The Confabulator Cafe

Tag: flash fiction

  • Enter the Dragon

    Renaissance festivals are somewhat odd places. Those who attend them, not to mention those of us who work them, are looking for something other, to see or hear or do or be something different than normal. At its best, Faire is where the world we have and the world that should be intersect. With corndogs and porta-potties.

    Crossroads are where magic happens.

    I’ve worked just about every job one can do at a Faire. I’ve squired the joust, sold sno-cones, been the Queen’s Lady-In-Waiting, hawked CDs and roses. I once did an entire seven week run playing a nun in the morning and pub wenching in the afternoon. Mostly these days I just fill in where I’m needed. I’ve considered business cards: Have Garb, Will Cover Privy Breaks. Which is how I ended up working the Helping Hounds Animal Shelter booth at the Lone Mountain Renaissance Faire. We provided bowls of water and treats for visiting dogs, showed off our adorably adoptable animals, handed out poop scoops, and solicited donations.

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  • Auditioning

    I’d been living in LA for three months now and still had yet to receive a single audition. I hadn’t even made the cut at open casting calls. The money I’d carefully scraped together to live on while I looked for work was long gone. I’d thought I had enough for six months. I could have lived for nine months on it back home. Longer if I’d been frugal with it.

    But everything was more expensive in LA. Even the coffee. Three months of showing up to casting calls with my hair perfectly styled and my makeup done. I was on my third can of hairspray for this month alone and my fourth tube of concealer. Costs added up.

    This was my last chance. If I didn’t land this audition I was going to have to admit that I couldn’t make it. I’d have to go home.

    That was unacceptable.

    There was no help for it. I was going to have to do whatever it took to land that role. Regardless of the consequences. I didn’t expect to get a major role. But it would be enough to get my name out there. Maybe land another role and then another. Soon I’d be in Hollywood films. An A-lister. But I had to land that first role.

    I dropped my last twenty into the hand of a photography student after reviewing the digital images. Perfect.

    I couldn’t go wrong with this. The casting director would have to give me the part.

    I clicked send on the email, “Consider me for your next movie.” Attached were a series of pictures ranging from a head shot to full nude.

    The next morning, I received a call.

     

  • Night to Remember

    The following is an excerpt from my April Camp Nano project tentatively called Masochistic Tendencies.  Fortunately, it also fits one of the prompts for our Flash Fiction. 

     

    I never imagined I could lay next to a naked girl and not think of sex. How was that even possible, a younger me might ask, all the parts are right there! But here we were, her bare back pressed against my chest, my arms wrapped around her body, her hand holding mine between her breasts. Our legs were mingled together and my face rested against her shoulder. We were doing everything possible to make two separate people fit in the space of one. Despite that, being able to immediately transition into love-making of the finest caliber wasn’t even a blip on my personal radar. I don’t know what she was thinking, but my only thought was, “This is right. This is how everything should be.”

    It’s what I believed then, and it’s still what I believe now. Life is only worth living for moments like that, and that happiness is being so completely comfortable with someone that you are with them at your most vulnerable and still feel protected. Sure the sex was great and all that, especially at the time when we were going at it like rabbits every day, but sex can be had anywhere. At least in theory. Sex was more of a relief that our notions of attractiveness were compatible enough to generate a physical response. It’s happened before, and it will happen again. The peace of mind that came from that bed though was such a unique feeling in my life that I would have done anything to keep it.

    Strands of her hair danced against my face as I breathed her in. I nuzzled her slightly, that secret spot where her neck met her shoulder, and I felt her lips flex into a smile. Her hair on my cheeks was the only coarseness I felt against her smooth, cool skin, reminding me that this was real. Like when you pinch yourself to make sure you’re not dreaming. It was a reminder that life had worked out, that all the bullshit in the past was worth it to spend this one night right here together.

    Amy muttered something in her half sleep, and I mumbled something back, my lips brushing against her skin with every half-realized word. The actual words weren’t important, just the confirmation that we were both still there for each other. Our mere touch wasn’t enough, I needed every sense to make sure she wouldn’t disappear in a puff of smoke. The shape of her bare shoulder loomed as a shadow beneath my heavy eyelids, the scent of her lilac shampoo overpowered me with each breath. Every twitch, every small movement, every breath was felt by each other, both of us relishing in the closeness of someone we loved absolutely and unconditionally.

    If there is a heaven, and if it’s the most perfect, happiest moment of my life, then I’ll spend eternity in that bed.

    I don’t remember the exact date this night happened. Hell, I might have it combined with a dozen similar nights. Or maybe I made half of it up without even realizing, going back into my memories and painting in the blanks the way they should have been colored. Maybe I’m giving into a wish fulfillment fantasy that didn’t exist.

    But the happiness was real. I know that. I’ve spent every minute since trying to get that feeling back.

