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Category Page: fiction

Note that on the category pages, the posts are in chronological order, unlike the rest of the weblog.

Thursday, December 27, 2001

tinyblog sudden fiction
Author of this post is ~ tiny daniel ~ tiny daniel

He had already made a comfortable stake for himself out in front of the thrift store, and it was only noon-thirty. A molded plastic lawn chair, a big pink comforter, and a coffee can containing $4.78 in cash, out on the sidewalk for all to see. He figured that was nearly everything a man could need.

He really turned on the charm for the pretty young art students. "Hey", he mugged, as they passed, "I'm not just makin' this up here. I really am homeless!" He broke into a wide grin when she stopped. Such a pretty little thing, too, with wise eyes. He was glad he got a chance to look at her again as she eyed him dubiously.

"I don't do cash donations. I'm on my way to the store...can I get you something?"

"You know what I would like?" he asked, quite rhetorically. And she, in good spirits, played along, looking expectantly at him to find out.

"Chocolate milk. And a big bag of M&M's."

"What kind of chocolate milk? Whole milk?"

Now he was really hamming it up, "I don't care what kind of milk. Just any kind of chocolate milk you want to get...but peanut M&M's! That would be so nice, it would be like a birthday present. That kind of thing energizes me, you know."

She had long since stopped trying to preach nutrition to men on the street, but he was just making sure, she guessed. She flashed the winning smile of the do-gooder, and turned on her heel humbly to walk to her fancy organic foods store.

She was a vegan lesbian libertarian, and she knew less about milk than she did about politics, so she got the best kind of milk. Organic whole milk with cane juice and real cocoa, in a glass bottle that had a two-dollar deposit. Nowhere in that fancy little store, however, could she find anything as pedestrian as peanut M&M's.

She had come to get some lunch and a cup of coffee, so she got a little lunch and sat down in the sun and ate it with relish. She smiled at everyone who met her eye. When she was done she stood up and walked to the door, thinking that after she gave him the chocolate milk she could go to another grocery store nearby where they were sure to have M&M's.

She could see even from a block away that the chair, the comforter, the coffee can, and the man were gone. When she got to the corner she looked around on the other street, looked everywhere. Motherfucker was gone. She cursed herself a little for eating lunch so slowly, but he had really looked like he was settled, damnit.

She walked home, put away her one grocery in the fridge. Took it out. Shook it. Took a pint mason jar from the cabinet and set it on the counter. Cracked the seal. Poured herself a cold half-glass, still frothy from being shaken.

It poured down her throat in great rich gulps. She regarded the empty glass, sitting on the counter with the last tiny bit sliding off the walls and pooling at the bottom. She poured herself another glass.

lovingly or haphazardly posted at 11:56 PM

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Tuesday, January 01, 2002

tinyblog sudden fiction II
Author of this post is ~ tiny daniel ~ tiny daniel

If more people got to feel how unnerving it was to be punctured like this, they would be a little bit easier on the trigger, he thought. He had imagined how it would feel to get shot. He thought it would be something that would just be so painful he couldn't handle it.

Now here he was trying to convince his Commanding Officer to concentrate on putting direct pressure on the wound so he would not die, which seemed important. That man had been on the battlefield for the last six years. He was a Sargeant, and now he was acting like a new recruit. Hell, he wasn't even the one who got shot.

Even now the pressure against his chest was wavering. Annoyance crept into his voice, "Keep pressing!"

His C.O. shuddered a bit and looked up, his face looked veiny and ghoul-like. He repeated the pressure, but just kept saying stupid, inappropriate things, like, "Do you think your wife will be too mad at me?"

"No, she'll understand. She knows you look after me."

He did not want to be comforted. That did not matter at all. He felt a little like a robot, very pragmatic, computing how long he could continue to sit in that position that let him breathe. If he relaxed too much, it started to feel like his lungs were being slowly pushed underwater. He only wanted someone with the skill and equipment to take that thing out of him and make him unconscious until they could make him be able to breathe again.

