Flash Fiction 40 Anthology - July 2009

  I never figured Toshi for the industrial espionage type, much too rough for that I thought.

  "Pal-sie, you got my cargo?" he asked, picking his teeth with a pocket knife.

  I handed him the jump drives and he handed over my markers.

  "Here's your bonus," Toshi said thrusting a small, blue felt covered jewelry box into my reluctant grasp. I opened it and took out a gaudy, chunky gold Pinky ring.

  I was only too happy to slip it onto my little finger, still firmly attached to my left hand.

  Sales Call

  By Graham Storrs https://grahamstorrs.cantalibre.com/

  "Hello, sir. My name is Pradyumna and I'm calling all GlobalNet subscribers to tell you about an exciting new two-for-one broadband offer that is available only to people in the Brisbane area."

  Pradyumna looked at the screen. The script said allow the customer to react. So he waited but all he heard was a heavy, rasping breathing. "Our records show that you are a medium to heavy user of your existing Silver Plus service and this qualifies you for an automatic upgrade to Gold Plus at a rate 30% lower than our advertised prices."

  He paused again. This time the customer said, "He's still here, in the house. My head is bleeding."

  Pradyumna winced. He hated it when they went off the script. His English wasn't up to it, although he couldn't admit that! His uncle had got him this call centre job when the farm failed and he and his parents moved to Bangalore. Now his wages kept his whole family and he couldn't let them down.

  "Yes, sir," he said, haltingly. "No person go your house. Er, have modem already installing." He hurried back to reading the script. "If you agree to this generous upgrade offer, we also offer you ..."

  The customer interrupted him. Some of them could be very rude. It made the job quite unpleasant. "Who are you? I need to call the police. I'm hurt bad. Look, I think he's coming back. You're not the police are you?"

  Pradyumna had no idea what the man had said but he definitely heard him say 'please' at least twice. That was probably a good sign, even though the fellow sounded confused. There was no point asking him to repeat his question though. Better by far just to press on. He skipped through the script to the section headed 'Close With Brochure'.

  "I would be happy to send you more information, sir. We have your details on file and a Two-for-One Information Pack is already on its way to you." He clicked the checkbox on his screen to make it so.

  "On your way?" the customer sobbed. "Oh thank God! I can't move my legs. I can see the mongrel moving in the kitchen. I don't think I've got long, mate. You gotta hurry. Please, please hurry!"

  Pradyumna was quite taken aback by the man's urgency. Still, enthusiasm was better than the shouting and insults he often got when he called people. He put a smile on his face. They can hear the smile, they'd told him.

  "I make a note. Say is very, very urgent," he assured him. Now all that was left was the 'wrap'. "Thank you for your time, sir, and I hope you will be very happy with your new GlobalNet products or services."

  He reached out to push the button to take the next call off the queue and, as he did so, he heard the most chilling, horrible scream through his headphones. But he was too late to stop himself, his finger hit the keyboard and the call was gone. For a moment he hesitated. Should he try to call back? Should he tell his supervisor? He shook his head. He was being silly. The man was clearly drunk. He'd probably just fallen over or something. Anyway, another potential customer was on the line.

  He shrugged and replaced his foolish concern with a big smile. "Hello, madam. My name is Pradyumna ... "

  Savor the moment

  By Greg Stoll

  "In other news a teenage boy was?"

  Nothing can stop the rays of the sun from shining on me today despite the pouring rain. The familiar walk home from school draws more pleasant with each step knowing that I won't be making it again all summer. Absentmindedly I step into a deep puddle, and then take the time to give a very deadpan look of disappointment at my soaked shoe. It's only at the very last moment I look up and notice a car swerving to the side as the driver loses control of the traction. My body cascades painfully over various parts of the car until I finally settle on the ground a little ways away.

  "The driver was not found to be driving under the ? "

  My initial impression of getting hit by a car is mediocre at best; I do not recommend this activity. The surrounding people make haste in crowding me and shouting obscenities at each other. I try to tell them that everything is going to be okay, that I just need to start breathing again. The words don't materialize however; I guess the shock of the impact has taken the wind out of me.

