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The Trip

The Trip

It was ten o’clock on a Thursday morning in late May.  The sun was just beginning to take control of the sky. Sparkling reflections of the last bits of dew danced among the well-kept blades of grass. The long chain of green snowcapped mountains settled the background with silent dignity.

A red Jeep rumbled up to the small service station fuel pump. There was mud caked on the bottom of each fender, and a dent on the left side of the hood. In the back seat the tips of two duffel bags peaked into view. The noise from the radio died. Ticks of the cooling engine faded away. The driver’s door groaned open. A young man sidled out. His sneakers made a thud on the concrete. He reached for his wallet and removed the gas cap.  His blue cargo shorts had a tear at the knee. Paint was splattered near the pocket. The collar of his red t-shirt was frayed.

The handle kicked. Fuel began to course in just before the passenger door popped open.  The young man was leaning against the car watching the numbers on the pump change. His passenger skipped to his side. The girl was much shorter than he was. Her delicate frame contrasted against his lumbering silhouette. She held a pale handbag.  It matched her soft yellow sundress. The dress hung loosely off her pink shoulders. Blue flowers on the hem swayed to and froe. Her sun kissed blonde hair drifted down her neck. She wore red lip-stick and a playful grin. He looked up and couldn’t stop himself from smiling. He looked down. She giggled and watched the back of his neck turn red.

She held her handbag in front of her hips and twirled side to side.  Her grin grew into a smile. Two small dimples formed. She played with her sunglasses as she spoke.  “Goin’ to work?” His hand moved to the phone sized bump in his front pocket.   “Not today.”

“Where ya’ going then?” He paused.  “Don’t know yet.”

“Takin’ anybody with you?”  He inhaled deeply. “Probably taking this girl I met.”

“A girl! Is she nice?”

“I only just met her. I think she’s probably pretty nice.””

“You get to go on a trip with a nice girl? You’re awfully lucky.” The boy responded with a shy smile. She winked and walked into the small convenience store.

The pump kicked off. The boy returned the nozzle to its holster and put the cap back in place. He got in the car and watched the girl return. She had a plastic grocery bag swinging in one hand.  Her flip-flops scuffed and slapped as she skipped across the concrete.  She jumped into the passengers seat and put the bag on the armrest between them. “I got you something.”

“What did you get me?”

“I got you something for your trip to nowhere?”

“Anywhere but here. What did you get?”

“Close your eyes.” He closed his eyes. “Okay, open them!” He laughed. “What are these?”

“They’re chocolate covered cinnamon gummi bears.” He eyeballed the small package. “Chocolate covered cinnamon gummi bears huh?”

“What? You’ve never heard of chocolate covered cinnamon gummi bears? They’re wonderful.  I heard if the bag is sealed they last for EVER.”

“Forever huh?”

“For EVER.”   He turned the bag in her hand and read the ingredients. “Dimethyl glycernic starch, red dye 6, carnauba wax. These aren’t real food. They’re not even real candy. Nothin’ real about em.’”

“You think you’re smart? If they weren’t real then I couldn’t touch them. So ha!”  He watched her nose wrinkle with the final Ha!  She popped one of the small candies in her mouth then held one to him. He stared with a smirk.  “There’s no reason for chocolate covered cinnamon gummi bears.’”  The girl rolled her eyes.  “Maybe they don’t need to exist, but they’re lovely. I already told you they last for-EVER. They’re perfect for trips to anywhere but here.”

“Hmh.  Nothing good lasts for EVER.” He winked at her. She stopped chewing.   “Just try one.”   Her voice had softened.

He took the candy from her hand and tossed it in his mouth. It was terrible. “That is perfect.  Unnecessary, won’t last forever, but right now, it’s perfect.”  He put the key in the ignition. The engine shot to life. The tires ripped against the concrete as the Jeep pulled away. She flipped her sunglasses down with a squeal, and threw their folded up map into the back seat. Right before she held another chocolate covered cinnamon gummi bear up to his mouth.

 

 

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May 31, 2011 Post Under Flash Fiction - Read More

The Protest

The yells subside and the noise of the amplifiers dies away. All that’s left is the wind whipping through the surrounding high rises. Before the podium are the cold faces of thousands. I see the breath from their nostrils, and silence replaces their outrage. Protest signs lower like sunflowers at dusk. Looking at the microphone in front of me, I reach below the podium, and take a sip from the glass. The water is cold, and I feel it all the way to my stomach.  My hand moves to the breast of my jacket, and I run my fingers across the threading of the crest of my union.

I inhale deeply and shift gaze to the podium. On the top left corner is the fist size stone, on the top right, another stack of notecards.  The pain in my chest is building. With each breath, a sharp pang shoots through my sternum. The crowd shifts their stances and whispers. Knuckles tighten around protest signs.  Behind me are ten men in suits with crests similar to mine.  I feel their eyes on my shoulders.

Holding the rock, I turn toward the plate glass window behind me. I return to the microphone. “Our elected officials have failed us.”  The words echo off the surrounding buildings, and the crowd mumbles. My grip on the rock tightens. The edges press into my palm. The pain in my chest sharpens, as their fate settles upon me.  Clenching my jaw, I scan the crowd.

There is a woman in the front row. Her eyes fix on the stone. Her face is pale, and she is wrapped in a worn coat with tattered wool gloves. The corners of her mouth turn down. Her hands tremble and wrinkles form on her forehead.

“The people in this building, are people of words.” My voice climbs to a yell.  I feel my vocal chords tightening and swelling. My fists slam against the podium. A lock of hair comes loose. I brush it back into place.  I toss the rock in the air, then raise my hands and wait for the yelling to die.  My stomach turns and swells with adrenaline. My left leg is shivering. I press it into the podium and continue. “Words have given me nothing.”

The woman with the sign moves from the front, her eyes on the ground. She leaves the path of the crowd and disappears. No one notices. I feel my pulse in my ears, wrists, and temples. My breathing quickens, and I feel my skin flush as sweat forms at my hairline. Placing a hand on each side of the podium, I breathe deep to stifle the pain in my chest.  I lean towards the microphone.  I feel each heartbeat in my pupils. “I am a man of actions! And the time, to act, is now!”

When the words leave my mouth, I turn toward the building and hurl the stone. It strikes a large window and the glass shatters. Thousands of tiny shards crash to the ground. The crowd rushes forward.

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April 25, 2011profile Post Under FlashFiction Not-on-Prompt - Read More
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