The Confabulator Cafe

Tag: Straeon Manor

  • Return to Sender

    Jungle Room — 2010

    I’ve never been much of an Elvis fan.

    I had an uncle growing up, you can call him Dick because … well, that’s what he was. So Dick was coo coo for Cocoa Puffs when it came to all things Elvis. He collected figurines and costumes and those stupid little porcelain plates that only idiots and old ladies buy from shopping channels. He even bought a mantle-sized Velvet Elvis and had some local artist paint him into the picture with his arm around The King.

    I’m telling you, Dick was not a well man. I’m pretty sure I caught him beating off to “Blue Christmas” one time, and he was referring to his little man as a “hunk of, hunk of burnin’ love.”

    So, yeah, that’s a little piece of my innocence I’m never getting back.

    (more…)

  • Scratched

    Credit to mrheinzelnisse at deviantart.com

    Game Room — May 7, 1970

    I racked the balls tight, just like I taught him; just like my father taught me. I pointed the number on the black 8-ball straight up, for luck. The varnish on the rack had worn away, leaving light circular thumbprints. He always wanted to rack the balls. I always let him. I felt the place his fingers always touched as I put the rack away.

    I circled the table, examining the rack of balls. I traced my fingers around the felt bumpers as I walked. They grazed the spot where we engraved our names. We built the table together. Billiards had always been a family game. Building a billiards table is a major undertaking. It requires so much precision, so much commitment. If the slightest measurement is off — the level, the square — the game suffers. The slightest mistake changes the game.

    I positioned the cue ball at the first mark, lined up to the right. I set myself, exhaled, and then struck. I pocketed a stripe. I always took stripes. He wanted solids. He had loved the bright colors ever since I had to hold him up at the table. He had been so excited to build this. All he could talk about was the game. The game excited him. Everything excited him. When I was with him, everything excited me. (more…)

  • Whispers from Straeon Manor (Week Ending August 4)

    This week, we’re trying something new at the Cafe for our monthly confabulation. Instead of merely giving our writers a prompt for their usual flash fiction of 1,000 words, we decided to really challenge them to do something grand.

    Straeon Manor at the Confabulator CafeWelcome to Straeon Manor. Together, our writers are building this house room by room.

    Each writer has selected a room in Straeon Manor, as well as a time period for their setting. The only rule is that the story must exist completely within the confines of one room.

    In the coming week, you may read a story set in a wine cellar in 1880s, a trophy room during the Roaring Twenties, or a kitchen during the Lyndon Johnson administration. Regardless of where and when the story takes place, they all take place here, in Straeon Manor.

    And because of the special nature of these stories, we’re removing our 1,000-word limit on stories. Our writers can write as little or as much as necessary to tell their tales.

    If our experiment is a success, our writers will be revisiting Straeon Manor with new stories every few months. And when we do, there will be more surprises.

    Until next week,

    The Cafe Management