Hello everyone! Do I have a treat for you! An original piece of fiction!
Grandmaster Flash and I went to a show last night (to see my new favorite band Pufferfish—they were lovely and the evening was marred only by my sad need to be in bed my 11pm every night) and we got there a bit early (again–we are OLD). So while we were sitting around drinking beer (Ha! Not THAT old!) we decided to write a little bit of noir. The situation seemed to call for it. We each wrote a sentence(ish) and then passed the notebook on. You may be able to detect the (numerous)* instances where one of us would try to stall and get out of thinking of anything clever. We are well matched in laziness, GmF and I. Anyway, without further ado, my I present to you:
“A Well Respected Pygmy; Or, A Pygmy That Is Barely Tolerated By His Peers”**
Charlotte felt bad, and not the kind of bad you can shake. It was a quarter to three, and she was on her fifth whiskey gimlet, beating her previous record by four. But even the liquor wansn’t helping tonight. What was it about Vince that haunted her so? She needed a smoke.
Charlotte dug deep into her purse, searching frantically for anything she could light up. What she found instead shook her to her very core. She slowly withdrew the object from the dark recesses of her over-sized bag. And then she let loose a blood curdling scream.
A rat; of all things a giant, hairy, surprisingly damp rat.
The one thing guaranteed to remind her of Vince.
It was at this point Charlotte decided it was time to leave the dive she found herself in. She had to make it to Peggy’s Pancake World before the 2AM rush. My god! She’d been sitting there for nearly 24 hours!*** Charlotte grabbed her purse, checked it once more for any additional vermin, and then made her way to the corner to hail a cab.
Charlotte never made it to the corner.
Vince woke with a mouth as dry as the Sahara, blurred vision, and a chip on his shoulder the size of New Jersey. The bitch had stood him up for the last time. He laid there on his couch for a few moments longer before making his way to the bathroom.
An hour later, the sounds of the toilet still fading into the distance, he walked into the kitchen and picked up the phone.
Nothing but dial-tone—he’d forgotten to dial again.
“Damn it,” Vince said to himself, and proceeded to dial the one number he had committed to memory. “Mom?”
“Vince? This is your father. Are you ok?”
“Pop? I gotta ask you somethin’. And it’s real hard to say.” Vince took a deep breath.
“What is it, son?” his father asked.
Vince took another deep breath.
“Vince, it’s okay—you can tell me…I’m your dad.”
“But that’s what I was going to ask you. Are you really my dad?”
There was another long before Vince’s dad asked, “Vince, have you been drinking?”
Vince hung up the phone. It didn’t matter who his dad was. The bitch had stood him up and he was gonna find out why.
She was dead.
Detective Mahoney was the first to be called in that cold November morning. Sergeant O’Malley was the second, but she got there first because of traffic.
“You’re late, Mahoney,” O’Malley said with a sheepish grin. “Long night?”
“A lot longer than this poor broad’s,” Mahoney replied.
“You and the misses still having it out?” O’Malley asked.
She’s fishing again, the nosey whore, Mahoney thought. “Let’s get to business, shall we?” Mahoney said in a firm tone.
Ironically, getting to business was exactly what O’Malley had in mind. She shifted her pants. “Right.”
Mahoney made his way to the body on the side walk. Twelve years on the force hadn’t hardened him to the sight of a body—especially not one that had so obviously been stabbed, shot and strangled. “Looks like we’ve got a Triple-S on our hands.”
“Wow,” O’Malley replied, “this is my first.”
Yeah. Bet you haven’t experienced a ‘first’ anything in a while, Mahoney thought.
They’ll never catch me.
A disheveled looking man walked through the five and dime, attempting to sneak a loaf of white bread into his over-sized coat. He succeeded. Lunch!
The old man made his way back to the shelter where he shared his bounty with Chuck, his only friend in the world. Even though he suspected that he was a cold-hearted killa.
To Be Continued…Maybe
And that is our story! We also played MASH (I’m going to marry John Stewart and live in Forks, WA!) but I figured this might be slightly more interesting. Slightly.
Have a lovely weekend! Watch out for killa’s!
*(I apologize for all the parenthasis—they seemed necessary at the time.)
**This title has nothing to do with anything. We just find it amusing. Like, really amusing.
***GmF claimed this addition was necessary for the sake of ‘continuity’. Because the rest of the plot is so seamless.