Flash Fiction: Final Lap

After long bouts of procrastination and work commitments, I finally finished up this week's flash fiction piece--initially prompted by me looking back at some of my older and messier works on here. I decided to revisit one of those characters (Russell) for a special, somewhat Valentine's Day-ish story. Enjoy!  

    The waiter placed a plate of scrambled eggs, sausage, and home-fries in front of Russell. He sniffed the streaming vapors, grabbed his fork, and went to work. There was no time to waste. He had a gig and he would be there. Once he arrived, he would get his notepad out and scribble from “hello” straight to the end, writing out the legend of a local rally car champion for his fellow motor-heads. Russell saw himself becoming more than a hero, but a figurehead  amongst car mechanics. He saw the royalties, the fans surrounding his garage, the invites to auto shows across the world, the—
    Russell heard a clink. He sat up from his plate and saw Warren holding his fork towards his glass. He sighed, “Aren’t you forgetting someone?”
    “Me?” Russell moved the remaining sausage links into a cluster, “Nah!”
    “Russ, I’m serious,” Warren rolled his eyes.
    “Dude,” Russell bit off a link, swallowing the piece whole, “With a job like mine, I wait for no one.”
    Russell tried to stab the stack again, but poked the placemat instead. He gazed at Warren gripping the plate with his fingers. Russell tried to pull it back, but Warren’s grasp did not break. He did not even flinch, even when Russell leaned towards him.
    “Look,” Warren said, “You either wait for her or we leave you here. Your choice.”
    Russell leaned back into his chair and shrugged, “Okay. Fine. You win this round.”
    “Uh, no,” Warren slid the plate back, “I’m pretty sure I won the whole thing. Thank you very much.”
    “But this is just the pit stop,” Russell placed the fork on the plate, “The final lap’s all mine, my friend.”
    Warren groaned, “I’m only doing this because you fixed my car.”
    Of course, Russell thought, he did not need Warren’s little Prius when something else from the garage could make the drive. Maybe that Volvo P1800 that he won from the auction. Possibly the Mitsubishi Lancer GT with the back doors missing. All they needed was a quick tune-up, some emissions tests, some parts, and Russell would make a bullet line towards his destination.
    That was also the problem. Unlike his beloved Millenia, he stashed his two latest wheels in the garden shed out back. He had too many cars to fix ever since he started his mechanic shop. The time he wanted to spend ordering the brakes and engine parts for the Volvo he spent looking for shock absorbers and tires.
    Then, there was Dana, who took the Millenia out for a road trip just to test out the new four-wheel drive and cloaking system. This left Russell without any chauffeurs made of steering wheels, engines, and fuel. Here he was with Warren who offered him a ride up to the dream come true, the begin-all-continue-all, that now turned out to be a continuous drag across the interstate. There were only so many country songs Russell could bear before he decided to go rouge and hitchhike.
    It was then that Warren’s girlfriend, Josie, finally turned up at the table, grinning. Russell grabbed his fork, ready to slice the hash browns further. She pulled out a chair and plopped in next to Warren, “They just called!”
    “And?” Warren perked up, “And?”
    “I’m in! The main star! Me!”
    Warren whooped and hugged her, saying how happy he was with a, “So proud! So proud!” Russell sighed and continued to eat. This would all be over. There would be the paycheck, which he promised to pay in full, then on with the ride. Instead, he heard Warren and Joise drone on about all the plays they watched together, the movies they binged through on Netflix for their one-year anniversary, their first date at her senior prom, and so on. Russell finished off the last of the scrambled eggs, leaving him with clean plate. This also left him with the constant smile and nod routine which he got used to during while stuck in a traffic jam with them.
    Russell got up, “Be right back, guys.”
    He went outside and looked at their car—a small, blue Corvette. He was so close to a chance to meet one of his legends wasted on a stop at some run-down diner. Russell sighed and hung his head low. It was over. He would be stranded, not in the parking lot, but at the theatre listening to a soliloquy. Actually, that would not be so bad. He could make Warren owe him yet another favor. If the play captivated him, Russell would give him a discount, but that was it.
    Russell decided that would be the worst-case scenario and sent a message to his rallying inspiration about the slight delay. This was not a race to the finish, but an endurance run and Russell planned to last the longest out there. 

January Shenanigans: An Experiment in Flash Fiction Part 3

Image: Morocco Carp 50.6 lbs - 23kg - Save a 50, a Creative Commons Attribution (2.0) image from radcarper's Photostream

It's another part of the Experiment for Day 3. If you're lost with this one, make sure you read Part 1 and Part 2 for it to make sense. As always, suggestions and picture prompts help guide this story along.



