Posts Tagged ‘fictionlet’
Fictionlet
Greg looked in the pantry, sizing up his options. “Do you ever get a random, crazy craving for Chef Boy-Ar-Dee ‘Beefaroni’?”
“Uh … no,” said Brigid.
Greg shook his head. “Neither do I.”
-The Gneech
Fictionlet
“He’s wearing fuchsia,” said Brigid.
Greg, looking up from his Franjipani sandwich, scanned the shop briefly before spotting the offender, a skinny guy in his early 20s with an electric-red stripe in his blonde hair, a fuchsia T-shirt with a random logo of a giant gear with wings that had been artificially weathered, and baggy white cargo shorts. “Oh, him,” said Greg, turning back to his sandwich. “Perhaps he just stepped out of an anime.”
“He’s wearing fuchsia!” said Brigid again.
“Are you referring to his shirt, his hair, or both?”
“Guys are not allowed to wear fuchsia,” Brigid asserted.
“Don’t care for fuchsia, eh?” said Greg.
“It’s bad enough that women wear it,” said Brigid. “We can’t have guys running around wearing it, too!”
“You tool of the patriarchy, you,” said Greg.
“Listen, Mr. Sartorial Agony, you should be right on the same page with me about this. The guy is a disaster! I should be having to restrain you from going over there and forcibly putting a Harris tweed on him.”
“No, that’s not how it works at all,” said Greg. “While it’s true that Bishounen Chic isn’t a combination I would choose for myself, it is, nevertheless, a cultivated look. That kid didn’t dress that way by accident. He has a style, and he’s expressing it. For all that fuchsia is a poke in the eye, sartorially speaking he is still on much higher moral ground than the guy who slobs around in a pocket tee and jeans because he can’t be bothered to pay attention to what he wears. Fashion A-plus? No. But definitely a passing grade.”
Brigid stared at Greg for a long second, one of her patented “What planet are you from?” looks. Then finally said, “…But he’s wearing fuchsia.”
“Yes,” said Greg. “I understand that, and I’m sorry it causes you such pain. But I’m afraid you’re just going to have to live with it.”
-The Gneech
Fictionlet
Brigid stared at the back of Greg’s head for several moments, not something she was naturally inclined to do, and finally said, “Okay, spill. What’s wrong?”
“Do what now?” said Greg, looking back over his shoulder at her.
“You’ve been moping for days. What’s wrong?”
He blinked. “I wasn’t aware that I was moping,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I’m just fine at the moment.”
“Oh, please,” said Brigid. “You’re too damn quiet. I’ve never seen you go this long without expressing an opinion on something.”
Greg raised his eyebrows. “Um,” he said. Then he added, “Well, I just don’t have anything to say at the moment. The few opinions I’m currently nourishing are on topics that are either none of my business to talk about, or are so trivial as to not be worth mentioning.”
“Since when has that ever stopped you?” Brigid demanded. “Where’s the strangely-poetic rant about the lack of grape-filled pastries or that men’s collars are too tight? Where’s the lyrical outburst about the career of Henry Winkler or Andrew Harding? Something must be bothering you, if you aren’t babbling on about the utterly inconsequential!”
Greg scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well, touched as I am by your concern for my welfare, I promise you, everything’s fine. I just don’t have anything to say.”
She crossed her arms. “So nothing’s bothering you.”
“Right.”
She narrowed his eyes at him. “Are you sure?”
He put his hands in the air helplessly. “Given the way you usually react to anything I say, I thought you’d appreciate the peace and quiet.”
“That’s right!” she said. “It’s about time you stopped jabbering on all the time.”
“Okay then,” said Greg. “I’ll just go back to my not-jabbering that you interrupted, shall I?”
“Yeah,” said Brigid. “You do that.”
“I will.”
“Okay.”
Greg turned back to his laptop and resumed typing. Brigid continued to look at the back of his head for a few moments, then said, “Why aren’t there any grape-filled pastries, anyway?” Greg raised his eyebrows again.
-The Gneech
Fictionlet
“I hate fanfic,” said Brigid.
“Oh?” said Greg. “All of it?”
“Yes! And you know what I hate more than fanfic?”
“Um … more fanfic?”
“Slash!”
“Okay.”
“I hate fanfic, and I hate slash! I hate ‘em both!”
Greg smiled. “That Twilight Sparkle/Rainbow Dash story really got to you, didn’t it?” he said.
“Shut up!” said Brigid. “It was a beautiful story!”
“…that you hated.”
“Yes. Shut up.”
“So much for the heart of a rattlesnake,” said Greg.
-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
