Friday, December 16, 2011

Flash Fiction

A few months ago, Ben and I bantied about the idea of collaborating on some sort of a story - I as a writer, and Ben as someone that actually has some creativity. Unfortunately, we both realized that we had lives and couldn't really devote any sort of time to such an endeavour.1


I've still had the bug in my head of where I thought our collaboration would go, and then, about two months ago, I had the uncontrollable urge to write at least some of it down. So, here's a little bit of flash fiction because it's been a while since I wrote something that wasn't a blog post or an e-mail:
Jones came through the diner door, saw Snider in the corner, and slid into the opposite side of his booth.

“You’re late,” Snider said, barely looking up across the table.

“You’ll live.”

“Who’s is that?” Snider raised his eyebrows at the wiped blood on Jones’ index finger.

“Nosebleed. Dry fall weather.”

“Hm,” Snider made a small tick mark in the corner of his napkin. “You need to slow down.”

“Slow down?” Jones’ eyes were wide with surprise.

Both men looked up as the waitress came by to take the new patron’s order.
“Nothing for me, thanks,” Jones said. Before the waitress was able to make a full turn, Jones’ free meal had appeared in front of him.

“You’re a dick,” Snider chastised.

“I’m thrifty.” Jones said with a grin.

“When was your last reflex test?”

“Who cares?”

“I care,” Snider held Jones’ gaze as he slid his hand across the table and firmly pressed his fork into the back of Jones’ hand. Jones didn’t immediately react as Snider continued. “You’re new, I’m trying” – Jones jerked his hand away and glared at Snider – “to make sure you understand that you need to take it easy as you get used to it.”

“I’m fine – better than fine – but you worry too much.”

“Mm-hm,” Snider made another tick. “I have to piss.”

Snider slid out of the booth as a full glass appeared across the table from him. He shook his head and moved to the diner’s washroom. Before long, he heard a gasp from the waitress. He knew what had happened; Jones had slumped to one side, his head resting on his napkin, which was catching the trickle of blood from his nose.

In between blinks, Snider placed some money on the table, and was halfway down the street.
No guarantees, but I actually really enjoyed writing that, so who knows, more to come?

1 - That and we probably got distracted by a shiny thing or two

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