Mid-Week Blues-Buster Week 52

Welcome to the Mid-Week Blues-Buster Flash Fiction Challenge, Week 52!

Week 52… sounds like a year to me! Thanks to everyone for making the Blues-Buster a success! Happy Anniversary….

This is a flash fiction challenge.  The prompt is a song.  You are not required to write about or even mention the song.  It’s there only to get the ideas moving around in your brain pan.  If you want to write about the song (or the video- it’s all good here) go for it but don’t feel like you have to.

 The rules;

 500 words, but it’s a slushy 500, meaning you can go up to 700 or as low as 300.

 Post your entry right in the comments section of this post.


 The challenge starts whenever I post this on Tuesday and ends at MIDNIGHT Pacific Time on Friday.  You read that right.  Pacific Time.

 This week’s song prompt comes from one of my favorite artists, the late Warren Zevon.

The track is, “She’s Too Good For Me”. Here’s the link; http://youtu.be/c0NRrBNMpFM

This week’s Judge is the talented writer, and MWBB regular, Bryan Taylor.

The challenge opens the moment you read this post and runs until midnight PACIFIC TIME on Friday March 14th.

Now go write!!!

Posted on March 11, 2014, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. 9 Comments.

  1. “She’s Too Good For Me” (Warren Zevon)

    “I feel like a bloody, what’s one of them blokes with no knackers?”
    “Yeah one of them; useless. She fixes both the cars, earns more money than me, she’s smarter, got heaps of friends. What the hell would she want a mug like me around for?”
    “Dunno mate. Maybe she loves you or something?”
    “Pigs arse. She just wants me for sex and I don’t reckon she wants that much either.” Bob signalled the barman for another beer. “She should go and hire one of them toy boys. She could afford it that’s for sure.” Bob grabbed his new beer like a drowning man clutching a straw. Music floated through the room.
    “I could hold my head up high and say that I left first, Or I can hang my head and cry…”

    Bob nodded in appreciation.

    “That bloke has it right. Mate, women today can do it all for themselves. They don’t need us anymore. It’s why blokes get them overseas wives. Those chicks make a bloke feel needed. A man needs to feel able to provide for and protect his woman.” Bob slammed the glass onto the polished bar. “Damn it Crystal could wipe out half a street gang with that martial art stuff of hers and I couldn’t lift a finger to help her. There’s nothing I can provide her with that she couldn’t buy for herself and sooner too. I got nothing she wants.” Bob slurred the last few words through a mixture of misery and beer.

    Crystal pulled three more tissues from the box and dabbed her puffy eyes.
    “He said I loved him too much.” A sob caught in her throat. “How can you love someone too much?” She dissolved into another bout of tears. Lifting her head from her tissue filled hands she choked out “Oh! Oh and he said I was too good for him and I should have demanded he get me drapes? Anne, what am I going to do? What did I do wrong?” Crystal smiled wanly at the steaming cup of tea her friend slid between her tissue filled hands.
    “I thought he was happy? Maybe I do too much. Do I do too much? No don’t answer that I know already. Doesn’t he understand how much he means to me? I want to do all those things for him. I like his company. He makes me smile. The house is so empty without him. I am empty without him.” Her voice trailed off to a sad whisper.

    “I don’t need him you know. I am perfectly capable of running my life without a man blundering around in it. When are men going to move out of the caves? Damn him!” Crystal threw the tissues fiercely into the bin. “Why the hell should I ask him to get me drapes. He could damn well offer to help hang them with me” her voice held a puzzled but determined note. “I am going to cut my hair and redecorate the bathroom this weekend. Things will be so much simpler when men realise the difference between want and need.”

    Bob gazed at his glass a long time; shoulders slumped, head hanging over his hands watching the bubbles slowly drift to the top of his warming beer. “I miss her.” A sigh found its way from deep in his chest. “I want her to be happy. I just don’t know what she wants with me? I wonder if she’ll miss me?” 580



  2. Once upon a time, there lived an angel. Not the kind of angel as the form good people take upon entering the afterlife, but a luminous being whose existence transcended all definition. She revealed herself to me, Maylinn did, after a night of bliss in each other’s arms. She told me of places that had lived in nothing but stories and songs until she wished them into existence, and then she told me that she loved me.