  "Nobody at the scene of the accident had medical training, by the time that..."

  Out of the corner of my eye I can see my tenth grade report card still intact a few feet away. "It brings me solace knowing that it's safe so my mother can see how drastically the extracurricular tutoring I'd gotten has paid off. Tomorrow is my father's birthday and it saddens me to envision missing it in recovery. Every year since the time I was five my father and I go fishing to celebrate; it's kind of a tradition we share. Simply reflecting on the memories brings my lips to a smile. One year he slipped, launching the bucket of worms in a spatter that left us both covered in a wriggling mess. Hopefully my girlfriend doesn't make too much of a fuss. I was smitten right from the first smile she gave me and every time disaster strikes the ensuing melancholy breaks my heart. We've only been dating for a month but I find more and more my reality bleeds into hers and hers mine. I can feel her with me, the one who smells like flowers, the one who holds my hand, the one. She may be my first girlfriend but I know that I never want us to be apart."

  "-Keep prattling kid- is what the paramedic said to the boy as they tried to?"

  "I can feel drops from the sun falling hard on me now. No longer looking at my surroundings, for once in my life it's enough just to be somewhere. Shamefully I can't find the puddle I held so dear, I miss my puddle. Lightning strikes not once, not twice, but thrice and then suddenly there's only me."

  "Despite their attempts to keep him alive with defibrillators the boy died. Even though in his final moments he was barely intelligible everyone at the scene said he had a peaceful look on his face as he passed on."

  Sign Language

  By Linda Courtland

  Sandy stopped at the end of the freeway off-ramp, and a beggar staggered toward her. Black letters on torn cardboard screamed, "Its cold. I'm hungry." Sandy rolled down her window. "Give me your sign," she said.

  "But it's all I've got," he said.

  "You can't expect people to take you seriously if you don't proofread your work." She removed a manila folder and a black felt-tipped pen from her briefcase.

  Sandy rewrote the beggar's message using the appropriate spelling and punctuation. She handed him the folder, smiling proudly. He was unimpressed.

  "You got a dollar?" he asked.

  "Education is priceless," she said. "Study the changes I made."

  "A quarter, then?"

  "Try the new sign."

  That night, Sandy told her boyfriend about her good deed.

  "You're nuts," he said.

  "You're just jealous of my altruistic nature," she said, inwardly questioning their long-term compatibility.

  Two days later, Sandy cruised down the off-ramp at dusk. The beggar was stationed on the side of the road, standing tall in a designer suit. She pulled over.

  "Good evening," he said.

  "Hey, you look great," she said.

  "Some guy gave this to me. He thought it would look good with my new sign." The beggar held up an 8x10 dry erase board with a grammatically correct, multi-colored message.

  "I see," she said. "Did he give you that, too?"

  "Time to get back to work," he said, when the stoplight turned red again.

  The next day, Sandy spent her lunch hour at an office supply store. She was trolling the aisles, looking for signs
, when she stumbled upon the store's copy center.

  "Do you print banners?" she asked.

  The beggar was thrilled with the bright green personalized banner that Sandy brought him. Together, they drove stakes into the ground to hold up each end.

  "Now your hands will be free while you're working," she said.

  The flashy neon vinyl flapped in the breeze.

  "Does this thing glow in the dark?" he asked.

  "To help you with the night shift," she said.

  A week later, Sandy exited the off-ramp at midnight. A monstrous billboard stood where the banner used to be. The sign had a panoramic photo of the beggar's toothless grin. The caption read, "Hungry! Please help me." The beggar sauntered over in his suit, tipping his new top hat.

  "I never thought you'd go all Hollywood on me," Sandy said.

  "Business has been booming since that billboard went up," he said. "I got $3 from that last car!"

  "Yes, that's great," she said. "But are you realizing the full potential of your enterprise? What's your marketing plan? Have you done a demographic analysis?"

  "I just like the sign," he said, counting his quarters.

  "You think that's a sign? I'll show you a sign."

