Weekend Fiction: Flying Blind

Some light weekend reading. If you read enjoy love it, please comment! Just kidding. But seriously. Comment.

:::

Her head was pounding. A thick, clouded pounding that can only result from days of dehydration, being elevated several atmospheres above the Earth, and some mind-numbing alcohol. Not that she really drank that much. It was just hard when you went all day eating nothing but pretzels and chewy granola bars, and an occasional half-can of diet Coke.

:

The 5:00 AM Charlotte flight was bound to be on time, so she indeed had to wake up to the first alarm. Struggling through the fog in her mind, she made her way through her dark blue polyester pants, trying to clear the clouds from the two previous evenings. When she got to the precipice of her memory, where she might jump off the cliff, and, in falling, suddenly remember all the various horrid things she had done on the stage, in the spotlight, and under the table (literally and figuratively), she decided to hold back. Hang on to the edge of that cliff, too scared to look down and too strong to let go.

:

She sighed, brushing her teeth. An audible sigh, thinking ahead already to the cups upon cups of coffee she would consume, thus negating her cleanly polished, freshly-minted teeth. It was taking all her strength to get the toothbrush to move quickly. Thank goodness she had packed herself last night; the silver lining in the midst of a fairly dreary morning, absent of all light. Soon that would change, and she hoped her outlook would change with it. But it was doubtful.

:

Stepping across the threshold onto the Boeing 747, she had a mind to glace at her watch to offset the glances she was getting from the other crew members. Her hair was still slightly damp, something the airline had made clear was not acceptable in its latest internal “grooming” memo, and she tossed it back over one shoulder as she quickly loaded her carry-on into the attendants’ space. This was going to be a long day.

:

Nineteen hours ago, she was blissfully caffeinated, and five hours after that, blissfully drunk. Drunk on liquor, drunk on love, and not knowing where the two blended. This was typical in her secondary profession. But she rarely admitted it to herself, let alone a “friend” at the airline, or – least of all, close friends. Nobody else in her life knew about her dual worlds, and there was no reason to change that now.

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Games People Play

My high brow/low brow dichotomy will have to wait until tomorrow.

Jenners is hosting a new game, and I think everyone should play. It's in honor of the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, which is an international literary parody contest that honors the memory of Victorian novelist Edward George Earl Bulwer-Lytton (1803-1873). The goal of the contest is simple: entrants are challenged to submit bad opening sentences to imaginary novels.
My entries.

"He looked briefly to the West, then briefly to the North; the wind whipped his hair up into a 'fro, and he looked, then, South. She was coming up behind him, which was the only direction he hadn't looked, and the door swung shut behind him as they realized: they were locked out of the only cabin for hundreds of miles, and she had to use the bathroom."
From Look Homeward, Young Santa

"The flowers were wilting in the front yard, in front of the old yellowing cedar-paneled house, where he had stood waiting, for years upon years, until he just couldn't stand waiting one moment longer, and, in doing so, with every fiber of his being, he continually reminded himself that not doing something, anything at all, was indeed a choice.."
From Please Just Finish the Thought, a Hero's Story

"She had started down this very path many times and nearly had it memorized with its birch trees flanking the silvery path, and little did she know that the Woodsman would save her from the Wolf on this very spot on which she stood, at the beginning of the tale."
From Little Red Ruin Hood

"He gazed at her longingly, much like a five-year old child gazes out the car window at McDonald's Playland after an eight-hour road trip with no bathroom breaks."
From Goodbye Cruel World

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Horse Toy's Revenge

Welp. There's no way I can follow yesterday's performance. More people came and read Black Squirrel's letter than have ever read my blog posts, so I think we're on to something here. No, it's not some sick twisted plot to get those of you waiting for the Ricki Lake story to read my blog every day until I post that dreaded little disaster. (Plus, I made a deal with Jeanne from the Raisin Chronicles to post pictures, and that means locating and scanning said pictures.) I went and spoke to Horse Toy about this phenomenon, and she had a lot to say about the matter. She wanted her say. And thus, her sweet revenge.

::

Dear Black Squirrel,

I hate to be the one to tell you this, but. He's just not that into you. Do us all a favor and just leave Echo alone. The way you stare at him from across the room all the time, frankly, is creeping us all out. Especially Bear Toy. I saw the Kongs rolling away, too.

Just face it. You're washed up. You're old. I mean, I got here at Christmas time. He got you, what.. a year ago? My plush coat is plushier, my eyes are brighter, my squeaker is louder. Plus, I have a mane! A year ago, maybe I'd have some competition. That's a century in dog years. Face facts, little rodent. You're beaten. Done.

Just wait.. Mom is going away on a trip in Feb., and guess who Echo has requested come with? That's right. Yours truly.

And just because Echo brought you in from out in the snow earlier today does not mean anything.

Yours "truly",

Horse Toy

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To Echo. Love, Black Squirrel.

Echo, my loyal black lab.

Mama Kat over at Mama Kat's Losin' It has a writing workshop every week, and I usually like to participate (no, I'm not procrastinating from blogging about the Ricki Lake show, promise.) Today, however, I was asked to post a letter on Black Squirrel's behalf. Black Squirrel, it would seem, is doing:
4.) Write a letter to someone who bothered you this week.

Dear Echo,

It pains me to even write this letter to you, but I just couldn't figure out another way. I love you, Echo, I always have and I always will. But today, I've decided. I can't just keep rolling over for you. I've tried a long time to just suck it up, and look forward to the glorious, joy-filled moments when you hear Mom's car pull up, race over to grab me in your mouth to present me to her upon her entrance in the front door, and wriggle me all over the place as you try to vie for her attention. I live for those moments, Echo. I will always treasure the sound your nails make as they slide across the hardwoods towards me, as I am your prize that you must present to Mom.

But enough is enough. I can't take it anymore. Last week, when you accidentally took me outside, it was cold. Damn, was it cold. Real squirrels were laughing at me from their burrows. Then, when you left me outside, Gracie (the canine pogo-stick) stole over from next door and threw me around her yard for a while. As if leaving me wasn't cold enough, do you know how humiliating that was? And then today, the final straw. I've been buried up to my tail tip with snow and ice, all day. Snow and ice! Do you even know that I'm gone? Have you even noticed? Or has that new Horse Toy just completely taken over your brain?

Don't think I haven't noticed. You pick Horse Toy up soo gracefully.. gingerly.. even tenderly, whenever Mom comes home now. It's sickening. It's so obvious what's going on. I try not to blame myself. How can I get your love again? How can I get us back to how we were?

And then today, I just decided. With my tail numb from cold, my heart numb from neglect, I've decided that you no longer mean to me what you once did. So, I'm over it. I'm over you! I'm over you and next time Gracie comes over to steal me to her yard, I might just stay. I'll be able to laugh at Horse Toy from over the fence.

Love,
Black Squirrel

(I'm sorry! Can I make it up to you?)

Addendum! The One-Minute Writer has a prompt today to write from the perspective of an inanimate object! Great minds!

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