   Dana walked into the living room. Russell’s client sat there, watching some golf match play out with commentary bathed in a false sense of eloquence. She seemed rather calm, not what struck Dana as frightening by any means.
 
    Was Russell freaked out over her height, being as tall as Dana was? While he was not easily intimidated, the sight of a lanky unfamiliar could put him for a loop. Dana pondered this thought. It was the only detail that stood out and the only one that made sense. Everything else about his customer seemed normal.
 
    “If it weren’t for these heads,” She said. “Golf could be a form of art.”
 
    Dana sat down with her on the couch, “Mowing grass? There’s nothing artsy about it!”
“But when viewed from the satellite pictures, oh my gosh! It’s just riveting! Like fishing, but top-down.”
 
    She went on rambling about her love of fishing. Sitting on a bench, overlooking a quiet lake, mediating with pole, string, and hook was a tangent reminding Dana of those General Hospital reruns.
 
    “There’s someone I know who’s like that,” She said. “Some culture activist.”
 
    The patron chuckled, “I’m not trying to make sport art. I just like fishing.”
 
    She took out a small photo album from her purse. She flipped through the pages of family and friends to get to a great achievement. She stood in the picture carrying what Dana thought was a large bass. Underneath the picture read, “Melissa Jo: 1st Place”.
 
    “That was just recently,” She explained. “I don’t go into these things to win, but here I am. The catch of the day was a challenge though.”
 
    Dana was intrigued by Melissa’s fishing story, a journey all the way down to the lake in the back roads. Then, “Bam! I found this pothole. Creepy finding that in the dark!”
 
    The golf game was on its eighteenth hole, the fluency of the commentators went from pompous to motivational. Melissa sighed.
 
    “There they go,” She said, putting away the album. “Ruining my fun…”
 
    “Jeez,” Dana grabbed the remote, flipping through the DVR guide. “Activist and not active!”
 
    Melissa let out a lengthy sigh, “I’m not advocating anything. It’s just-”
 
    The television was now on some auto program. One of Russell’s favorite shows about cars and computers. The bearded presenter went on about how to program Unix into the satnav. Melissa leaned forward, listening to every word and admiring the diagrams.      
 
    Dana was baffled by all this. Russell would have a field day with a fellow auto head, talking about car anatomy for hours on end. Melissa was a different story, speaking the art of the fairway or the imagery of fishhooks.
 
    “Russell should be more like this,” She said. “Gruff and formal. He’d be the clean businessman in a pit of oil. That is true art!”

An Experiment in Flash Fiction: Part 1

Note: You may also translate the title as: A Short Story in Small Parts.

This was not intentional by many means, I was writing a flash fiction piece with some familiar characters and then I petered out by 766 words. While my flash fiction usually wraps itself up without any hesitation, this one ended abruptly, begging the question, "What's going on here?". So with that being said, I've decided to split this one into parts. Unfortunately, I don't know how many yet considering that the idea for this flash fiction just came into mind.

While this gives me a good excuse to play around with Scrivener, which I installed in October, I also want to know your thoughts. Where should the story go?

Let me know in the comments here or on my Google+ profile with any additional suggestions. Without further ado, my flash fiction experiment begins!

Edit: I cut it down to 526 words to make things more intriguing. Also, if there's an absence of suggestions I'll use a picture prompt from writing communities like +Writ and +Flash Fiction Project to further the story.

    “The battery still works,” Russell said, popping through the door.
 
    Dana woke up from her nap and turned to the door. Yep, Russell was still working on it; a battered Lincoln from the back-road’s pothole. It took him hours of waiting just for a tow truck to bring it back to his house. Considering this recent discovery, it was hours well spent.
 
    “Wha,” Dana asked, attempting to lift her head.
 
    “There’s still hope for that stallion,” Russell replied. “No matter how old and screwed up it is, I’ll raise it from the scrap heap.”
 
    Dana grumbled, “Yeah, you and your bad self. Fixing cars like it’s nobody’s business.”
 
“Ah,” Russell jumped back. “Do you doubt your mechanic?”
 
    Dana grunted and put her head back down. Russell laughed and went back to the garage.
It had been a long day aside from the Lincoln. Dana had her hands full on her day off thanks to Simon. He had been going through a sort of throes that even she could not understand.
 
    “Why is it so hard for you to say something,” She asked.
 
    Simon told her he felt there was no way to say anything, whatever it was sounded like a top secret something plus an extra dose of hush-hush. Dana tried to get this secret out but to no avail, “You’d think I’m mad!”
 
    She woke up to a series of sharp pangs on her shoulder. She finally stirred and turned her head around to look at her suspect.
 
     “I know you got this thing down,” She said. “Just go get me some yoghurt will ya?”
 
    “That’s funny,” The suspect said. “Russell told me you loved mac and cheese. You know, the instant Kraft things?”
 