  She researched contractors in the yellow pages. By Saturday, a sixty-foot lighted marquee stood in the bushes over the beggar, obscuring the view of the billboard. Messages scrolled across the screen, little white lights begging for change.

  "I can't thank you enough," the beggar said.

  She noticed he was wearing the same tie she'd given her boyfriend last Christmas.

  "Business has never been better," he said. "I sold my first franchise today."

  Sandy got out of her car and showed the beggar how to program the marquee so that his pleading messages would alternate with the time, temperature, and Dow Jones Industrial Average. She tested him until she was sure that he understood how to use the marquee's spell-check feature.

  On the drive home, Sandy thought about the beggar's tie, and decided to confront her boyfriend. The game was over. He couldn't top the marquee. She hoped he would take her victory in stride.

  As she walked toward her front door, Sandy noticed a Goodyear blimp floating toward the freeway off-ramp. A million moving lights demanded help in fighting hunger.

  Sandy's boyfriend was waiting on the porch, his face awash in faux innocence. He got down on one knee and held up a piece of ripped cardboard. The misspelled marriage proposal was printed in shaky block letters, and Sandy realized with certainty that she'd finally met her match.

  Sportsmen

  By John Towler

  I took Kyle hunting with me today. Eight years old is on the young side, I know, but Kyle is big for his age and I judged it was time for him to see how food got on the table. His mother worried he'd get fidgety, maybe spoil the hunt, but during all the hours we sat perched in the tree he didn't say a word, just kept his eyes on the trail, watching. Waiting.

  When the time came, he made the kill. He did me proud, as I knew he would.

  "She's beautiful," he said. I had to agree. Sleek body, chestnut hair, well-muscled legs built to run-which she had, but only after it was much too late-she was in the prime of youth. Her limbs twitched as the last light of life faded from her brown eyes.

  I was glad to see a trace of sadness in Kyle's face. A certain melancholy taints the thrill of the hunt for all respectable hunters. I'd tried to impart upon Kyle the nobility of all living things; how it was important we respect them and express gratitude for the life they give for our sustenance.

  Kyle was suitably respectful, but after hours of waiting he was also hungry. His mouth gaped open, fangs shot forward, buried a moment later in the dead woman's neck.

  Ten One-hundreds of a Second

  By DeborahBundy https://mistyhill.blogspot.com/

  A small finger wraps around mine and a lump forms in my throat. I struggle to talk.

  "Chad, have I told you I know how to swim?" I say.

  I believe if I can keep talking you'll keep listening and will keep breathing.

  "That's what you have to do. Think of the incubator as a pond. Keep your nose above the water. But there's something else you need to know and it's important."

  I feel a sense of urgency.

  "I'll tell you my story. When I was bigger than you, but still little, my father threw me in a pond. I almost drowned. Lucky for me I was a natural at swimming. Soon there was pressure put on me to see how far I could go with this talent. When I wasn't practicing I went to the stream in the woods behind our house and studied crawdads."

  I rock you.

  "It was peaceful there. Crawdads taught me how to skitter backwards out of harm's way. Sitting on a cold rock with my bare feet nuzzling the mud and sand bottom of the creek I'd flip over stones until one of them long-tailed dads raised his claws and snapped at me."

  I smile at the memory and think I see an answering smile on your face.

  "I'd poke a stick at him, and watch as he moved backwards lookin' for another dark place to hide. Ugly creature, but fascinating. Learned from crawdads, you don't need to be good lookin' to attract attention, but you better know how to skitter backwards when you attract the wrong kind.

  "The crawdad approach worked when I was in trouble with my father. It can work for you. You're a little underweight and a bit wrinkly right now. Practice skittering so no one comes and snatches you away."

  I clear my throat. So do you.

  "Now, the other thing you need to remember. Guess it's best to explain how I learned it. We're going back in time little fellow. Some people know the big story, but you're the only one who will ever know how it made me feel.

  "I swam in the Olympic Trials for the United States of America. I'd been working for this since I was thrown in that pond and I figured I had as good a chance as any of the dudes there. Guess I was a bit cocky."