    That was when I knew I had to leave her. She would never leave me, not Maylinn, not the angel of uncountably infinite worlds, not the woman who believed that all things were not just possible, but actually happened. I knew what she wanted to hear from me, so I said it, but I was incapable of love. My makers hadn’t added that to the mix during my creation, for what need had I for love?

    Once upon a time, there lived a golem.

    I was not merely from this Earth, I was of it, and I was an anchor. On another world, in another reality, I would have no more substance than a dream. She was born to create realities. I was made as a living avatar of one. I would destroy her, or she would destroy me.

    But how do you leave someone who can go anywhere? Anyplace I found to hide, she could create. There was only one answer.

    “Show me. Show me a new world, one made just for the two of us.”

    She giggled, then kissed my nose. “I wanted you to ask me that so badly. At night, alone, I would dream of our place, and I’d lose my ability to breathe – just for a moment – and I’d imagine you there with me.

    “Close your eyes, my love.”

    I kissed her again, and then did as I’d been bidden. There was no love for me, but what better image was there to take into the eternal void than her smile? I felt her fingers dancing around my face, heard her whispering words that had no meaning, and I awaited the end.

    The way was long, and I fell into a dream. In the dream there was nothing, not even me, and then there was something. Maylinn, although not as I knew her, but as she truly was.

    “I know, my love. I know who you are, I know what you are, I know who made you. Did you think that I could not envision a world where you were more than the sum of your parts? Open your eyes, and awaken.”

    Once upon a time, there lived an angel who made it possible for a golem to love.

    451 words


  3. My Muse

    It serves me right for neglecting her. She left me. I took her for granted, and she left me.

    She had always been there, hovering in the periphery. Ever since I was a small child, she would tap on my shoulder and invite me to play.

    As I grew older, she became the drug I used to escape the daily tortures I’d endure; she’d take me to places and to people I wanted to be a part of.

    In my adolescence, she became a needy lover beckoning me at all hours of the day and night. She’d cause me to leave gatherings just to please her, and I happily obliged. Young, passionate love.

    She knew I had a masochistic desire to continually become infatuated with men who, I know now, weren’t worth the time or precious energy I expelled over them. During these calamitous time, she would distance herself a bit, but would never completely abandon me; and when the unrequited or unworthy lover would depart leaving nothing but a layer of silt on my heart and torn calendar pages, she would be there to console and embrace me. Time and time again, we did that dance.

    For a time, we reached a point of harmonious stasis, and we were both happy.

    It was during this time of contentment, that the lover who would become my current partner arrived, and with his pale green eyes and gentle assertiveness, he began to draw my attention away from her.

    Ever loyal, she stayed by my side, but being as needy and ravenous as she always was, she grew frustrated and distant.

    We’d visit each other infrequently, but it wasn’t the same as it had been during the years of teenage angst. In the last few years, she had called on me at the most inopportune times: in the shower, during a walk, with raw chicken parts between my fingers as I prepped dinner, always at times when I had no implements to appease her.

    She would whisper in my ear while I washed dished and would spark my brain with her soft nuzzles.

    When she insisted on pestering me at work, I would shoo her away and hope that she’d call on me at a better time, but that better time would never come. Her pleas to me became increasingly frequent, and incessant in their desperation; hearing from her became painful, and I became paralyzed with silence from the fear that we could never have what we once used to.

    After years of neglect, she left me. I would wait for her, but she wouldn’t arrive. The hallow pain in my heart ached to think that I had taken her for granted and that she may never return to me.

    Weeks of near radio silence had caused me to reflect and decide that I needed her back, but I wasn’t sure where to look. I needed to learn to manage how to be in a joyful, loving relationship with both my partner, and woo her back as well and live in harmony with both. My partner knew how much I needed her in my life, and supported me in my search.

    I looked for her in the usual places: at the kitchen sink, on long walks, in my bed, during my silent times, but my search was unfruitful.

    Unexpectedly, she began to emerge like a sunken ship rising from the ocean or a ghost materializing slowly before my eyes. I found her, in all her glory, radiant, and vibrant as ever, doing a samba among several Rock en Espanol bands that I had great nostalgia for.

