Archive for the ‘Brigid and Greg Fictionlets’ Category »
Fictionlet
It was quiet. Too quiet. Brigid knew it had to be coming. And so it was. Without even looking up from his magazine, Greg said, “Judge Reinhold.”
“What?” said Brigid.
“Judge Reinhold,” Greg said again.
“The Beverly Hills Cop guy?” said Brigid.
“I do seem to remember him being in at least one of those, now that you mention it,” said Greg. “I’d forgotten about that.”
A long, heavy silence hung over the room, like a stuffed whale suspended from the ceiling of a natural history museum.
“Okay, fine!” said Brigid. “I’m never going to finish this sandwich otherwise, so let’s just get it over with. What about Judge Reinhold?”
“Let’s see,” said Greg, and looked up at the ceiling, apparently trying to remember something. “He was born in Delaware, spent most of his childhood in Fredericksburg, Virginia, then moved to Florida in high school, and his first on-screen role was in the ’70s Wonder Woman TV series.”
“I can barely contain my excitement,” said Brigid.
“He was nominated for an Emmy,” said Greg.
“Really.”
“Well, I thought you might want to know.”
“I appreciate your concern. Now can I please go back to my sandwich?”
“Certainly, by all means,” said Greg. “Unless you’d like to hear about Corey Feldman.”
-The Gneech
Fictionlet
Alex stared at his screen; the e-mail was perfect.
“Dear Alex:” it started, even though nobody actually ever started an e-mail with ‘dear X.’ But somehow this e-mail wouldn’t have been right without it.
“Dear Alex: How can I put into words the crazy barrage of thoughts, ideas, and feelings going through me at this moment? How can I say in the cold blinking light of an e-mail something that’s burning in my heart?
“I might as well come out and say it, Alex: I love you. I’ve always loved you, almost from the first moment we met. It’s hard to believe it’s only been a couple of years, even though it seems so long ago now. I loved you even when I was wasting my time with him — I see that now, but I was blind to it before.
“I know it’s been hard on you all this time, and all I can say is that I am so sorry. But if you’ll let me, I’ll spend my life making it up to you.
“Hoping to hear from you soon, Julie.”
Alex read it over again just to be sure. Then he clicked the “send” button. Immediately, the e-mail he’d been dreaming of appeared in his inbox.
-The Gneech
Fictionlet
“I’ve been fighting a bad case of writer’s block,” Greg said. “It’s really frustrating … I’m having a hard time forcing myself to be productive because everything I’ve come up with is either boring or stupid.”
“Weird,” said Alex. “I’ve been fighting a bad case of working block — I’m having a hard time forcing myself to be productive because every job I’ve had has been boring and stupid.”
“Ah,” said Greg. “Er. Hmm. I think I prefer my problem to yours.”
“So do I!” said Alex.
-The Gneech
Fictionlet
“Oh, no,” said Greg. “I can’t believe it.”
“What?” said Brigid.
“Look at the seating arrangements. I’m going to be wedged between Treville and Uncle Bob for the whole bloody reception!”
“It’s only a couple of hours,” said Brigid.
“Ugh,” said Greg. “Just shoot me.”
“I thought you’d never ask!” said Brigid, producing a 9mm automatic from her coat pocket.
“What?” Greg managed to say, before she shot him dead on the spot.
THE END
Fictionlet
Brigid pulled herself slowly out into the living room; it was another rough morning, which was unfortunately not usual. Out in the kitchen, Greg was singing over his breakfast, which was also unfortunately not unusual. What Greg was singing, on the other hand, took a few seconds for Brigid to process.
He was singing in a lilty, wavering, ever-so-slightly flat falsetto, drawing out the high notes in a way that suggested a sensitive love song. That in itself was different from his usual playlist, but when combined with the lyrics, it set off a bomb in Brigid’s brain.
“She the kind of giiiiiiiirl,” Greg sang, “you don’t take home to moooother!”
“What?” said Brigid.
“The giiiirl’s all right, she’s all right with meeeeeeeeeeee!” Greg sang, as he stirred his eggs.
“Please tell me you aren’t…” said Brigid.
“She’s a suuuuuuper freak, a su-huper freeeee-heeeeak! She’s suuuuper freaky…” Greg sang, buttering his toast.
“You are,” said Brigid, unable to escape the cold truth. “You’re singing ‘Super Freak’ in the style of Cold Play.”
“She will neeee-heeever let your spirits dooooown, once you geeeet her off the streee-heeet,” Greg sang, and poured himself a cup of coffee.
“I’m not sure who should be more offended, Rick James or Chris Martin.”
He glanced over at her, raised one eyebrow, then dug out a fork and knife. “Blow Danny!” he added, and commenced to chow down.
Brigid pointed at the knife block on the counter. “There’s a perfectly serviceable set of weapons right there,” she said. “No jury would convict me.”
“There’s sausage and egg left for you on the stove,” Greg replied.
She stared at him for a long second, blinking painfully. “Fine,” she said. “You live this time.”
“I feel strangely like Scheherazade sometimes,” Greg said, and went back to his breakfast.
-The Gneech
Fictionlet
Brigid scowled at her folded-up newspaper. “You know what a ‘fag hag’ is, right?” she said.
“Sorry, what?” said Greg.
“A fag hag.”
Greg shifted uncomfortably. “Well, er, yes. It’s not a term I would throw about in such a reckless manner, but I am familiar with the concept. What prompted the question?”
“I was just wondering, what would the reverse of that be?”
“The reverse? A ‘gah gaf’?”
“No, I mean, what would you call a straight man who always wanted to hang around with lesbians?”
“Uh…” said Greg.
“I know, it’s a poser. How about ‘dyke dude’?”
“I am hereby recusing myself from this conversation immediately,” Greg said, scooping Ozymandias up from his lap and heading for the hall. “There’s nothing I can say here that won’t get me into big, big trouble.”
“And you call yourself a linguaphile,” called Brigid. “You should be interested in this stuff!”
“I prefer the term ‘word nerd,’” he said, and was gone.
-The Gneech