  I laugh. You mew. I hold you close to my heart.

  "This was my plan. When the gun went off, I'd imagine I heard my daddy's voice yelling swim. And I would swim like my life depended on it. The gold would be mine. I thought there would be hot times in the old pond that night for me.

  "Then things started going wrong. They had music for us to march to and I was out of step. Fourteen years of two a day practices, miles and miles of strokes, missing summer vacations, no Friday night dates because practice started at 4 a.m. on Saturday, and I was drowning before I hit the water in the big pond.

  "We reached the deck. I took off my warm-up and put it in the box by my chair. Lined up behind my starting block and waited. The race I wanted to swim played through my mind. The whistle blew. I climbed on the block, felt light-headed and for a split second feared I'd fall in and be disqualified."

  You settle against me, seem to be breathing easier. I take a deep breath, just as I did at that moment at the Olympic Trials.

  "It seemed forever before the gun went off. Then I hit the blue, found my rhythm. I saw the guy next to me out of the corner of my eye. Wingspan longer than he was, hands twice as big as mine, he pulled ahead. We turned for home."

  I frown. Your lips form a miniature rosebud.

  "At that moment, I realized the gold at the end of the Olympic rainbow would be his, not mine. Fourteen years of f'ing time, gone in ten one-hundredths of a second. I dragged myself from the water, dried off, and congratulated the one I wished were me."

  I risk a peek. You don't look disappointed. Something hard melts in my middle.

  "You're named after him," I say. "After the rush and the crush, I went back to the creek, studied the crawdads, buried my feet in the mud, and learned how to make something good out of something sad. I'd focused on the wrong prize. I realized I'd missed the pleasure of the water and the everyday joy of giving one's all, missed the valuable moments, missed my life."

  I shake my head.

  "Or so I thought. Today, I've learned, never believe your dream is dead."

  I stroke the soft down on your tiny
head.

  "I ended up with the gold after all. You."

  Your little legs are turning purple. Time is precious.

  "Listen little fellow, you were thrown in the pond of life today. Remember to keep your nose above water, but don't forget to feel the blue, test yourself against it, and treasure the swim. That's the prize, living every minute you're alive."

  The nurse approaches. I bend toward your ear, no bigger than a droplet of water.

  "Chad, it's like you're a crawdad, danger waiting to snatch you. The medical people don't know it son, but I do, crawdads can skitter backwards out of harms way. I don't want you to miss your life, not even ten one-hundredths of a second of it."

  The nurse reaches for you. I kiss you ever so gently. Hold you up. Your tadpole of a nose crinkles, your little legs pump.

  "Have I told you little fellow I know how to swim?" I say. "I'll teach you, so you won't drown. I'll never let you drown."

  They place you amongst all the wires and tubes. You skitter backwards a tiny bit. I cry.

  The Distraction

  By Donald Conrad

  They were lost. The cheapo GPS in their rental car crapped out; yet they knew they were close. The smell of the ocean came in with the air conditioning.

  Tom was thinking in expletives but said, "I'm taking a left here."

  Julie said, "Why here? What makes you think you know where you're going?" Her stiff Miss Piggy hairstyle shuddered when she talked.

  Tom palmed the stubble on his head then said, "The beach is that way."

  "Oh, how do you know that? We should ask someone."

  "The beach is east, right?"

  Julie had to think about that before she said, "Yes."

  "The sun rises in the east and it's still morning. Which way is the sun right now?"

  Tom had already taken the left and the sun was high in front of them. Married twenty-five years and she still made a lousy co-pilot.

  Julie said, "I'm sure the GPS directions were a little more involved than just 'take a left.'"

  Directly ahead was the ocean. The street came to an end at a stop sign and they had three options; they could take a right onto a street that followed the coastline for the two hundred yards they could see, they could turn around and go back (hoping luck would bring them to another beach), or they could park in what looked like a small lot across from the stop sign. Tom drove across and parked with his bumper close to the white-railed barrier. The car just fit.