    Dana rubbed her eyes, she did not realize that the person was Russell’s customer. Dana slowly lifted herself out of her seat.
 
    “Russell’s full of himself,” She said. “I got tired of that stuff months ago.”
 
    “So that’s why his shelves just…bare,” The client said. “So sorry for what you have to go through.”
 
“Nah! We’re cool!”
 
    The woman just smirked, “And yet you complain about him. Just doesn’t add up.”
 
    Dana huffed, “So dense!”
    
     She decided to go grocery shopping for breakfast. Scrambled eggs, sausage, and hash-browns were consumed with Russell gorging through most of the seconds. They mostly remained silent except for Russell who was explaining the repairs to his customer. She nodded throughout his ramblings regarding the new doors and essentially the entire hood.
 
     “When?” She asked.
 
     “I’ll have it online by sundown,” Russell replied, grinning. “You’ll be cruisin’ before you know it!”
 
She nodded, “Cool!”
 
    She left Russell and Dana alone in the dining room, with Dana giving a scowl Russell’s way. She remembered the first time he got a car online. She could barely figure out the controls and driving it was out of the question.
 
    “Relax, girl,” Russell said. “I’m just doin’ as she says. To the T!”
 
    “Well, fine,” Dana sighed. “Just don’t screw it up.”
 
“Definitely don’t wanna! She’s been scaring the crap out of me.”
 
    Rushing back into the garage, Dana was puzzled by his newfound fears. Who was his customer?

Flash Fiction: The Politics of Patience

The television aired another soap opera and Dana could barely keep herself awake. All she knew was that Russell was still working on her new set of wheels; one of the old Mazda models. The excitement she had for the big moment had dragged her to this state of fatigue.

“Look what the Skip-Bo won me,” She told Russell when she first brought the Mazda home.

Russell had rushed up from the steps of his apartment complex. He had a heart for Mazdas and eyed Dana’s with the eyes of many excited schoolchildren at recess.

“Omg! A Millenia! That’s some prize you got there,” Russell said, exasperated with excitement. He kept eyeing the Millenia, his fingers closing in on its hood. “You must have kicked some ass at Skip-Bo for this.”

“Not just that,” Dana replied, exiting the car. “Introducing the new Queen of Skip-Bo!”

All Russell could do was to give a congratulatory bear hug, “Damn, girl! Congrats!”

After the initial excitement, Russell’s diagnosis had found many issues with the Millenia; erratic batteries, expired oils filters, and the like. He then gathered his surgical kit (new car parts, a tool-bag, some jumper cables, replacement fluid, and a boom-box) and sealed himself in Dana’s garage.

The week progressed and Dana’s impatience grew worse. She moved the television into the dining room, just to keep an eye on Russell’s repairs while watching countless news anchors and soap opera actors depress themselves in countless arguments.

This process of staring dead at the television, then darting at the door to the garage, lead to today. Dana had ran out of patience, tolerance for the politics of Days of Our Lives, cupboards of food, and quite possibly the bandwidth required to play Angry Birds on her laptop. She looked at the door again. Russell was still at it, blaring obscure dubstep tracks and the car’s engine.

She groaned and finally admitted defeat and let hours of sleep take over. She got around two days of REM sleep before Russell woke her with the news she had been waiting for.

“All fixed and ready to roll,,” Russell said. He was caked with oil and car grease all over his arms. His face had also some of the grease and oil remnants along with the zombie-like eyes.

Dana perked and rushed outside to garage to awe at the newly restored Millenia. It was just like the moment when she won it; a trophy of honor or a coat of arms. She sat herself in the driver's seat, “Keys, Russell!”

“Oh, you don't need keys with that now,” Russell said. He approached Dana and pointed at the new ignition console next to the steering wheel. “Log in and be ready to rock!”

Dana fiddled around with the console, trying to figure out the password. One, two, three, and four; or four, three, two, and one?

“Just zeros all round,” Russell said. “Don't make this moment difficult for me.”

“Psh! It ain't your car,” Dana scowled, and pressed the code onto the console's keypad.

A welcome screen came up followed by four options; normal, stealth, flight, and combat. Dana just looked at the screen, speechless. She turned her head and glared at Russell, who was grinning from ear to ear.

“Ya see that,” He said. “Took over a week to fix this. Now, it's not just a Mazada, it's a badass Mazada.”

Dana grabbed him by the collar, “What the hell did you do to my ride!?”

“I fixed it like you wanted me too! I found the problems and I fixed them! What else is there to explain?”

Dana pointed at the ignition console, the four panels still blinking on the screen. Russell sighed; all those days learning to code and use a 3D printer had backfired.  

Prompted from Flash Fiction Project's Anticipation.