"Keep pressing!"

"Oh shit I'm sorry," he renewed his pressure, but it slacked off almost immediately as he asked his question, "oh God man, why did you enlist?"

"I was hoping I would get shot. Please push, I can't breathe if you don't push."

"Ok, ok, I'll push, I'm sorry. Are you going to die? Are you...why are you laughing?"

He was laughing because at 8 years old, Brent Crudite had unfairly critiqued his acting skills during play at war.

"That's bullshit," Brent said, "you wouldn't just fall down like that if you got shot, you'd writhe around and scream or something. It hurts so bad when you get shot that you just can't take it!"

Brent was wrong, that little punk, and Brent couldn't have known that the sweetest sound in the world was actually helicopter blades in the distance.

lovingly or haphazardly posted at 08:57 PM

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Monday, February 18, 2002

tinyblog sudden fiction III
Author of this post is ~ tiny daniel ~ tiny daniel

"Take him to the doctor."

"I'm not takin' him to the doctor, he's perfectly fine."

"He's got a bad case of the scrawn, take him to the doctor."

"He's just slender."

"You 'kin count every damn rib on that boy. Take him to the doctor."

"Ok, fine, I'll take him to the doctor."

"Good. Take him to the doctor while you're at it."

---

"Hi Dr. Malek."

"Hi Rose. What's up?"

"Is something wrong with my boy?"

"Looks like he needs a haircut, maybe."

"Dr. Malek, look at him. You can count his ribs."

"One, two, three...mmp, yes, they're all there."

"But..."

"He's fine. He could stand to drink more milk."

---

"What's your name?"

"David."

"How come you never leave the monkey bars?"

"I like the monkey bars."

"You kind of look like the monkey bars."

"My dad says I have a bad case of the scrawn."

"Do you kiss girls?"

"Sure."

"Kiss me?"

"Okay."

"You have pretty arms."

lovingly or haphazardly posted at 11:00 AM

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Tuesday, December 17, 2002

guaranteed
Author of this post is ~ tiny daniel ~ tiny daniel

If I have something I have to do in the morning, then I just can't get to sleep. And my tummy hurts.

Hey, how about if I tell you a story, you know...since we're both here.

There was once a millionaire prince who lived in Romania. One day, he was shuffling cards at his desk. He liked to practice shuffling, and then cutting with one hand, all in one fluid motion.

One may think that millionaire high-rollers are born and not made, but this is a myth. The prince practices his poker-face for hours each day in the mirror. He would like to think he is James Bond, but alas, he is just a millionaire prince with no request for service from the Queen of England. Although he could probably get away with killing someone, he does not have a license to do it.

There is one thing that the prince fears above all else. He knows he will die but it seems far away. He fears no man or beast in his kingdom. He fears only boredom, which is clearly this Romanian prince's lot in life. Really no diversion is good enough.

I am too tired to finish this story. If only I were tired enough to actually sleep so I would be rested in the morning. Damn this story anyway. Damn this weblog. I just want to go to sleep.

lovingly or haphazardly posted at 05:27 AM

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Monday, January 19, 2004

tinyblog sudden fiction IV
Author of this post is ~ tiny daniel ~ tiny daniel

born on the bayou

I'm only a young boy and already no one loves me. I got a stupid toy from my grandmother and my mom said I hurt her feelings. Didn't she get my list?

I've got a secret tree. It's in our yard and it's behind three other trees. Edgar, Macy and Walnut. I named them when I was three I think. I named my secret tree back then, too. When everyone is mad at me even the secret tree feels like an ordinary tree.

Oh, but wait! Now I'm not so sure. I run across the yard in twelve quick jumps and heave up into the thick branch that swings me up barefoot and quick. I'm a tree ninja.

I have a little radio that plays rock and roll, or whatever I want. I'm the unfurriest baboon, that's what my sister says. Born on the bayou...din dinna ninna nin...born on the bayou. I wonder what's a bayou.


other tinyblog fiction

lovingly or haphazardly posted at 11:13 PM

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