    Gingerly and humbly, I approached her. She smiled in her usual way and took my hand to start a brand new dance.

    We are not what we used to be, but we are starting over with empty pages full of possibilities.

    645 Words


  4. In Memoriam

    Tramping in to do their filial duty, the visitors looked anywhere but at his face or the frail hands that gripped the blanket.
    “I’d dearly like to spend today talking to my grandson, Michael,” George Weiland said, gesturing for the rest of them to leave.
    “He’s becoming a fine young man. I want to give him some pointers for the future.”
    Giving an audible sigh, Michael pulled one headphone out and rolled his eyes. Fan-fucking-tastic. “Hello Grandpa! HOW is the FOOD?” thumbs still busy on his tablet, the teenager nodded his head a few times, a tokenistic smile plastered to his face.
    “At the moment, you stand to inherit the bulk of my fortune, so long as you help me with my… what’s it called… bucketlist.”George held his hand up. “I don’t expect friendship, but I do want a modicum of respect – even though the things will be downright childish. Let’s start again shall we?”
    “You serious? What do you want to do?”
    “For now? Get here early tomorrow, with a backpack. While the nurse who gives me a sponge bath has a good figure, I most definitely do not. And I’m sure you don’t want to see me semi-naked.”

    Michael knocked on the door frame, worried he was late. George waved him in.
    “Load all that stuff in your bag, and then load me in that,” he said pointing at the wheelchair. “We’ll need to see Tallulah. I hate that bitch, but your grandmother loved her.”
    “What about the nurses?”
    “They’re in on it.”
    Still expecting to be stopped every step of the way, Michael pushed the old man out of the hospital. After the wheelchair was loaded into a taxi, George gave an address and leaned back, eyes closed. Left with nothing else to do, Michael pulled out his iPad.
    “So can you drive stick?”
    “What? Why?”
    George smiled. “Better hope there’s an app for that.”

    They stopped at parking garage. Waving away the wheelchair for now, George walked slowly over.
    “Mr. Weiland! Everything is as you asked. Right this way, sir.” A short distance away was a pristine Oldsmobile, in mint condition.
    “Hello, Tallulah, “ George said, hand on the bonnet, eyes misting.
    “I’m doing this for Cynthia.” He hobbled into the passenger seat and threw the key to Michael. Engine purring, they drove sedately out of the parking lot.
    ”Let her off the rein, I’ve got my seat belt on. To the funfair!” The speedometer leapt and the tyres squealed, and once again George closed his eyes.

    The rest of the day passed in a blur – a pastiche of childhood joys. Toffee apples and paper planes, jumping castles and blowing bubbles, swings and balloon animals, paddle boats and ice-cream vans. They watched the sun setting over a sandcastle they’d been constructing on the tide line, and once again George closed his eyes and sighed. Thinking their adventure over, Michael stood up,dusting sand off his knees.
    “Back to the hospital Grandfather?”
    “Nonsense! We’re just getting started! Time to change into something more suitable, then hit the town.”
    “Are you sure? We don’t want to over do it. Maybe tomorrow would be better?”
    “For a long time I’ve known there might not be a tomorrow, but this is the first time I’ve actually acted that way.”

    After belting out a few tunes at a karaoke joint, they grabbed a cab to another address George rattled off from memory. The neon was garish and the place was packed. After looking around for a while, George made his way slowly to the bar, placing an order that made the barman laugh. He pointed to a raucous table that was strewn with many empty pitchers before paying and heading over.
    “Gentlemen,” he said, “May I invite you to join me in multiple screaming orgasms?”
    Frowns. Laughter.
    “The fuck did you say, old man?”
    “My wife had a rather coarse sense of humour and she loved approaching strangers and making that offer before buying them a round of drinks. It would have been our anniversary today, so please – these cocktails are on me.”




    Jack was pouring himself another pint when the door slammed in the jam and heels clicked on the tiled floor.

    “We’re closed,” he called out without bothering to look over the rim of the mug tilted to his mouth.

    “You’re making a lot of solo decisions today,” she said, sitting on a barstool. “Closing the bar early. Splitting the sheets with your lady friend.”

    His empty mug hit the counter with a heavy thump. “That’s me. A real man of action once the blur kicks in.”