  • Why the Willow Weeps

    Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a Princess. The Princess thought that she was a very ordinary girl, but she had a magic about her. Not only was she smart, beautiful, and strong-willed, she was also amazingly kind-hearted. Everyone she met instantly felt the warmth she exuded and fell in love with her.

    The Queen of the land, the Princess’s mother, was an evil queen. People couldn’t help disliking the Queen just as they couldn’t help the way they loved the Princess. The Princess grew up lonely, but despite her mother, or maybe because of her, she surrounded herself with those she loved, and made her own family.

    She also had a magical green thumb, something else that her mother, the Queen did not teach her. She treated nature – plants, trees, flowers, and anything that grew in the earth – with the same love she lavished on her friends.

    The Princess’s father died when she was barely grown, and with his passing, she felt even more alone. That was when she met the Court Jester. He was barely grown, himself, but from that first moment they met, she felt a connection to him. Even with how young they were, she knew that she had met her soul mate.

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  • To Your Garden

    There’s a little bit of wine left, but I’m supposed to be sobering up now. I worry my tongue between my teeth as I roll the joint. (Grandma says I get that from my dad – the tongue thing, not rolling joints, though it wouldn’t shock me.) I’m trying to be precise, but I’m still not good at this part. Especially when I’m drunk. I lick the gum on the edge of the paper. Its a suitable distraction from more pressing thoughts, except that it isn’t at all.

    When I’m done, pleased with my rudimentary attempts, I slide out onto the porch to light up.

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  • Conned

    I suppose there's SOME resemblance but not enough for me to actually be mistaken for Kevin. Right?
    I suppose there’s SOME resemblance but not enough for me to actually be mistaken for Kevin. Right?

    “Is Kevin signing today?”

    The fan was earnest. I thought he was joking. Surely he could see the difference between me and Kevin Smith.

    The artist looked at me, expectant.

    I didn’t know what to do. This was the first time I’d been mistaken for anyone famous. I was sitting down so he couldn’t tell I’m five or six inches taller than Kevin but even so. The fan held his issue of Kevin’s current work which the artist had just scrawled on. The artist smiled.

    “Not today,” I said and smiled.

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  • Going for Broke

    In the beginning, the poker game had been my idea. I invited a few guys from the army for a friendly game. No stakes, just a fun way for a few of us from our old unit to kill a Friday night.

    At first it was just Pete, Daniel, Johnny, and me. We pretended we were playing in a big game like those guys in Atlantic City. But we spent most of the night eating and drinking as much as playing cards. Soon I invited a couple of the younger guys from the steel mill, Wyatt and James, to join in. The monthly game became more of a party.

    Then James got sick and we were looking for a last-minute replacement to keep the numbers even.

    “What about Nathan?” Johnny asked.

    Nathan had been one of our crew, but he was also a bit of a blowhard. He’d been married to MaryAnn for about six months. Word was that he was looking for a reason to get out of the house. So we invited him to fill in.

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  • Whispering Secrets to the World (Flash Fiction)

    She’d been keeping it secret for so long, and she wasn’t really sure why any longer. At one point in her life, her fears of rejection wouldn’t have been unfounded. But now… now things were different. There was no reason not to tell them. Except that finding the right words were difficult.

    No. The words were easy enough. It would only take three. It wasn’t finding the right words to say. It was finding the right time to tell them. Finding the right time to reveal everything.

    All of her friends knew of course. They’d known for years. There was only a small group of people left to tell. The most important group of people.

    The people whose reactions meant everything to her.

    And she was a coward. (more…)

  • Mom’s Last Ride

    The house I grew up in backed up to a funeral home. As a kid, I had no idea what that meant, really. It was just normal for their parking lot to be filled up on weekends with people in church clothes, and periodically their chimneys would spew smelly smoke.

    I still remember that smell. The smell of burning bodies.

    Looking back, I realize it’s a little morbid, growing up being accustomed to the smell of weekly cremation. We just saw the parking lot as a great place to ride our bikes, and the snow plow made for great heaps of snow to play on. I only went inside the place once, when I was covering for a friend’s paper route. I set the paper on the table inside and ran home as fast as I could.

    That was when I was older. (more…)

  • Leaving

    “I guess you know by now we’re leaving,” he says, tears freely falling down his face. My son, barely twelve years old, stands on a step-stool in front of a bookshelf full of knickknacks, a frayed yo-yo in his hands that he fiddles with, rolling it up and letting it fall before rolling it up again. He keeps his eyes downcast but can’t entirely hide his sobs or the glistening on his cheek.

    Of course I knew. I’m not stupid, despite what my wife thinks. I knew before he did. I’m pretty sure I’ve known for months, ever since I got sick the first time. Maybe I’ve known this was coming for years. But knowing doesn’t make it any easier.
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