The Confabulator Cafe

Tag: flash fiction

  • Closure

    “I’m –

     

    “I’m Done,” he said and set the glass down on the painfully white bar in the more painfully white and other wise featureless room. “I’m finally well and truly done.” He turned the glass around completely twice.

    He couldn’t recall having put on a white suit yet he wore one now. In fact, he’d never owned a white suite in all his one hundred and seventeen years.. No tie, though. Disappointment welled up in him at that. He should have a tie. No one wore ties any more, they’d all forgotten what it meant to be businesslike. Now they all wore business casual.

    Something blue, maybe. He liked blue ties.

    Are you?

    Surprised, he answered without thinking. “Am I what?” He moved away from the bar and tried to take in the entire room.

    Are you capital-d Done?

    “Oh.” The question was aggressive in a way he hadn’t expected. The voice was unfamiliar, too. He considered the question. “Yes.

    “Yeah, I’m Done. I drank the whisky. I’m finished with all that.”

    And the people you’ve hurt in the process? What about them? Don’t they get to say goodbye?

    “They’re being well-compensated.” He frowned. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

    This is the Waiting Room. Everyone here is waiting for something. (more…)

  • Old Devil Moon

    71UxQ8v6SQLPatryk Abramczyk should have been shackled to the concrete wall in his basement. Instead, he sat in the dining room of a crippled cruise ship. His wife Becky sat across from him, dressed to the nines, despite not showering for a week. Her eyes shimmered on the razor thin breaking point of tears. Patryk admired her strength. Becky’s inflexible nature tried him, at times. Today, eating peanut butter on white bread in their formal attire, it provided stability on the otherwise stormy ocean. As she had said, “The jazz combo still comes out and plays every night. They play the part. We should, too.”

    Patryk took a bite out of his sandwich. The bread tasted as dry as cured concrete. The earthy smell of peanut butter momentarily pushed aside the heady aroma of Becky’s favorite perfume. Patryk wasn’t sure if she wore a bit too much out of self-consciousness, or if the change had begun. So many of the symptoms–the heat, the skin tension, the grinding teeth–were indicators of stress. Becky was his rock. When he prepared for a particularly difficult part, she stood by him. When the change was particularly hard, Becky would sit in a chair across the room from where he convulsed in shackles, singing “The sun will come out tomorrow, bet your bottom dollar–”

    “Excuse me, Mr. Abram?” (more…)

  • The Night of Many Names

    I’m not going to tell you a lot of things. The things I need to tell you, I will, but the rest you will have to trust in or disbelieve the entire thing. I don’t really care.

    Which is the first lie.

    I do care. I’m trying to tell you something that’s important. If I fail to convince you of the meat of this story, then I will have to try again. That will be dangerous. But someone needs to know.

    And that is the second truth I’ve revealed to you.

    Proceed with caution but proceed. It’s important.

    This is about a single night in the calendar that you’ve never heard of but which has as many names as cultures that are aware of it. It’s the Night of Many Names, the night when bad things happen to good people because they are in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s unfortunate, but necessary. The herd must be culled. (more…)

  • John’s Mistake

    “I am not supposed to be here,” John said, crossing his arms in defiance as he looked the demon straight in the eye.  Trying to keep eye contact with its fierce, yellow eyes sent chills down his spine, but the alternative- focusing on the rusted iron gateway or the pools of eternal fire- were just as unsettling.  “Clearly, there has been some sort of mistake here.”

    “Oh, you poor thing,” the demon replied, its voice dripping with sarcasm.  “Sent to Hell by accident?  No one has ever said that before!  I’m sure it must be a mistake.  We’d better check the ledger, hadn’t we?”  It pulled a large leather tome out from under its podium, and began to leaf through the pages.  “That must be the solution.  The thought of you being in denial about your atrocious misdeeds is obviously not the case.  Everyone who comes to Hell admits their fate willingly, after all.”

    The demon licked its claws for emphasis as it slowly flipped through the pages, making a theatrical production out of the whole affair.  “It make take a while to find your name, you know.  We find that so many more people end up here, especially now in the modern era.  I’m sure you understand.”

