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‘Fiction’ Category

  1. Beer (Abigail)

    February 15, 2012 by Nicki

    Author’s Note: This unedited spew is the result of a 750words.com session – I’d like your opinions, good and bad, but understand if it’s just too much to read. I’ve got a first and second part to this now, and it is definitely shaping into a real story. (Read the 1st excerpt or 2nd excerpt - remember none of these are consecutive.)

    Abigail was slowly coming back to the world.

    Admittedly, she had been hiding.

    Ever since her phone had been destroyed, by her, of course, she had been concentrating very hard on something. It didn’t matter what, but whatever she did, it was focused. Clean the apartment, don’t think about Bob or Ted or Mother, just clean. The pinprick at the end of her tunnel vision was supposed to be light, but instead it just became another project. Get the beer, talk the distributor into the best price, no flirting, just business, and oh, would you please deliver?

    Even when spending time with Elise, Abigail was focused on being normal. Not freaking out, not exploding…well, except for that once.

    And then the other thing with the smoking.

    She was going to try to forget she’d ever actually done that.

    But lying there on her bed with her new friend beside her, actually voicing concerns she had but sounded too ridiculous in her own head to actually voice, Abigail found something.

    She wasn’t quite sure what it was yet.

    What she did know was that sitting in her room with a stack of magazines that Ted subscribed to but obviously only used for toilet entertainment wasn’t cutting it any more. She’d had her share of naked women, tattoos, and cheap gossip magazines she was pretty sure someone had purchased for Ted as a gag.

    Now, she was restless.

    The apartment was unusually quiet for an afternoon when Ted’s friends stopped by. She almost didn’t leave her room, but she was bored. It sounded like they were playing video games, again, and for once Abigail was interested in watching.

    “Hey, Abigail,” one particularly infatuated young woman called out when she opened the door to her room.

    “Hi, Tess.”

    It was a bad idea to encourage the puppies.

    She walked to the kitchen, and Tess’s attention quickly wandered back to the video game Ted and some guy Abigail didn’t recognize was playing. Opening the refrigerator she took out one of the bottles of iced tea that had been left with the last beer delivery.

    Abigail looked at the group surrounding the TV. Ted, Tess, Brian, and two strangers. A small, eclectic crowd.

    And none of them had anything to drink.

    “Anyone want something from the fridge?”

    Ted nodded for all of them. “Sure, thanks,” he said without removing his eyes from the game.

    Abigail couldn’t tell. She thought perhaps he was winning.

    Piling five bottles of the least drank beer in the refrigerator, she passed them out one at a time to everyone on the sofas, then walked back to the kitchen island.

    She could still see what was going on. She still felt like part of the group.

    But not really.

    It was guns and cars, and Abigail really didn’t understand the game or who was playing, but it seemed rude of her to ask. She drank her tea, and was about to give up and crawl back into her cave when Tess stood, stretched, and grabbed a couple empty bottles and came to join her.

    “Some game, huh? It’s not even released yet, and Ted got a copy.”

    “Bootleg?”

    Tess shook her head, perfectly coiled curls bouncing around her shoulders. “Dave works for the ad agency, and he got Ted a job testing it so they can figure out how to sell it.”

    Abigail nodded vaguely. “Um, which one is Dave?”

    “Oh, he’s not here. Bones and Bruce brought it over.”

    The two Abigail didn’t recognize. Good to know.

    “So I’m surprised we don’t see you around more often.” Tess pulled two more beers out of the fridge and handed one over. “You really made quite an impression the other night.”

    “Thanks,” Abigail responded. “I was just really frustrated. Didn’t mean to make such a scene.”

    “Oh,” Tess said, nodding, “I totally know how you feel. We’re all here to let go, you know?”

    Abigail couldn’t help letting a laugh slip.

    “What?” Tess asked, curious.

    “Oh, I’m sorry,” she apologized, busying herself with opening the bottle. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

    Tess’s smile was friendly and curious.

    Just like a puppy you called to you so you could kick it.

    Abigail hedged.

    “Come on, spill it.”

    “It’s…I’m sorry, there’s just…I mean, what do you have to let go of? You’re all kids with very rich parents who are bored. If anything, you need to start grabbing on.”

