I'm skimming (not perusing.. ) the Style Weekly when I come across a section detailing the fiction writing contest that they recently held. Brother Hobbs was given honorable mention for his work "Still Waiting". Great work, Hobbs!
Thanks, y'all. Next stop, somebody's blasted bestseller list...
Here's the flash fiction piece. The rule was it was supposed to be under 500 words..
Casey sat on her younger brother’s old Marshall guitar amp in his attic. Her feet pushed his old Deluxe Roller Derby skateboard back and forth over the bare, dusty floor. “Jerry,” she said, as if hoping he’d come from behind the old boom box stereo, the plastic containers of winter clothes or crates of VCR tapes to admit the anti-tank roadside bomb in Afghanistan and his funeral were just more of his tasteless pranks. She closed her swollen eyes to soothe them from the afternoon sunlight from the attic window.
“Finally found something that claimed you?” She picked up the skateboard and hugged it. He had broken his arm when he was eight practicing a stunt with the skateboard in the driveway, but instead of discarding such things, like she did pictures of friendships and ultrasounds that had long since left her, he kept them along with the hockey stick from a game that required stitches just under his left eye, the empty Tequila bottle from the night he drove home from a party and crawled to the front door, throwing up and farting along the way. Souvenirs to his habit of surviving.
The faint, syrupy odor of what Jerry’s pregnant, estranged wife swore was a beehive somewhere in the floorboards made the most of the swirling draft. Casey could hear the cars of several of the remaining funeral gatherers that had come to eat with the family start up. “She was about to divorce you, you know.” She twisted and pulled at her black sheath dress at the satisfaction of getting ready to go through his things; the finality of Jerry’s passing.
Casey took a pull of the cigarette. She laughed at the recollection of his laughing at her fear, since middle school, of the click of three ring binders, or more specifically, her fear of getting her low hanging breasts caught in them.
“A marine with braces on his teeth. How stupid was that, Jerry?” The sputter of a small car passing by the house reminded her of her old Datsun she drove in high school. She remembered taking him home from a tackle football game that left him wheezing with bruised ribs. He had the audacity to laugh at her shooting out into traffic to get from under a swaying traffic light she swore was about to fall onto her.
Casey lit a cigarette and cleared her aching throat. The attic made her feel timeless and invulnerable, like a vampire waiting patiently for sunset. “Why should being clumsy stop me from living?” Casey took a drag from the cigarette and slipped out of Jerry’s house slippers. She got onto the skateboard. Her stockings caught splinters from the skateboard’s edges. “I want a piece of that bomb.” She pivoted to the left, then right. “I admire it. You probably respect it more than you ever did me.” She fell with the cigarette dangling from her mouth and rolled onto her stomach laughing.
Thank you, thank you, you're too kind... Oh and by the way, figured you guys would like this:
Kudos, Hubbs!
ReplyDeleteYou go, Hobbs---nice work. Do you mind sharing the entire story with us?
ReplyDeleteThanks, y'all. Next stop, somebody's blasted bestseller list...
ReplyDeleteHere's the flash fiction piece. The rule was it was supposed to be under 500 words..
Casey sat on her younger brother’s old Marshall guitar amp in his attic. Her feet pushed his old Deluxe Roller Derby skateboard back and forth over the bare, dusty floor. “Jerry,” she said, as if hoping he’d come from behind the old boom box stereo, the plastic containers of winter clothes or crates of VCR tapes to admit the anti-tank roadside bomb in Afghanistan and his funeral were just more of his tasteless pranks. She closed her swollen eyes to soothe them from the afternoon sunlight from the attic window.
“Finally found something that claimed you?” She picked up the skateboard and hugged it. He had broken his arm when he was eight practicing a stunt with the skateboard in the driveway, but instead of discarding such things, like she did pictures of friendships and ultrasounds that had long since left her, he kept them along with the hockey stick from a game that required stitches just under his left eye, the empty Tequila bottle from the night he drove home from a party and crawled to the front door, throwing up and farting along the way. Souvenirs to his habit of surviving.
The faint, syrupy odor of what Jerry’s pregnant, estranged wife swore was a beehive somewhere in the floorboards made the most of the swirling draft. Casey could hear the cars of several of the remaining funeral gatherers that had come to eat with the family start up. “She was about to divorce you, you know.” She twisted and pulled at her black sheath dress at the satisfaction of getting ready to go through his things; the finality of Jerry’s passing.
Casey took a pull of the cigarette. She laughed at the recollection of his laughing at her fear, since middle school, of the click of three ring binders, or more specifically, her fear of getting her low hanging breasts caught in them.
“A marine with braces on his teeth. How stupid was that, Jerry?” The sputter of a small car passing by the house reminded her of her old Datsun she drove in high school. She remembered taking him home from a tackle football game that left him wheezing with bruised ribs. He had the audacity to laugh at her shooting out into traffic to get from under a swaying traffic light she swore was about to fall onto her.
Casey lit a cigarette and cleared her aching throat. The attic made her feel timeless and invulnerable, like a vampire waiting patiently for sunset. “Why should being clumsy stop me from living?” Casey took a drag from the cigarette and slipped out of Jerry’s house slippers. She got onto the skateboard. Her stockings caught splinters from the skateboard’s edges. “I want a piece of that bomb.” She pivoted to the left, then right. “I admire it. You probably respect it more than you ever did me.” She fell with the cigarette dangling from her mouth and rolled onto her stomach laughing.
Thank you, thank you, you're too kind... Oh and by the way, figured you guys would like this:
N!66er vs. Nerd Duality
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y7glA3ZS3XQ&feature=related