Absolutely Filthy But Conveniently Short Story
I was very bored earlier so a friend and I agreed to write disturbing short stories to a timer. 5 minutes (6 with editing). Not safe to be seen reading at work. Probably. I don’t do a job where there are computers.
Perkins
Parking the car at the edge of the close, I unplug the last sparks of the inner city and fade into suburbia. You’re there in the kitchen, Audrey, maid-cheeked and glittering like the glass in your hand.
Boss over tonight, promotion’s in the air.
I just love seeing old Perkins razzed up on red wine. Spoon and fork in hand, jiggling thighs well apart, laughing at your tedious little stories.
We’d clear the plates and then I’d signal to you.
Minutes later, I’d follow Perkins upstairs to the bedroom. Now the night begins.
Heaving his white, bloated gut out of his britches, scrabbling around to find his penis before the inevitable huffing and puffing, slaps, grunts that stink of blue cheese we had with dessert and the paltry moan as he spends himself, his eyes glaze over and he slumps back on the bed. There’s a silence, and then the loud snores surface.
I tuck you under the roll of Perkins’ flabby arms then snort throatily to myself as I abuse my unctuous, lipstick-smeared bits over by the dressing table.
I fall back, drowsy but burning, on the boss’ sweat-sodden clothes.
The anger whirls around in my chest until I can’t take the biting any more and it forces itself out as one hot tear. It seems to cut through my cheek like piss through butter, instead it pools on the buckle of Perkins’ trousers. Those pleated, huge trousers with the loose thread around the knee and the shiny britch-clasps.
In the half-light, I polish them with the back of my thumb, just as a newly-appointed Deputy Assistant Manager should.
Night, love.
Tags: filthy, Perkins, short story
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July 30, 2008 at 1:42 pm
Unreadable. You could do worse than having a gander at SH’s Booksie stuff, there you will learn how to correctly arrange words to create a fictional fabrication, or even a readbale account of true events.
July 30, 2008 at 1:46 pm
Or maybe the point is to make you have to read it a few times. Annoying as fuck, but hey, at least that ganders the appropriate sense of confusion.
July 30, 2008 at 1:53 pm
Anyway, I don’t like this ‘correctly’ of yours. I personally find his style a little too write-by-numbers. You could do worse than to read something without prior expectations of form or predictability.
Plus you’re a racist.
July 30, 2008 at 1:57 pm
I’m all for breaking the conventions, but make it entertaining. SH’s work is evocative from word one whilst yours looks like some student type over-extending his short-trousered arse. It’s alright though. Alright.
I write stories about a seed called Alison and her journey from California to the fields of India where her family were kidnapped and hauled to by the evil Trill corporation. Who am I to judge?
July 30, 2008 at 2:02 pm
Well, SH’s work is ok, certainly, but he doesn’t experiment with anything other than subject. Which is fine, it’s effective but limited. I rarely work with prose, so I keep shoving poetic devices in where they don’t belong, which makes it a bit clumsy. If I bothered ot edit it you’d see improvement. Plus I just rattled it out in 5 minutes. Also, your ‘looks like’ is mainly because you know a bit about me. So there.
You’re calling Indians evil? Racist.
July 30, 2008 at 2:11 pm
Trill are an American company. It’s racist to call Indians evil (as everyone knows), but perfectly fine to attack American folk in any way we wish.
You’re incorrect.
July 30, 2008 at 2:13 pm
Are they (evil) industrial manufacturers of bird food?
July 30, 2008 at 2:15 pm
I believe so.
July 30, 2008 at 2:18 pm
They’re not as bad as Del Monte in terms of savaging farming communities but, by God, if my collection of short stories called ‘Seed: The Chronicles of Little Alison’ aren’t the great commentary on modern injustice and equality since Horton Hears A Hoo, I dunno what is which, by extension, means you bloody don’t either.
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