Splintered

Posted by Robin on September 9, 2011 15:32 in short stories, no feedback

His eyes closed, trying to block out the pain, thoughts raced through Adam's mind.

That time in high school when he'd gotten so close to kissing Cindy, love of his then-life, only to ruin it all by having a coughing fit. Right in her face. He decided later that smoking, in fact, was not cool at all.

That time in college when he got busted for having stolen test answers in his bag. And the nearly 2000 dollars he'd made selling them. Claiming he had nothing to do with it, that it had been planted there, hadn't helped one bit.

Getting kicked out of the house by his parents after being expelled over the test incident, because they were disappointed that their hard-earned savings were wasted on such a "goddamn cheating weasel." Those were his father's words, to the letter.

All the missed birthdays and holidays spent apart from his family, because both parties involved were simply to proud to back down, let the other back in. Maybe forgive a bit.

His ex-girlfriend, who he'd found in their bed, in their apartment, with their grubby, unshaven, much older landlord. Kicking her out, burning the bed which would never be clean again and trying to move on. He drank far too much. Slept around just enough.

He worked shitty jobs. With just a high school diploma, no specific skills, he had no choice.

Of all the shitty jobs he'd ever had, he'd never expected this one to land him in the hospital.

Movement in the dark. Car doors closing. Opening his eyes, he saw the inside of an ambulance. He tried to move his legs, but all he got in place of movement was tremendous pain.

"Don't move," said the paramedic. "Both of your legs are fractured and we need you to be careful with your neck, just to be sure nothing's wrong. Just lie still and we'll take care of you."

Adam groaned. "What... What happened?" Try as he might, he simply couldn't recall. It all happened so fast. He tried to remember.

He was doing his bit at his regular spot in the park, one he'd decided to use after a particularly good day there. Enough people stayed to watch him, and by his count enough of those 'donated'. All in all, it was a pretty good day.

"Witnesses said you were..." The paramedic chuckled softly and tried his best to hide it from Adam. "I... I'm sorry, but this is one of the weirdest things I've ever heard..."

"Yeah," Adam said. He paused, the memories starting to return. "Oh. OH!" Adam blinked. "Oh. I remember now."

Near the end of what Adam considered a 'day of work', they showed up. Again.

"You're not welcome in this park," the big one of the bunch said.

"Yeah!" added the Bozo's goons.

Adam didn't respond. He waved dismissively at the Bozo and his cronies and continued his bit. The Bozo walked over to Adam and shoved him.

"Hey now," said Adam, throwing up his hands in protest, "this park's big enough for the both of us, Bozo! No need to get all worked up!"

Last time Bozo threw a fit, Adam ended up packing up and avoiding the park for a week.

"You don't get to call me Bozo. You've got five minutes to get your invisible ass out of here. Five. Minutes." Bozo crossed his arms and snarled.

Adam crossed his own arms. Bystanders moved back or simply moved along, not wanting to get involved any more than maybe seeing an anecdote-worthy beat down.

"I've got half an hour left and this is my spot." Adam's shoulders lowered just enough to notice. "You, Bozo, don't get to tell me where I can or can not work."

The Bozo's face twitched. He uncrossed his arms and cracked his knuckles.

"I told you," said the Bozo, "you don't get to call me that. Boys? Go to town."

Three angry clowns jumped Adam, throwing him down to the ground. The Bozo's buddies held him down, allowing the Bozo to violently show him his place in the world. Punches to the face knocked out teeth. Kicks to the chest shattered ribs.

Bystanders yelled in panic, cringed at the sounds of bones breaking, recorded it all on their camera phones and eventually, someone used one of those camera phones to call 911.

By the time the police arrived, the three aggressors had fled. Nobody had tried to stop them. Adam didn't blame them. Besides, he was safe now.

"Why'd they have a problem with you anyway?" asked the paramedic.

Adam sighed.

"Clowns and mimes just don't get along."

Past Tense

Posted by Robin on August 16, 2011 11:41 in short stories, no feedback

Bartleby pushed open the heavy pub door. A bell jangled and a handful of pub patrons gave him a quick look-see. Realizing that they had no idea who this new arrival was, they quickly returned to their pints and banter. Bartleby, however, looked around more intently, until he saw the person he was looking for. He took off his hat and walked towards one of many tables.

