Monday, December 17, 2007

Short Story Monday- Writer's Diary #39

Short Story Monday

Okay, so the picture has nothing to do with today's short story, but since I usually post a picture of the author on Short Story Mondays, and today's author is me, there you go. And if I really wanted to make a case for it (besides the honest reason- that I'm just being a goof), I'd say it had something to do with exposing myself as a writer, feeling vulnerable, and all that jazz (er...yeah).

Anyway, since I've been writing about short stories for such a long time now, I guess it was inevitable that I'd give it a try of my own. So without further adieu, here's my flash fiction piece (not a final draft, I'm sure):

Bliss

by John Mutford

The teenager at the back of the bus was the sole rider. He didn’t know her name but she was a familiar face on this route, often the last person off, just like today. Black nails, black rimmed eyes, black jeans, shoes, hair and shirt-- always the same goth get-up. He’d often heard the 20-somethings remarking they knew the type: attention-seeking brats. Those 30 and above seemed to not to care about melodrama.

When the ding came, he’d been startled-- she was two stops too early. Only as she was offloading did he catch the difference. Today a sequined word sprawled across her chest: BLISS. That a teenager would appreciate irony haunted him for the rest of the evening.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Often the last passenger aboard, she’d been accustomed to the driver’s glances in the rearview mirror. They weren’t the perverse ogles of other men his age, but they irked her just the same: applying his big fat mystery all over her. She’d get off early and walk the rest of the way home.
………………………………………………………………………………………………

Her boyfriend had deflated: out of pot and interesting theories. As he slew another zombie on the screen, she’d actually found herself wishing his mom would come home. This morning she discovered her shirt had been BeDazzled with the word “BLISS.” She wasn’t upset, but she didn’t understand. If the nut-job was around, at least she could try for an explanation. At 30, his mom seemed convinced of being their age.
………………………………………………………………………………………………

Most mornings she’d found herself alone on the bus for a good three or four stops. Not surprising considering her insane hours. Oddly- and she knew it was oddly- she didn’t mind. There was a certain bliss at this hour of the morning, a world the sleeping people didn’t see. Of those people, the only one she cared to care about was her son. She’d checked in on him this morning, arm draped around his pasty-faced girlfriend and drooling just as he’d always done. The girlfriend’d probably have a stiff neck. Probably hate what she’d done to her shirt, too. “Ah, the pleasures in life,” she thought.

A few seats ahead, the busdriver yawned and looked out his side window.


(Head on over to Geranium Cat's to check out links to other Short Story Monday posts, including reviews of real authors!)

7 comments:

Allison said...

Well it took me a few minutes to stop laughing from the picture...I enjoyed the story. Like how you wove everything together and I enjoyed the bus as a jumping off point.

Barbara Bruederlin said...

The interconnectedness amongst the characters was really effective. In fact, I wouldn't mind hearing more.

raidergirl3 said...

well done. I enjoyed that, perspective is everything.
You've upped the bar considerably here.

GeraniumCat said...

Good stuff, I enjoyed it too...and laughed to think how I'd have felt if someone had done that to me black shirt when I was a teenager.

Stephanie said...

Cool story!! I loved it!! I had to opt out of short story Monday because of the Blogger Advent Calendar. Maybe I'll try to post tomorrow.

Chris said...

Great story, John.

John Mutford said...

Allison: "The bus as a jumping off point"- I like your analysis, too.

Barbara: Me too. Hopefully they'll revisit me.

Raidergirl: I'd blush, but since you can't see me, what would be the point?

Geranium Cat: My shirt's read "Metallica" so I'm pretty sure how I'd have felt.

Stephanie: Well, I can't be engry at advent, can I?

Chris: Merci.