flash fiction #1

Charlie didn't know what to think, but he thought anyway. Charlie thought about how he always felt like he'd never grown up. And what's more, Charlie felt like he had not grown up in stages. One minute Charlie was a rage-filled rebellious teenager ready to hide a pistol in his jacket for tomorrow morning in homeroom. Another minute Charlie was a shy, scared boy, growing up in that fuckin' farm town in Central California, the kind of town where everybody's skin was some shade of earthy brown, just like his. Or Charlie was a freshman in college on New Year's Eve, drunk on Southern Comfort and Dr. Pepper and dreaming of what his life would be like in the future. Sometimes Charlie would be fumbling in some bedroom with some lady that his cousin Enrique had set up for him. She was a little old and sad in the eyes, but she had a sweet, round ass and small but pleasant tits.

There were several of these minutes, millions of them, all different, and now they added up to over sixty-some years of living, of surviving. Surviving like he was never really present anywhere he was because he was always feeling like himself at another time in life. And he didn't know what to think about any of it. All he knew is that he would like turkey on whole wheat and a side salad with that spicy low fat ginger dressing, please. And an unsweetened iced tea.

Occasion

I was standing outside the church,leaning on a lamp pole, when I saw her. She was dressed like nobody's business and we don't get many good-looking' women 'round here so she was, um, an occasion.

And what was I doing at the church? I was there to get married.Yeah,that really happened. It's not just gossip, it's the real fuckin' thing. Yeah, the bitch never showed up. I was, as they say, stood up at the alter. Humiliated in front of family and friends. Fuck.

So anyway I was at the church.I was just about to light a cigarette when I saw her. I'm glad I didn't. Most women these days don't like smoking. She was wearing this sheer light blue dress that showed off her legs. She had a cute figure and an incredible face. So fuckin' good looking. I couldn't wait till she turned around so I could check out her ass.

So this, my friend, is where I made my stupid mistake. Deciding to follow someone, particularly a beautiful young woman who is,to be kind to myself,at least ten years younger than I am. She is also, of course, a stranger. I didn't know her name or nothing about her. When I look back on it I realize that I was a real fuckin' creep, but I had no idea of it at the time.

Saga of the fuckin' macaroni and cheese (fiction)

Chester reached his limit. He blew his top, he climbed the peak, he refused to answer his Pavlovian bell. Chester got pissed and it changed his life. And it all culminated in the saga of the fuckin' macaroni and cheese.

He had prepared the meal as the evening's entertainment, i.e. the internet and marijuana. As Chester chewed his first bite he closed his eyes and spit out the mac 'n cheese in complete disgust.

He stood up and lamented the fact that, at age 23, he was a failure. Sure, he was only 23, but fuck how old was, say, Louis Armstrong when he became successful? Of course, Chester had no idea (he would wonder later why he chose Louis Armstrong, of all people), but he did know that everybody got the breaks in life before he did.

He went into the kitchen, grabbed the pot of mac 'n cheese, and began to cry.

Why can't I have the real stuff? The Kraft stuff in the blue box? No, it's always the fuckin' generic shit. Butter? No, thanks, I want the cheap margarine with the trans fats and god-knows-what-else. Next it'll be powdered milk. It'll be like in was in Yuma. It'll be like my fuckin' childhood, cabrón.

Chester threw the starchy contents of the warm scratched-up pot into the trash can and banged the empty pot on the stove. 

This has got to fuckin' end, man.

He grabbed his jacket and headed out, slamming the door behind him.