"Good evening, John, glad you could make it." He said, while taking off his heavy coat. The man sitting at the table smiled and raised his glass to Bartleby.
"Anything for a friend. Please, sit down."

John signaled one of the servers for two more glasses of the gin he was drinking.

"I'm sorry to have called upon you at such short notice," Bartleby continued, "but as you know, my life has been rather more... exciting than is customary as of late." He swallowed slowly.
"Are you referring to your courtship of Elizabeth?"
"Among other things, I am. You know I've been seeing her for quite some time. And it seemed to be going quite well."

The server came up to the table with two glasses perched on a heavy platter. "Two gin for the gentlemen," he said with a nod.
"Thank you." Bartleby said and grabbed a glass, unceremoniously draining it. A short moment of savoring later, he let out a short gasp.
"Bring me another, would you?"
"Certainly," the server said with a friendly smile.
"Bartleby, I don't mean to rush you, but what's gotten you so spooked?" John said, leaning over a little.

Bartleby fidgeted with the empty glass a little, obviously uneasy. He didn't actually speak until his second gin had arrived, which he sipped rather than drained.

"Like I said, things seemed to be going well between Elizabeth and myself, but things have taken an... unexpected turn."
"How do you mean..?" John asked softly.
"Last week we went to the theater to see The Family Reunion, and in general, it was a fine night. After the play, she had agreed to accompany me for a drink at mine, if I promised to have her home before midnight."
John grinned and nodded approvingly.
"Please don't. Wait until you've heard the entire story." Bartleby said, looking at John with a stern look.
"I apologize. Do continue..."
"So we arrive at mine, and as you know, I'm something of an inventor. In my spare time, at least. Having mentioned this well before, she took the opportunity to ask whether she could see my current project."

John laughed, "THAT thing? Waste of time, my friend, I've told you before and I'll gladly repeat it!"
"Perhaps you won't. We had been joking back and forth the entire evening, so when she said that she was going to be the first person to use it, I thought nothing of it. I should have."
"She... Turned it on?" John said, sounding much less jovial than he'd sounded before.

Bartleby rummaged through his coat pocket and pulled out a photograph.
"I've been looking for proof, any evidence, for this entire week. Today, I finally found it."

He handed the photograph to John, who studied it carefully. It was a picture of a group of women, dressed in Victorian fashion, smiling contentedly at the camera. One of the women in the picture made John look a little closer.

"Is that Elizabeth?" he asked.
"It is. Turn it over. Read the back."

As he did, he noticed, in beautiful handwriting, that it said �The girls in Green Park, London.'

A silence fell as John noticed the date on which the photograph was taken, which had been scribbled on the back as well.

"This must be a fake. This isn't possible." He said eventually.
"It isn't. That photograph was taken exactly 70 years ago."

John looked at Bartleby in shock. He tried to start a sentence but the words wouldn't come to him. Bartleby spoke before John could find them.

"John, the machine actually worked. It sent her back..."

John didn't reply but instead signaled the server for another gin. A double, this time.

Found in Space

Posted by Robin on July 8, 2011 20:57 in micro fiction, no feedback

I expected many things when I was chosen as the first human being to experience FTL travel. Hardships, things going wrong. Hell, I even expected to die. What I hadn't expected was this. None of the 'scientists' who had instructed me, had tried to explain what an FTL drive actually does, had seemingly known this was a possibility. Yet here I was. And so was I. Staring at one another.

"So, you broke through the dimensional rift in that thing?" I said.

"I guess I did." I said to my other self, glancing sideways to the now smoldering FTL drive.

Originally for Boing Boing's "Found in Space" 100-word microfiction contest, which I didn't win.

Coffee

Posted by Robin on May 5, 2011 23:15 in short stories, no feedback

"Oh my..." Jerry said softly, with a cooing quality embedded deeply in his voice, showing approval. He held the cup with both hands and with loving care sniffed the fumes coming from it. "Oh... my..." he repeated after a meaningful and well-practiced pause.

You see, Jerry loves coffee. And not in the general sense. One could quite factually state that Jerry's interest in coffee borders on an obsession. A very persistent one at that, as he's been a coffee aficionado for far too many of his years. He has a specific flavor for what day of the week it is, one for every holiday and a very special blend only to be used on his birthday. Where a typical rich American housewife would have a walk-in closet for her supply of shoes, enough to allow half of Africa to walk comfortably, Jerry's walk-in closet is filled with an almost limitless variety of coffee. Which, by the way, would be enough to wake half of Africa during a week's worth of mornings.