    Tess cocked her head. “What makes you think our parents are all rich?”

    Abigail gave the girl A Look.

    “You’re hair. Your clothes. Your purse, which I am absolutely certain is not a knockoff, but the genuine article, and the fact that most of you are here so often there’s absolutely no way any of you are either holding down a job or still attending school.”

    “Hmm,” Tess replied. “So you’re judging us?”

    Well, that stung more than Abigail expected. But…

    “I suppose so.”

    “We’re not judging you,” Tess pointed out.

    “Way to make me feel like shit.” Abigail’s response was muffled by the neck of the bottle she was drinking out of, but Tess smiled.

    She’d heard.

    “You should relax more. You obviously need to relax.”

    “I don’t need to relax,” Abigail snapped, setting her bottle down hard enough to pull a couple sets of eyes off the video game for a brief moment. “I need to…I have to get…” Growling in frustration, Abigail stood up and started walking toward her room, and then before she reached the doorway turned right back around again. “I don’t know what I need. I don’t know what I want. What I do know is that everything was perfect, and then what the hell did I do to deserve it being fucked up like this.”

    “Like what?”

    “Like this,” Abigail gestured at the apartment around them.

    Tess looked around. “It looks pretty good to me.”

    “But it’s not mine,” she said, sitting back down but no less frustrated. “It’s not even Ted’s. It’s his dad’s. Nothing is mine any more.”

    “The beer is yours,” Tess pointed out.

    Abigail sighed, deflating a bit. “I bought it for Ted so he’d let me stay here.”

    “And the clean is yours,” Tess added. “And it’s a very nice clean, by the way.”

    “Again, only because I needed a place to stay.”

    “But it’s yours. Aren’t you proud of it? I’ve known Ted for a year or so. I’ve never seen this place so clean. I mean, even when he gets a cleaning crew in here after a really good party, it looks like crap within an hour. You know what you did?”

    Abigail drained her beer and left the island to rinse her bottle. She didn’t turn to face Tess. “What,” she asked the tiled wall in front of her. “What did I do?”

    “You made Ted care.”

    “Yeah, right.”

    But Tess didn’t answer, because Abigail had been too quiet, and the young woman was busy raiding the refrigerator.

    That was the end of their conversation, as Tess walked back to the group and handed out additional beverages.

    There was only one thing Abigail wanted right now.

    To be alone.


  2. Isolation (Abigail)

    February 7, 2012 by Nicki

    Author’s Note: This unedited spew is the result of a 750words.com session – I’d like your opinions, good and bad, but understand if it’s just too much to read. I’ve got a second part to this, and it may actually be shaping up into a real story. Let me know if you would be interested in reading more! (Read the first excerpt here.)

    The isolation was suffocating her.

    Abigail had never really been alone. It had been her family, once. Mother, Father, and her. Then Father left and Steven and Ted came into the picture. Steven and Ted left, and her mother bought her a dog, Tracie. Tracie ran away after a few days, but there was always another boyfriend or husband of her mother’s just around the corner.

    Abigail left for college, and there she had roommates. Girls who were friendly, but never quite her friends. And after college, she had work, and after a few years of dating, and spending any free time from dating with people from work, she met Bob.

    Bob and Abigail. Abigail and Bob. They were the envy of everyone. And for five years they were the perfect couple, and then he turned out to be a piece of shit.

    And now she had no one.

    Abigail could hear the sounds of the party in the next room, muffled only by the solid oak of her door and the fantastic insulating job the person who had remodeled the building had done.

    It sounded like everyone was having fun.

    She could picture it, in her head, exactly what was happening on the other side of the wall. Even though she’d never gone out to experience one of Ted’s epic parties, she knew there were a few more girls than boys out there. She knew everyone would have either one of the beer’s she’d stocked the refrigerator with, or a plastic cup filled with whatever liquor the guests had hauled in themselves.

    Teddy was too cheap for the good stuff.

    She heard a girl giggle just outside the door, and the knob rattled.

    Before cleaning, before stocking the fridge, the first thing Abigail had done was install a new lock on that door. A good one, too.

