Thanks for being here on Day 9 of Flash August Fiction. The writing is kind of automatic, and it seems like the stories are improving. Getting into the groove a little. It was cool seeing Sirius in the sky this morning, but it was gone before the sun came around. We are in the dog days now.
If anyone doesn’t know. Each day I wake up and begin writing without a premise or a story in mind, and see what happens. It’s a great writing exercise, it’s kind of Jungian, and sometimes you come up with things that you want to continue working on. This is probably one of those.
Overlooking his town, from atop the vacant business building, the tallest structure in his town, Pete Phillips chews on a piece of fried chicken. It’s been an uneventful day. He walked around a lot, kept his eye on things; had a couple two- tchree sandwiches.
It’s twilight, the shadows are waning, it’s been a little warm. It’s Thursday, it shouldn’t be really busy tonight but maybe a little.
He notices a guy on the street below, struggling with a flat tire. The jack he’s using isn’t sufficient for the task.
“Oh, what the hell.” Pete says, as he drops a chicken bone into the fast food bag with the pieces that are left, rolls it up, and stuffs it into the pocket of his old trench coat.
Pete straightens out, his arms down to his side, and cups his hands. He begins to levitate as frequency waves obscure his body, bending the light around him, making him almost invisible. He lifts himself over the parapet wall and descends to the street, a few storeys below.
He emits a belch as he lands on the sidewalk, across the street from the man with the car issue. He crosses the street wide of the car, he remains obscured in the plasma illumination, and leans against the building behind the guy.
“I gotchya buddy.” Pete says , as he sends an orb of light near the car to hold the car in place so the man can get the tire on.
“Thank Uncle Plasma!” The guy says.
“Sure, no problem.” Pete says. “But hurry up, that orb is hot, you don’t want it close by for a long time, and I gotta take a leak.”
The guy reaches out to shake Pete’s hand.
“You kiddin’ me? C’mon, clownpants, you wanna melt?”
“Thanks again.” The guy says.
“Yeah, no problem kid, hey, you got any of them little mayo packets in your car?”
“No sir, I don’t.”
“Alright then, have a good rest of the night, kid.” Pete says.
As Pete turns away from the young guy, he deplasmifies and pulls the chicken bag out of his coat. “I really need some mayo for this, and I gotta find a place to take a leak.” He says under his breath.
Pete turns the corner at the next crosswalk, and he sees two local policemen. They notice him, and they stand up straight with alert, anxious looks on their faces as he approaches.
“How you boys doing tonight, you OK?”
“Yes sir Mr. Plasma, we’re OK, yes sir.” They respond, somewhat fearfully.
“Yous guys remember to do your jobs the right way tonight, right? You respect the people and the stuff in the Constitution, right? Due process and the whole business, right?”
Nervously, the two young cops answer him. “Absolutely, sir, we will. Yep, by the book, mm hmm.”
“Okay, good boys… hey, you got any of them little mayo packets, you know, the ones they give you for sammiches?” He asks them.
The two young cops pat themselves down, as though it’s normal to just walk around with mayo packets. “No sir, we don’t nope, nope.” They say.
“Well, OK then. I’ll just go over to the gas station and get some, I gotta take a leak anyways.”
“Goo... G’night sir…” They say as he walks away.
Under his breath, Pete says. “I’m gonna spring a leak if I don’t move fast.” He plasmifies, shoots up above the rooftops, and projects, as the crow flies, directly to the gas station, for a leak and some mayo.
The End595 Words
This story is dedicated to my really great pal, who we lost many years ago. You’re a great pal, Pete. I love you and miss you.