Some of the coffee in there is bog standard, some are mildly exotic and then there's the wildly exotic and rare (and not to mention far too expensive and in some cases, disgusting). One of his favorites, his birthday coffee to be precise, is Civet coffee, which is coffee ground from berries that have been eaten and subsequently passed through the digestive tract of Civets, weird little mammals who look like what would result from a cat making love to a very ugly raccoon. Bloody expensive stuff, and the process by which it is produced by itself limits its consumption to a handful who are willing to drink what effectively boils down to mammalian poop java. Jerry is among that handful, and he's okay with that.

It's his love, after all.

Today was a special day for Jerry, though. Instead of going to one of many places he frequented for a good cup of coffee, he had recently found out that a new coffee house had opened near his residence. Intrigued by the possibility of perhaps finding a new blend, a new and undiscovered flavor, or simply a better version of what he's had elsewhere, he couldn't resist popping in as soon as he found himself able to.

Leisurely perusing the menu, he had noticed a blend he didn't recognize. Seemingly it was coffee from the Himalaya region, grown at high altitude. Upon reading this, his mouth started watering, and he signaled one of the waitresses, who, upon closer inspection, was without a shred of a doubt, his type.

"I'd like the Tibetan Highland blend, please. Make it large." he said sweetly to the black-haired girl.
"One Himalayan coffee coming right up," she said pleasantly.

Watching her as she walked towards, and then went behind, the counter, he wordlessly voiced a blessing for this day. A new flavor, a new coffee house, and on top of that, an attractive girl who he was bent on flirting with until she'd go out with him.

When the black-haired girl returned with a cup of coffee, he waited until she had put it down and asked him whether there was anything else he wanted before asking her whether he could interest her in a break, to be spent with him. You can say a lot about Jerry, though mostly about his obsession, but if there's one thing everyone who knows him will tell you, it's that Jerry goes for what he wants.

"Uhm..." she started while a blush started forming on her cheeks, "I'll have to ask my supervisor if it's okay, but if it is, sure. I'll be right back." And she turned to ask her supervisor.

Jerry chuckled and took a careful sip of his fresh coffee.

After a few minutes the girl returned without her Java House apron, of which Jerry had decided before entering that it had the worst logo he'd ever seen for a coffee house, and sat down next to him. After some pleasantries, their conversation turned somewhat more informative and personal, and both Jerry and the coffee girl seemed to be enjoying where the conversation had taken them.

As they continued their talk, Jerry learned that the girl's name was Rebecca, that she was a philosophy major at the local state university, that she was only two years younger than he was and that she enjoyed long walks on the beach and hot baths. He also learned that black wasn't her natural hair color but she refused to tell him what color it should have been. This annoyed Jerry slightly, but he then decided that he liked black hair and stopped thinking about it.

Rebecca, in turn, learned that he went by the name of Jerry, was currently enrolled at a nearby college where he studied psychology, that he had an intense but entirely wholesome and far from obsessive interest in coffee, was therefore not only a connoisseur but also a purist when it comes to coffee, and that he also enjoyed long walks on the beach (but preferably not too long). She didn't learn much about his hair color as there wasn't much to comment about. It was of no importance and had always been of no importance. Jerry was fairly sure it would remain of no importance in the near future and had therefore chosen to not comment on it. Rebecca, on the other hand, simply hadn't asked.

"Excuse me," Rebecca said, "I'm going to get a cup of coffee as well. I'll be right back." She stood up and walked towards the counter once more. Jerry allowed his eyes to wander and they were quite thankful that he did. While she walked towards the counter, her thoughts went something like the following: "He seems like a sweet guy, not bad looking at all, socially comfortable and honest." Unrelated, one single, unattached thought went "Ooh, I forgot to buy maxi pads earlier. Bugger, I'll have to get them when I go home tonight." Then her thoughts returned to Jerry and a slight smile formed on her face which she tried to hide from him or anyone else in the shop.

Jerry, in the meantime, sat with his eyes closed, enjoying as honestly as he possibly could the smell and flavor of this Himalayan heaven delight. He decided that he would come here more often. Not just because of this amazing cup of coffee, nor solely due to the atmosphere of the place, but specifically because of Rebecca. He wasn't sure, though, whether to include the horrible company logo in his reasoning.

