone had spiked my drink.

Makukhen’s eyes were red. Why he would want to give me wishes? He seemed to read my mind;

“You shall learn.” He spoke.

I put it down to the drugs. Maybe some new type of trip I had never used before?

“I wish for a spliff that will never burn down or go out.” I asked thinking I may as well give it a shot then suddenly in my hand appeared the magical joint.

The blue, bearded man was a good companion.

Tired from the strain of the night; I made another plea;

“I wish for a rock that will never chip away.” On the table in front of me appeared a white block. I was very happy.

The dawn light seeped in through the edges of the tent and I started to worry why none of my friends had come to see me. I became suspicious again of what my boyfriend was doing and I wished I could be a fly on the wall where he was.

POOF!!!!

Loud buzzing surrounded me and I saw my best friend and my boyfriend in front of me. At first I thought I was really wasted as they were so large. As much as I tried I couldn’t hear them talk. It was then I realized the genie had turned me into a fly.

speakerphone2 · 08-29-2007, 05:21 PM

_______Some strong language, but I'm guessing you people are going to judge it anyways...__________

“So I was on the bus this morning, and I go sit in the back with Paige, and across from us, there’s this guy, rolling a joint.”

____“Who’s that?”

“I have no idea, I’ve never seen him before. But it was, like, ‘Good morning to you too!’”

____“Haha, sure. You should have asked him for one.”

“Yeah, as if I’m randomly gonna be like, ‘Yo, dude, got a dime bag?’”

____“Shit yeah. What would he have said? I wonder.”

“Anyways, it was weird.”

A moment passed. Binders clicked shut. Paper was shuffled into various divisions entitled Vocabulary, Writing, and Literature.

____“So guess who was at my bus stop this morning.”

“Did you take the bus, or did your mom drive you?”

____“Driven, thank God. But as we passed my corner, lo and behold, who else is there but my ex and his new girlfriend.”

“What the fuck? Where does she live? And since when does he take your bus?”

____“Exactly. She lives in Chambly. And they were at my bus stop.”

“Shit. It was a trap or something.”

____“I dunno. I’m fucking glad I got driven in, though.”

“Shit, that would have been awkward. What would have happened?”

____“I dunno. Would he have introduced me? Like ‘Uhm, hi, this is the strung-out pothead of a girlfriend I’ve replaced you with…’?”

“What a flipping introduction. What would she have said? First of all, does it talk? Can she speak?”

____“I dunno. Her brain must be so fried, though.”

“Fuck, like Asian noodles, if she does all the crazy shit you’ve told me she does.”

____“I’d like to hear her talk. Like, say words. Dom says all she does is mumble-swear.”

“Hahaha, mumble-swear. What is she, Ozzy Osbourne?”

____“Maybe. I dunno. I’ve never heard her.”

Another moment passes as useless instructions get jotted down into agendas.

“Anyways, dear, I’m glad you dropped his sorry bald ass, and finally now you are starting to cope with school and being back on this glorious first day.”

____“Yeah well. I don’t know if I’m completely over it.”

“Hmm.”

____“You know what I mean? It still feels like, just below the surface.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean… not from experience, but I empathize.”

____“Just another day in just another year, I guess.”

“And so it continues.”

Hawke · 08-30-2007, 12:13 PM

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