    So they were drunk enough to be fucking, and still sober enough to play video games with a small degree of competence.

    Abigail could also hear the sound of animated gunfire coming from the living area where the enormous television was.

    She was surrounded by people, but still very, very alone.

    She also desperately hoped that the guests would figure out that the best places to get sick were the very large “decorative” vases she’d sprinkled around Ted’s loft.

    “What the fuck are those,” he’d said when he’d seen them. “They’re ugly. Get them out.”

    “The last time you had people over they got sick all over your furniture. In fact, where you’re sitting now took several hours to clean. You can still smell it, if you get close.”

    She watched her step brother jump up from the couch and wipe at the back of his jeans, as if he had gotten soiled just being in the same area as where someone had vomited. He smelled his hands, then made a face.

    “Whatever. They’re ugly.”

    “Paint them, then. Cover them with duct tape, hide them with a screen, I don’t care. But they’re staying. If someone needs to get sick, they’re more likely to do it in something that looks like a bucket. Then I just have to spray it out, and you don’t have to replace your couch every six months.”

    “I got it used,” he defended himself, looking at the couch that had most definitely been used for something.

    Sex. Toilet. Who knew.

    “Well now, you can buy one new.”

    He hadn’t yet, but he’d been shopping.

    She’d caught him with an IKEA catalog.

    Abigail couldn’t stand it another minute. She had to get out of there. It was too many parties, too many strange people, too much time left with her own thoughts. If she didn’t leave, she was going to explode.

    So she did both.

    She got up out of bed and grabbed her small purse and a jacket. It was California, but it was still chilly in San Francisco at this time of the year.

    She opened her door and was stunned for a moment at the sheer quantity of people in the house.

    Someone fell into her. Someone tiny and cute and young and perky.

    “Oh, I’m so sorry!”

    Abigail screamed.

    At the top of her lungs, for as long as she could manage. She screamed as if she was being chased by a rapist, as if her cat was on fire and she had no telephone to call for help.

    Sixty-three seconds later, she stopped.

    And opened her eyes.

    About sixty-three pairs of eyes stopped back at her.

    And then cheered.

    The new riot of noise was worse than the old. Instead of having fun without her, now they were having fun because of her.

    The collective drunken attention of the room quickly went back to whatever they were doing before, but as she locked her door and walked through the crowd, she could overhear shout-whispers asking who she was, what was her story, and was she invited to the after party?

    Abigail smiled and left the loft.

    It was the best she’d felt since Before Bob.

    She was going to see a movie.

    She never went to see movies, but she loved them. Abigail and Bob had gone a couple of times, but he felt it was a waste of money, when you spent as much on the popcorn and soda, if not more, than on the tickets.

    Who the hell cared?

    She had to tell herself twice. She had to convince herself that even though she hadn’t found a job yet – after a month of searching – and even though her money was starting to run out, that she deserved this night of freedom. To lose herself in the fictional account of someone else’s problems.

    Abigail arrived at the theater about forty minutes before anything she wanted to see was scheduled to start. She bullied past her anxiety and lack of self-confidence to buy a ticket – just one, please – to see War Horse.

    A tear-jerker. Perfect.

    And deciding it was too early to stand in line for popcorn – she was going to get the biggest one there was, and damned the consequences to her jeans and how they fit – she sat at a quiet corner in the theater’s atrium, and watched the people go by.

    “Abigail, right?”

    She spun at the voice from behind her. There stood a young woman who looked vaguely familiar and her date.

    “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

    “You see? I told you she wouldn’t remember,” the young woman said as she slapped the shoulder of the guy she was with. “Nobody ever remembers the bartender. We’re invisible, and anyone who says differently is a liar.”

    “Elise.”

    The man chuckled. “She does remember you. Give her some credit, Elsie. She was distraught.”

    Abigail gave the guy a look, then smiled at the girl who had helped her with such a rough night so long ago.

    Well, okay. It had only been a month.

    “Hi, Elise. Funny running into you here.”

    Elise bent down to give Abigail a hug. “How are you doing? I was so worried about you!”

    Well, that was interesting. “You were?”