Today was a good day, he decided before taking another careful, savoring sip.

Rebecca returned with a cup of coffee she could call her own and sat down again. "I got the same as you got, I got curious after seeing you drink it with such enthusiasm." she said charmingly. She put her cup down and subtly coughed a soft, cute cough. Jerry decided he liked soft, cute coughs.

"So, tell me about that trip to Norway you were talking about before I got my drink." She smiled at him, showing that she was going to listen intently to his every word. This pleased Jerry, and he took a sip of his coffee before speaking.

"Well, a friend of mine..." he started, but then fell silent. His jaw dropped, his eyes opened wide and a vein started to pulsate dangerously on his forehead.

Rebecca didn't notice, as she wasn't currently looking at him. She was too busy putting milk in her coffee, some sugar and a spoon. She swirled it all around and when she was pleased with the result, she looked up where she found Jerry's eyes staring at her with anger and confusion, and time suddenly ground to a standstill. Well, maybe not a standstill, but it wasn't going very fast either.

"Is he having a stroke?" she thought to herself. "Perhaps he's allergic to coffee?" she thought after that, but then concluded that she was being silly on account of her suddenly remembering that he had mentioned that he was a coffee aficionado, implying that he drank a lot of it. Additionally, she decided, it was stupid to even think he might be allergic to coffee, because let's be honest, who the hell's allergic to coffee?

The reason Rebecca had time to think about all this is simple � Jerry's brain was trying to comprehend what had just happened. It had trouble doing so, since it was rigid in its thinking and not very complex. Or trained. Or, for that matter, very well-developed. Think of a train with only one cart, but the cart is really big. Suddenly there's a tunnel, and the cart won't fit through. Instead of backtracking and figuring out a different route to its goal, like any other mind would do, Jerry's mind was already halfway through forcing its way through the tunnel violently, ripping the cart apart and damaging the tunnel's interior in a terrible way.

And suddenly the little train with the now immensely damaged cart darted back to speed, the tunnel left ravaged in the distance and Jerry's jaw closed with a snapping sound.

"What is wrong with you, woman?!" he screamed at the top of his lungs as he darted to his feet, bumping into the table and causing his own coffee to spill. Jerry looked at his coffee, his jaw gaping again. This time, however, the cart was smaller due to the damage to its structural integrity, and it flew through the new tunnel this situation had thrown at his mind.

"Look what you made me do!" he screamed even louder and tried to catch the coffee dripping down the side of the table with his hands.

Rebecca simply sat there, as it was her turn to look in amazement as this funny, entertaining and not bad looking at all fellow was flipping his wig completely.

"First you put MILK in your COFFEE, and now you make me spill MINE?" he yelled louder than Rebecca thought a human vocal chord could go without bursting. She saw that there was spittle dripping from the sides of his mouth. She also noticed that her purse was not within reach, which was a shame since she kept her pepper spray in there, which might come in handy quite soon.

"AARGH!" Jerry shouted as he angrily grabbed his coat and stomped outside. He started to cross the road but hadn't looked around very carefully, and a car screeched to a halt inches from his kneecaps. Jerry screamed at the driver to look more carefully, that drivers like him were why there were so many accidents, and that he had no right to intrude on Jerry's right to walk safely. After this, he jumped on the car bonnet and ripped off his shirt, shouting loudly that whoever wanted to take him on could "fucking well try", but they shouldn't expect to beat him since he was "king of the fucking world, bitches!"

Rebecca's supervisor came up to her to ask what had just happened, but Rebecca was at a loss for words. By the time the driver had gotten out to pull Jerry off, resulting in a foot planted right in his face, police had arrived to help the driver, now with blood streaming from his nose, pull this crazy off of his car. Screaming all the while, profanities and otherwise, Jerry ended up being body-slammed into the ground with two police officers, knee-first, residing on his bare back.

"Drink something, dear, you look really pale..." Rebecca's supervisor said to her.
Rebecca, shaking, looked at her coffee, picked it up, took a sip and noticed something on the floor. It seemed that in Jerry's frantic departure, his wallet had fallen out of his coat. She picked it up and opened it.

Stuffing the cash in the tip jar, she got up and threw the wallet, now devoid of money, in the lost and found bin.

"Don't mess with a barista." She said defiantly and told her supervisor that she was going home. It was no problem.