And since I’m fictional already I thought it wouldn’t be that big a travesty to pretend to be other fictional and non-fictional characters on this blog. For the past four months I’ve been everyone from George W Bush and Osama Bin Laden (both fictional in some respects) to a sled dog from Anchorage  and the grandson of the love child of Franz Kafka and Eleanor Roosevelt. Well today I’d like to announce my real identity; my name is Horn and I was born out of a 50-word story. I somehow (who knows how these things happen) came loose from the story and started concocting fake intros and real stories on this site. 

   Hope you enjoy today’s story….


Watching Dishes Being Washed

 

     Deep in the back of Lucky Time’s Bistro, Lee saddles up against the drying counter, trying to prop up his ass on the metal edge. He figures he’s got a minute before the dishes come out. “How about pitching morning, noon and night toothpaste? Get their scientists to make different blends. You know, convince people to buy three kinds. That idea would give Colgate execs a total hard-on,” Hunter shouts over the spray and splash of the dishes, his voice warped with angry enthusiasm. He lets go of the sprayer and it whips up to a hanging position, a noose. Hunter turns with a glare for Lee, “See that’s a real job.” He steps towards Lee who jumps to the side. The dishes are hauled out and Hunter lugs the rack of plates to the back wall. Lee steps aside. “But who would watch you?” Lee tries an assertive tone but it’s buried beneath the incessant din of the kitchen. “I’m okay. I don’t need a minder. I’m hard-working. I’m coming up with ideas.” His last idea – four months ago – involved a taser and a playground of children but because the courts of British Columbia deemed Hunter MacArthur mentally ill he was released on certain conditions. Lee, who’s worked with the mentally disabled for ten years, is one of those conditions. “I’m a good boy now,” Hunter slips Lee a feeble smile. Lee looks at his watch. One more hour. Tonight he’ll start a search for a new job. Or get drunk on ten beer. Whichever comes first.

Advertisements