August 12, 2020 - Entre oscuro y claro - Flash Fiction: 12

Flash Fiction: 12

At a bustop in front of a small restaurant. A man down on his luck attempts to get the attention of the crowd of six freezing souls waiting for the bus to pull up. Most, if not all of them, are heading to work across town. He looks at everybody but no one will look at him. He starts to speak.

“You can say my name is Xava. If that’s what you want. Or Salvador if you prefer to be proper. Either way, I’m the same guy. Jeans and a t-shirt wearing, sing of the cross at freeways, nachos from the ice-cream truck guy. Needs to get some food in his belly kinda guy. 

“I’m not worried about my name though. What I’d like to do is sell you this ring I have here. It has one diamond that’s a pretty good size. 

“Ma’am, you interested? Sir? Want a closer look?

“No need to step back. Don’t be scared. Jesus. You all jumped back like I got that Covid. But I don’t. I don’t. I don’t have a lot of things and right now I’d like to get some money for food. This ring is worth a good amount. All I want is $100….. I’ll take $50.”

Not one reply or even nod from those standing. He releases a long breath that sends a cloud of cold smoke out of his mask. Some shoots up around his nose.

One of the men standing is holding two coffees in a cardboard container. He’s holding a small book in his other hand and he’s looking at Xava with extreme disdain in his eyes. 

Xava catches the man’s eyes for a second and lets it sink in that this man hates him. 

Ring! Ring! A bike riding on the sidewalk startles Xava forcing him to jump out of the way. Knocking the coffee out of the disdainful man’s hand and splashing it on his khakis. The man doesn’t even say a word. He simply reaches back and smacks Xava so hard it sends the ring twirling down the sidewalk, off the curb and into the sewage drain. 

As the bus arrives and everyone gets on, Xava is left sitting on the floor rocking back and forth, in tears.

Meanwhile, inside the restaurant a woman and her child wait for Xava to return with money so they could eat.

August 02, 2020 - New mask, who dis? - Flash Fiction: 2

Flash Fiction: 2

The dried up sewer stench rises through the grates and into your nasal passages. It sticks to the mucous membrane. You can’t shake it. It even gets in your throat. This is why I hate breathing when downtown. I’m lucky that my body does it on its own or I would probably die. If I could only hold my breath for the few moments that I’m here but I can at best do like 15 seconds. Wearing a surgical mask helps with the lurking odors.

She’s supposed to meet me here at 7pm and it’s 6:58. She’s usually five minutes early for the pick up. I hate holding so many doses on my person at one time. But I know she’s good for it.

At least there’s not many people around here. The last decade of outbreaks wiped out huge numbers. Double digit millions. Just a few looters and scavengers left looking for anything that might have been missed from the 7 years of unrest and uprising we’ve been through.

As long as I don’t see any orange tinted eyes I’m ok. That’s the tell tale sign of, “the infected.”

There she comes. I can see her swagger from two blocks away.
Black boots, black jeans, black coat. Classic. 

She’s been the closest thing to “normal” that I still have in my life. I can remember having drinks at the rooftop bar just a few blocks from here years ago. I wish there was at least one bar left or liquor store.

Damn she’s good. Black hat, blond hair, red lips. Beautiful.

If there was a god I would thank it for keeping her in my life. Even if it’s just for these quick pick ups, a quick exchange of product and a bit of conversation every three days.

Here. Beautiful face and - orange eyes.

Fuck.
Slit.

I didn’t know that I could do that so quickly, draw my sword and slice off her noggin.  Her blood pooled as I stepped back and watched the scavengers rummage through her pockets and remove her boots.

No one has feelings anymore. I wonder if I do.

As I strolled back to my lair I recounted all of the many occasions her and I had laughing and drinking. I made a mental list.

I buried the doses that were meant to be hers in the ground. We’ll let the earth get high in her name tonight.

August 01, 2020 - Entre Los y la luna - Flash Fiction: 1

Flash Fiction: 1

Following a long day replete with the exhausting particularities of moving and a little bit of cooking, Carlos took the time, one hour, to set up his new bed in his new home and was finally about to get some proper rest. 

It took him one hour of sweeping, moving boxes, measuring floors and mattresses, selecting sheets and blankets in his new apartment. He was now in a new neighborhood, a different part of the city where he imagined the new life he worked hard at creating.

Wearied, at bedside, he started to undo his pants. He sat on his mattress and for a moment felt gravity tug at his cerebellum with a deliberately delicate tow. He surrendered without negotiation and lay horizontal, resting his greasy mop of a mane on a freshly washed pillow, for two seconds.

It was two seconds in which he experienced nothingness. It felt eternal. Everything was still. His heart beat in silence. He clearly saw his body floating in space, in the universal whirlpool of stars and planets with no bound. With eyes closed he couldn’t feel earth beneath him or roof above him. Only the light from lightyears of galactic travel was present in all directions.

He weighed nothing.
He heard nothing.
He smelled nothing.

Wait, he thought. He did smell something, on the stove… beans. Fuckin’ beans.

In the kitchen - burners off - check. 
Back to bed. Drained.

He still slept saintly and soundly. An innumerable amount of dreams ran through his mind that night. All of them forgotten. None that he could recall if you asked him about them the next morning. 

But years later and even in another home, he did and does still remember those two seconds of… just being in space… with nothing but his universal self.