    Elise nodded furiously. “I had to drop you off at your apartment, and I put my number in your phone and set a reminder for you to call me so I would know you were alive. And then when I never heard from you, well,” she waved her arms dramatically, “I panicked. And then I went to your apartment like two days later to make sure the hall didn’t smell of vomit and rat-bitten Abigail carcass, but the landlord said you’d left, and did I have a number for you or Bob so he could collect his rent?”

    “Wow. I had no idea.”

    “Of course you didn’t, because you weren’t there! But you’re here, so now you have to tell me everything.” Elise plopped down in the chair to Abigal’s left, and grabbed her hand. “What happened with Bob?”

    Abigail looked at Elise’s date, who was lowering himself a tad more gracefully into the empty chair next to Elise.

    He shrugged. “I guess you were either too drunk or not around her enough to learn about this part of her.”

    It was sort of an apology.

    Abigail smiled, and turned to Elise.

    “Well.”


  3. Abigail & Elise

    January 30, 2012 by Nicki

    Author’s Note: This unedited spew is the result of a 750words.com session – I’d like your opinions, good and bad, but understand if it’s just too much to read. I’ve got a second part to this, and it may actually be shaping up into a real story. Let me know if you would be interested in reading more!

    She was sipping a tall drink the color of cotton candy and just about as sweet in a bar filled with romance and love. She sat alone, and at the bar, her small, rhinestone encrusted clutch sitting just above her drink like the stem of an exclamation point.

    “I need another one of these,” she told the bartender, an attractive woman several years younger than herself.

    “Sweetie, you barely started that one.”

    She shook her head and fumbled with the clasp on her clutch. She pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and held it out between two fingers. “Another.”

    The bartender shrugged to herself, and went to mixing another Very Pink Drink.

    Abigail sighed with a huge intake of breath, inhaling all the wonderful scents. The place was probably designed to appeal to all the senses that two people in love would get turned on by. So they’d feel more romantic, buy more expensive wine to show off.

    She could pick out vanilla and steak, actually. And a heck of a lot of butter.

    And an overwhelming amount of cologne and perfume.

    Abigail should be here with her own date. Bob was going to arrive just as soon as a cab could get him here from the airport. The date had been set for months, only hours after his flight had landed in Japan. He said he was lonely, and now that he was so far apart, he realized how much he loved her.

    His heart shattered without her. He was in constant pain. He had called the restaurant just before he’d called her, the most romantic in town, the one you got a reservation at if you were going to propose, or celebrating your wedding anniversary.

    He wanted to meet her there after his flight returned. The moment his flight returned. He would surprise her with something.

    Abigail ignored her mother’s voice in her head, the one that told her not to slurp through her straw, and finished off her beverage as another icy glass slid across to replace it.

    “Thank you.”

    “Hon, can I ask you a question?”

    Abigail looked at the young woman. She was so young. Barely in her twenties, where Abigail was creeping through her thirties.

    She felt old.

    “Sure. But don’t call me ‘hon’.”

    The waitress ignored her second statement. “What are you doing here? You’ve been drinking for hours. You’re obviously not waiting for anyone.”

    Abigail sighed again. She was past feeling pain, now. That question just an hour ago would have caused the lump in her stomach to crawl back up her throat, choking her as her tears would have blinded her.

    She didn’t feel drunk, but she was. She just felt nothing. So answering the question was not difficult in the least.

    “I am celebrating my new-found freedom,” she replied, lifting her glass and saluting someone who was not there. She gripped her straw with her newly manicured and styled fingernails.
    Done for Bob.

    “You don’t look like you’re celebrating.”

    “And you don’t look like you’re old enough to drive,” Abigail returned in a failed attempt to insult the girl who would probably replace her in Bob’s arms.

    He would love her. She was taller than average – model height. Slender, athletic even. And she had a job.

    “Seriously, sweetie. What’s wrong?”

    The alcohol not only loosened her tongue, it broke all the locks. So she told her. How she had gone to the doctor for something stupid, a bit of bleeding that was just a bit longer than her regular period. She shouldn’t even have gone. But she did, and the doctor put her through a million tests, and then he told her he was going to have to take out her baby maker.

