Tag: flash fiction

Precious

~ Greg Beckman ~ Leave a comment

Sarah Everhart sat on the floor of the produce section peeling an orange. She recognized the little girl who ran up to her, tears soaking her puffed face.

“My momma won’t get up,” the little girl blubbered. She could barely breathe.

Sarah shrugged as she dropped torn pieces of orange skin. Wailing and prayers rose from frozen foods to toilet paper. Ron Jackson gripped his wife Loretta’s hand like she was going to drop too. They ran out of the store together. 

Doesn’t know the bed she’s been roughing up, Sarah thought. “Maybe I’ll say something.” 

Half the store, dead, this time around. Here one second, gone the next.

Sarah shook her head.

“Momma!” The girl’s red cheeks stretched out. “Momma!” It was quite a spectacle.

Rolling the skinless orange around in her hand, Sarah leaned forward and said: “Your momma done deserved every single thing she got. Everything. Same with your daddy. Now run along.”

Mimi Needleman rushed up to the now not-crying surprisingly calm little girl and pulled her away. “You are evil, Sarah Everhart. Evil! Saying that to a little girl!” She turned her attention to the child, who was eyeing the orange-eating woman curiously. 

“Don’t you worry, Precious. You just keep to the Lord and He will save you from your momma’s suffering.” Mimi Needleman started to cry. “Just keep to the Lord. Now come along. Come along now.”

Sarah smiled as she ate the last bit of orange and listened to the wailing song. “Damn fools. Only think ’bout who’s gone, never do think ’bout why they left behind.” 

Then she laughed out loud, right there on the floor of the produce section. 

That sweet devil with the tear-flooded face? 

“Tiny bitch is gonna wait long, long days ‘fore she gets called home.”

*

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Maricopa

~ Greg Beckman ~ Leave a comment

We arrived in Maricopa April 2.  Uncle Bill thought it was funny that we came from Maricopa, Arizona, to Maricopa, California.

“Just think about how many people will get a kick outta that one,” he said.

“I’m going for a run,” I said.  

Dad glanced up, not at me.  Near me.  “Go up along Klipstein to the highway.  Open Country.”

 I took off.

*

The streets were flat and dusty, cracked asphalt until the highway began.  I ran the shoulder.  I could see mountains in the distance.  There was a For Rent sign in front of a trailer off the highway.  I wondered how far off the mountains were and went blank.  I just ran.

*

They were all in the backyard sitting on lawn chairs with drinks.  I saw them through the kitchen window.  They looked like they were having a good time.  Bill was telling a story.  They all seemed to be enjoying it.  

My parents got the extra room.  I took the couch.  It didn’t matter. I could sleep anywhere.

Mom was sitting on the bed when I got out of the shower.  “Maybe we’ll take up running.”

She looked up at me.  We were all trying.  But it was harder for them. 

* 

Keep Reading Here.

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The Pontiac

~ Greg Beckman ~ 1 Comment

I was the first punk not afraid to walk up the driveway. I saw him smoking in the front seat of his car, one leg in, the other leg out. He shifted his head and watched me walk up to the car door and ask if I could look inside. “I want one of these.”

He nodded. “You know what this is?” He stared straight at me. I said it was a 1967 Pontiac LeMans with all-original interior from the look of the dashboard and door panels, dials and chrome knobs and the dual-gate shifter in the center console. I touched the split-bench seat behind his shoulder and felt hard black vinyl. He lifted the cigarette to his mouth and took a drag and exhaled smoke through his nose.

We sat in his car until it was dark, smoking cigarettes and listening to the oldies station that he sometimes tapped the steering wheel to. I asked if he was born there. I told him I couldn’t wait to get out. “It’s a good town and all but nothing that hasn’t been done will ever get done.” He flicked the cigarette away from the car and we lit up again.

“You want to take a drive?”

I said sure and asked if I could take the wheel. He looked sideways at me and blew out smoke fast. “Sure do got a pair,” he said. I knew he was going to let me drive, not out of the gate but later. “She’s got a lot under the hood.” I knew he couldn’t wait. He fired her up. I never heard such a sweet sound before, not from the inside. The floorboards rumbled. I could feel it through my feet. This car had balls. We growled down the driveway and into the street. The car was hungry for the pedal, itching for it, edgy. I threw my arm across the top of his seat behind his shoulder. He grinned and asked if I was ready. I nodded and gripped the door with one hand and the back of his seat with the other before we jumped and that untamed devil roared away from his house and his life and we yelled and whooped over the engine and the wind and the darkness as we blasted out, out into a suddenly wide world.

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