Meet Alex.
He likes music, Beethoven, to be particularly; milk plus; and a little of the old ultra-violence every now and then. He’s the main character of Anthony Burgess’ 1962 novel A Clockwork Orange. I got him to answer some questions on relationships in my ongoing series, “Ask Fictional Characters.” Leave a question in the comments and I’ll post his answers this coming Tuesday (translations from Nadsat will be provided).
First of all, let me say Merry Christmas, or Happy Holidays or whatever, since the next story I do will be after Christmas. Next, let me say I’m sorry that I’ve been bad about reading stories lately. I tend to be very busy these days, but I’ll make an effort. Lastly, this is not based on a true story.
copyright Jean L Hays
Distortion
“Honey, I’m worried.”
Nag.
“I think you might have a problem.”
Overbearing.
“I love you and I just want to spend time with you.”
Emotional blackmail.
She finally looked into his eyes that were snapping like firecrackers. Why was he so angry? She worked hard; couldn’t she relax?
“Fine. I’m going out.”
Ah, peace.
“Can you pick up milk?” she called after him.
She clicked START on her 673rd game of the weekend and the familiar music washed over her mind like a long overdue narcotic rush. Come on high score, she thought, as the colored blocks began to fall.
Today is my 52nd straight week of doing the Friday Fictioneers, ever since Amy from the Bumble Files suggested I give it a try. I’m very glad I did. One year of stories and pictures (each one exactly 100 words, since I’m obsessive that way) is an accomplishment but more important are all the people I have met and the relationships that I have made in the Friday Fictioneers community. And so, I have decided to dedicate this story to that idea. (I toyed with the idea of mentioning people by name, but 100 words is not at all enough room to mention everyone and I didn’t want to leave anyone out.)
copyright Ted Strutz
5200 Words
Hundreds streamed through the cafe, but Gloria chose one soul a week to get to know, then wrote 100 words about them.
Soon leather jacket—table 4 became Mike, grabbing a breather from the crying new angel at home. Lunch special—table 8 was Miles, heading off to adventure in Australia. Smiling eyes turned into Carmelita, stopping in to get her usual whenever she was in town. After one year, the notebook in Gloria’s desk held 5200 words of real lives.
Then one day:
Where’s Gloria?
Collapsed suddenly.
Stable condition.
The number of kind words that awaited her were countless.
She tosses her head at him, disdainfully.
He catches it, dribbles it a couple times, and tosses it back.
She rolls her eyes at his silliness.
He rolls them back right away—don’t mess with those baby blues.
She finally throws up her hands in exasperation.
They get stuck in the ceiling vent. He meekly goes to get a ladder.
🐘 Nancy is a storyteller, music blogger, humorist, poet, curveballer, noir dreamer 🐘
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