    “Wait, ‘baby maker’?”

    “A hysterectomy,” Abigail clarified. She shouldn’t have to use five syllable words in her condition. “Get me another.”

    The bartender didn’t move. “So? Your man didn’t stick around?”

    Abigail snorted. “Oh, he was in Japan, remember? Doing important work for his important job. No, he stuck around. Made reassuring phone calls and told me everything was going to be all right. Of course he had always dreamed of having his own children, but he could always adopt.”

    “You mean you could,” the bartender said when Abigail stopped. “You could adopt a child together.”

    Abigail shook her head. “No, he never said that. He said ‘he’ could always adopt. He never said anything, ever, about doing it with me.”

    “What an asshole.”

    Abigail smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. In fact, it didn’t even reach her lips. It was a wry, dead smile in her head that didn’t express joy or happiness or love, or anything at all.

    “He changed his status on Facebook when he got back into town today.”

    “Wait, what?”

    Abigail played with the straw and the last bit of drink left in her glass. “He was going to come meet me here right after his flight landed. But instead he changed his status on Facebook to ‘Single’ and posted something about getting his things out of our apartment, but he hoped I enjoyed the reservation. He heard the food was ‘awesome’.”

    “And he was too much of a coward to tell you this to your face.”

    Abigail nodded. “Way too much.”

    “It’s a good thing you can get back at him, just a little.”

    Abigail stared at the bartender. She could barely focus her eyes to read the woman’s name tag – “Elise”, it said.

    “Wait, what?”

    “Revenge. Some say it’s best served cold. You know,” Elise grabbed Abigail’s glass and started mixing something non-alcoholic, “I’ve always wondered if that saying means that you should only get revenge when you can be cold and emotionless about the entire thing, or whether you’re just supposed to wait until everyone’s forgotten about revenge and do it then.”

    “I never thought about it.”

    “Well, I have. Personally, I think it probably means that you’re supposed to wait a long time, then not get pissed, just get satisfaction. But I rather think that in this case, we should grab our chance while we’ve got it.”

    Abigail shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

    Elise clucked her tongue. “Of course you don’t.” She set a glass of water with lemon down for her customer. “You’ve been drinking poison all night. What you fail to realize in your misery is that our restaurant requires anyone reserving a table to give a credit card number. If you fail to appear for your reservation, you’ll be charged whatever – a hundred dollars or something – as a penalty. We are very much in demand, you see,” she said with a wink.

    “I still don’t get it.”

    “I’m not done. So since you’re here, since Bob is such an asshole that he waited until you would most likely be away from your apartment – like a coward – to break up with you and remove himself from your life, you should still take advantage of his earlier generosity in getting you an opportunity to try the best food you’ve ever had.”

    Abigail blinked.

    Elise sighed. “His card is on file. You can still eat dinner, and he’ll pay for it. If he’s dumped you like this, he’s probably too much of a pussy to challenge the charge on his credit card if you stay and eat.”

    Using small words helped, and the fog that had settled on Abigail’s brain cleared momentarily.

    “And I could eat the most expensive thing on the menu,” she replied with a smile that actually showed on her face.

    “And you could order one of everything, if you wanted, and just sample it all.”

    “Elise,” Abigail said with another salute, this time raising her glass to the girl across the bar, provider of sinister and wonderful ideas, “you’ve got a date.”


  4. Just a Little BS

    January 22, 2012 by Nicki

    Fiction Finch

    I’m not sure why, but I decided to add a category on my site for short bits of fiction. You know I like to write, right? I guess my reasoning says that sometimes I just don’t know what to write, but I want to be writing regularly. Why not give myself an out, so to speak?

    When I don’t know what to write, I’ll just make it up!

    I bet everyone wishes they thought of this first. :) Or maybe they have more to talk about and don’t have to struggle for interesting content all the time.

    Regarding the picture – when I was in grade school, they used this bird with glasses and boots to teach us the difference between fiction and non-fiction, and it was one of many tricks I used to keep things straight and gain passing grades throughout the years. Yes, I’m passing them all on to my kids as they resurface.