Friday, April 16, 2010

Day One of Thirty: The Citizen submits microfiction.


So, the Devil walks into a Bar...

            “Just water,” the devil told me, and he lit a cigarette.
            My eyebrow, right one, twitched in question as I polished the bar and set the glass.
            “Temptation ain’t what it used to be.  Tired.  No mood to drink.”
            My job traditionally requires a bit of companionable conversation, and though he’d initially made me nervous, Satan had become a regular.
            “If it helps, I hope to fuck some bar-bait after my shift.”
            He tipped his head, profiling a smooth-pointed ear, the corner of his mouth fluking into a glimmer of appreciative smile.
            “You’re too kind.” 
            His cool grey voice sidled out between even, sharp, white teeth.  A few too many for me to stare.
            “Hardly a challenge,” he added.
            I smiled back, feeling, suddenly, foolish and inadequate.
            His eyes scrolled down to the clear glass of water, condensation beading its flutes, and watched one heavy drop slide down and disappear into the orderly white absorbance of barnap.
            His slender reddish fingers draped the glass like a caress, stroking lazy curls of steam into the atmosphere between us.
            His eyes moued shut and he sat like a sleeping viper.
            A moment.
            Two. 
            Swelling discomfort stirred my stomach, diaphragm, and lungs.
            “Hey,” I offered, “you okay?”
            The red fingers slid their evaporating caress down the fluted glass before him.
            “No,” he half whispered, “no, I am not.”

            I went home alone that evening, claiming remembered study for non-existent exams, accepting a phone numbered napkin decorated with a suggestive lipstick kiss from a smoky eyed doll who nursed a Sex-on-the-beach for the half hour she sat at the bar.
            At home, I opened my laptop, stuffed and lit a bowl, and clicked on “my favorites.”  I scanned three or four stories with my hand in my lap, but my heart just wasn’t in it.  I think the Devil was giving up.  It made me ashamed.
            Maybe I’d call that girl— I fished out the napkin; Janice was her name — and invite her for a walk in the park on Sunday afternoon.  We could take some bread to feed the ducks and have a coupl’a Hawaiin Snows on a bench under the cypress.
            Janice.  She had a nice smile.

1 comment:

  1. I finally received this message today! I wasn't able to open it for some reason. Are you going to submit this? I really like the word choice: the corner of his mouth fluking into a glimmer of appreciative smile, the smoky eyed doll, the movement of the water drops down the glass, and the irony of the Devil sipping ice water.

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