Intimacy – 100 words

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“Craig, My blue shoes are green.”

“Ben, the moon is almost Mort Sahl.”

These statements are typical of the nonsense that roommates Ben and Craig say to each other instead of admitting their love for one another. Intimacy expressed as non sequitur.

“Only you can prevent Forrest Tucker,” means “I want to kiss you.”

“Non-dairy grilled cheese is toast,” means “I want you to go down on me.”

Every night they sit at opposite ends of the couch complaining about their lack female companionship. Neither pointing out the other’s lack of effort in that pursuit. Never meeting eyes. Forever alone.

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Ronnie – 100 words

Ronnie was the kind of boy the nuns spit on. Sometimes for nothing more than ending a sentence with a preposition. Which he only did to piss off Sister Mary Syntax. He was an angry boy channeling the hatred of his father onto the proles that surrounded him. The petty tyrants who could not see his genius through their accusations of stupidity.

He knew he was a superior being. Only he knew why he failed to understand what was so far beneath him. Common knowledge. The false truths. The lies of his teachers betraying his grand vision of the universe.

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Bruce Music – 100 words

Bruce wandered out into the night. Too drunk to go home. Not drunk enough for the cat house. A warm breeze blew from somewhere. Nowhere. The senses lie when the spirit is unfulfilled.

Bruce listened to the empty darkness. Distant music played.

Bruce walked north, trying to shoo the pied piper image from his head.

Alley after alley the music grew louder. A thumping beat with no rhythm. No harmony. Just a symphony of industrial instruments pounding out product.

The greasy old factory pulsed with music and light. The doorman wouldn’t let Bruce in.

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Sleeper – 100 words

George saw the woman crying. Not his problem. He didn’t make her cry. Then the ghost of his mother’s guilt grabbed him by the ear and dragged him towards her.

“You OK lady?”

If George was any less a man the look she gave him would have been fatal. She put her head down and returned to her sorrow, then jerked upright. “George?”

He looked carefully but did not recognize her.

“No, you don’t know me.” She said. “I used to sleep in your car.”

The bus came, she got on. George, frozen in shock, waved as she rode away.

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Ted Moving - 100 words

One day when Ted was a teenager he tried speaking entirely in song lyrics. It was a total failure. First, the only lyrics Ted knew were from punk rock songs. Punk rock just isn't as conversational as, say, opera. Second, Ted's family thought he was skitzo and assumed this was just another symptom.

Years later, sitting in an empty warehouse loft, waiting for the moving truck to bring his furniture, he remembered that day. Laughter, tears and vomiting followed.

The truck arrived and the rickety elevator kept working as load after load of his stuff was scattered about the room.

Motel - 100 words

Carla opened the motel room curtain. Her car was there. It looked like it was still in one piece. Just as she set her mind to remembering how she got home from the bar there came a voice from the bathroom. A singing voice. A woman's voice.

Carla sat on the still-made bed and tried to assemble her thoughts and feelings. She wasn't alone. She's never been not alone. She's never blacked out before. Always in control. Never drank too much. What went wrong?

The bathroom door opened and a startled maid stepped out. "Oh sorry, did I wake you?"

Waiting - 100 words

Dreaming of thunder. Wanting for power. Sitting in the corner booth of the corner bar sipping a beer. Waiting for a beautiful young woman to buy me a tequila. So far, no luck.

Drunken philosophers mumble their wisdom into half-empty glasses and half-full bottles. Temporary truths are shared. The secrets of life hang always just one more shot away from understanding.

The beer bottle is empty. The rain pours down the greasy window. The booth is sweating. One more beer? Tequila? What drink will keep me dry as I walk home with a broken umbrella? Yes, just one more beer.