expletive, Flash

Hollywood,1967

I don’t care if you’re black, yellow, red. Heck, I don’t even care if you’re a woman or nah. I don’t discriminate. I hate ya all. Simple as that. Get it? Got it? Good. Now scram you little piece of trash.
We ran and laughed at the same time, our lungs in agony for the most part. We knew Rory, had known him for years. But he didn’t know us, he never did. He always seemed to live in his own world, a fabric made of smoke, the scent of piss and a peculiar dose of alcohol. That’s what we thought. And as rumors had it, he had been occupying this particular corner of the street for decades now, even more so. Max even assumed the guy could reincarnate, that he had been living there in his pastlives too. I told him to shut the hell up, nobody reincarnates, and losers like Rory sure as hell don’t.
“Who gives a crap about his stories anyway?” I said as we entered the garden.
“Well my dad used to tell me stuff about Rory” Max answered.
Joe and I looked at him, I grinned.
“Your dad? Stuff?” Continue reading

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Flash

Rusty

It had been a dead end.
I quickly came to realize there was nothing more I could do. I had to wait. Back in the day, you didn’t have any app to tell you where to go, where to find the next person. There was no swiping right or left movement, nothing of the sort. You had to wait. You had to wait for the green light, you had to wait for the rain to show up, you had to wait in line. Nowadays, people just don’t bother. You don’t see lines in the street anymore, you see riots, mishapen circles, geometrical atrocities, spatial representations of even more atrocious people really. Continue reading

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Flash, fragments

Rip

“I’ve had a hard time sleeping these past few nights.”
“Is that why you’re acting so weird?”
“Actually, more than just these past few nights.”
“And actually, more erratic than weird.”
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
She stood up from her stool, drew it closer to him and sat again. There was an echo, but nothing in sight which could have caused it. Stranger things have been known to happen.
“What’s up?” she asked.
He sighed heavily, probably unsure as to what he should answer. The pause was of those moments you think will never end.
“I … I think I don’t even know. You know?”
“And here I was thinking you couldn’t get any weirder.”
“You don’t seem to know about compassion.”
“I think you ought to talk about empathy here. But nevermind. What do you mean, you don’t know?”
He sighed again, but differently. Can difference be similar? That was the sort of question floating about in his head; things like that had been torturing him his whole life. Until then; until now, he thought. Continue reading

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music, prose

Damage Case

The door shut in a loud noise, and the members of the jury were chatting about something vague. George came in with his Rickenbacker, introduced himself politely and tried to smile. He was not nervous, he rarely ever was, but to say he felt impressed would be an understatement. Not that any of the members of the jury were known to be great players or anything, but they had that particular power that could turn you into something, or put you down, sending you right into oblivion. Continue reading

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Non classé

Old Man Logan

The hospital was all right. The food they served was good, though it could have used thirty more seconds in the microwave. It was mostly veggies, and lord knows I have had my fair share of those; I mean, I wasn’t expecting a party, with pizzas or pies, but some rice or pastas never killed anyone. Besides, we were there do die anyway, so even if it did kill someone, it would have been fine altogether. I mean, except for the families, of course. But death by pizza; there are worse ways to go, right?
They had this strange habit of wheeling me outside everyday, even when it rained. They attached some sort of umbrella to the chair, got me all tied up in several scarves, and pushed me everywhere outside. “See there, Mr. Logan? That’s where Dr. Hugot will settle his new cabinet”, “see the bright flowers over there, Mr. Logan? Spring is gonna be here anytime now”, “Not cold, are you Mr. Logan?” I used those as my personal rythm. They uttered at least five a day, six tops. So when the first one came out, I knew I was an hour and a half away from returning to my room. I did not pay attention to the landscape anymore; it had been the same every since I first stepped wheel there. Nothing had changed, everything just grew old – or older. Continue reading

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