    John clenched his fists, resisting the urge to punch the smug grin off of the demon’s face.  Even if it was just a lowly gate clerk, there was no way he would be able to fight his way out of this.  Anything he did here would be held against him.  If this was going to be a test, well… so be it. (more…)

  • The Runaways

    The rock of the train was enough to put you to sleep if not for the biting cold. Two sets of eyes watched out through the slats of the rail car, one numb and cold, the other fearful and shivering. Shaking, the hand of the younger boy clutched at the coat sleeve of the first.

    (more…)

  • The Locked Door

    She rubbed her hands together, trying to restore some semblance of warmth to them. When she took the trash out to the curb, she wasn’t expecting the door to lock behind her. She hadn’t even realized her door could lock without a key.

    She thought about knocking on one of her neighbor’s doors and asking if she could sit inside until her landlord opened the office in half an hour, but she hadn’t had a chance to get to know any of them yet. The only neighbor she’d met had given her the creeps and she didn’t want to risk knocking on his door in a robe and slippers.

    She didn’t even have her phone on her. Whoever designed her robe and pajamas clearly felt that pockets were unnecessary. Up until now, it hadn’t been an issue.

    Chafing her hands wasn’t doing much good in the freezing weather, so she shoved them under her armpits, dancing about to keep her blood circulating.

    This was the last time she would ever leave the apartment without her keys. (more…)

  • Murph’s Law

    When I pissed on my best friend’s grave, I didn’t mean anything by it. I had good intentions. But what can go wrong, will go wrong. I stopped at the cemetery after the reception to pay my respects to Chuckles: the man, the myth, my friend since grade school. The bar had been packed. I devoted myself to drinking for both me and Chuckles and drank roughly the equivalent of Milwaukee’s gross domestic beer product.

    After the Sheriff threw me out of Billy’s House of Brews, I stumbled across a goddamn acre of the mayor’s snow-covered corn fields, cutting through to the cemetery on the opposite side. Chuckles had been laid to rest in the Fairfax Community Cemetery after a tragic incident involving a bottle of cheap grain alcohol, a sled, and a Ford F150.  The snow drifted in waves across the open field. Patches of bare, trampled corn stalks exchanged glances with windswept snow dunes. Each step was a leap of faith. My feet crunched through the icy crust and jarred against hard soil. Hidden corn stalk punji sticks jabbed my feet. I tugged my ankles from the sucking grip of the heavy, wet snow. I tripped. I fell. I crawled, and I stumbled. By the time I reached the cemetery, my church slacks were soaked through. (more…)

  • Composure

    “What’s it’s name?” Britten peered down, bending over with his hands on his knees. His black hair was wild. The garage was chilly but not too cold. Barber had moved his car out into the driveway and Britten had parked right behind him. A single bulb burned in a socket separate from the door opener. One of those twisty, low-energy things. It was enough to see by but not enough to chase all the shadows from the corners.

    “He says it’s Arvo. There was a long string of sounds before and after,” Barber said, “but we agreed Arvo was his name.”

    “Bizarre.”

    “Indeed.”

    Britten stood up and planted his hands on his hips, considered the alien held captive in the chair. He paced back and forth, never taking his eyes off Arvo. When he stopped, he crossed his left arm across his chest then stroked his chin with the fingers of his right hand.

    “I mean, he understands English.” (more…)

  • Reunion

    The girls trickle in one at a time, congregating for their customary visitation. My friends keep their distance even though I’d gladly have them close. The sullen expressions and awkward silence feel wrong.

    Words come slowly: first regrets, then jokes and memories of better times. I love their laughter but prefer their silence. I’m still the glue that holds them together. Now I’m also the inevitable.

    I’d happily join in on their banter, but I can’t speak their language. When they leave with the sun in their eyes and the wind on their faces, here I will lie, going to pieces.

  • Circuit Rider

    The revolver hung heavy against Allan’s side, tucked beneath his faded duster. He tried to ignore it, but with every stride the gun would poke him like a dog begging attention.  Just ahead, Jim was guiding them up an overgrown trail running alongside the edge of a small ravine.

    He did not much abide guns, being a preacher, but he saw the need for them. As the frontier grew, the church had needed to push the preaching circuits further and further west. He had nearly lost his way this time out; stumbling upon Jim’s farm had been God’s own blessing.

    (more…)