    “May as well keep up the momentum and pour me a glass.”

    His hand hovered over the tap handle. “Never known you to drink, Legs.”

    “Getting dumped seems a fair enough reason to start.”

    He pulled the handle and filled the mug.

    “Course, I used to have this guy in my life and he used to say … Never mind that. Just pour, barkeep.”

    He slid the mug to her. “Tell me what he said.”

    She shrugged out of her jacket. “If you need a reason to drink, then it’s time to stop.”

    “The son-of-a-bitch is out of your life now so forget the shit he said. Trust me. You’ll be better off.”

    “Forget him, huh? You’re the bartender. Guess you’d know best,” she said, taking a tentative drink.

    “There you go. Drink up, sleep it off, start fresh tomorrow. You work on emptying that mug while I lock up the place.”

    He shut off the main lights, took out the trash, and locked the back door.

    She was at the jukebox when he came back.

    He grabbed her jacket from the stool and brought it to her. “Off you go.”

    She reached out but lost her balance and bumped into him. “Oh!”

    He steadied her. “You’re not going to make a drunken spectacle of yourself are you?”

    She put her palm against his shoulder. “No, Jack. That’s your forte. That and selling yourself short.”

    A song came to life on the jukebox and he cursed under his breath but didn’t move away when her arm slid around his waist. “You don’t fight fair, woman.”

    Her feet danced between his. “I learned that from you.”

    He sighed and pulled her close. “Brew in your belly, soft lights, and a good song aren’t going to change things. I’m still no good for you, Legs.”

    She nestled her cheek against his chest. “You don’t get to make that decision.”

    “Look, I’m proud of you. You deserve the promotion. But you stay with me and your career will eventually stall. Best if I opt out now.”

    She pushed free of him. “Please don’t do this.”

    He yanked the cord out of the wall and the music died mid-note. “We’re all played out, you and me. Nothing left but goodbyes so let’s not drag it out.”

    She grabbed her jacket. “Wherever you put your head down to sleep tonight, Jack, remember this moment. Remember I didn’t want it. Remember this is on you.”

    Damn her. Damn this. Damn it. He wanted another pint, another dance, another chance. But there was such a long line of screw-ups and self-destructs riding his heels. “I’m trying to do the right thing here.”

    She paused at the door. “Right for who?”

    “For you. I never should have brought you onto the task force. You were good enough, better than good enough, but what you saw while you were on it, that never stops weighing on me.”

    She locked the door and came back to the counter. “We should carry it together. Isn’t that what we’ve been doing the last three years?”

    He sat beside her. “I wanted better for you. You’re bright and beautiful. I’m bitter and broken down.”

    “Don’t you get it? Maybe I don’t need you like I did when we met but I want you. I always want you, Jack. Doesn’t that count for something?”

    “You’re too good for me, Legs, but I don’t have the strength to keep fighting you. How about we grab a bottle of champagne, go upstairs, and celebrate that promotion?”

    “Screw the promotion, Jack. Let’s celebrate us,” she said, leaning in to kiss him.

    – – – – – – – – – –
    690 words / @bullishink


  6. Not Enough

    My hands shook.

    She became my world the first moment I saw her, yeah, a cliché, I know, but it’s true. One glance was all it took and I was gone, hook, line and the proverbial sinker! She didn’t want me though, nope, I wasn’t her type, but that didn’t stop me trying and trying some more. I caught her too, oh yes, and I lost my heart, don’t want to admit that, but I did, for real.

    My knees trembled and I struggled not to wretch.

    When I saw her walk down the aisle clutching her daddy’s arm, a halo of gold framing that pretty little face of hers, I just about thought I was in heaven. I slipped that ring onto her dainty finger and thought I’d hit the jackpot!

    I flinched and shivered as I stared at the floor.

    I got wound right round that pretty little finger. She had everything she wanted, I made sure of that, everything and anything, she only had to ask and she got it. She only had to smile at me, flutter those long lashes and I’d have reached right up into the night sky and given her the moon if she’d asked for it.

    A strangled sob rose in my throat.

    I thought we had it all, I certainly did! When she gazed at me, my heart did flip-flops, somersaults, crazy stuff, and her blue eyes trapped my soul. Did I really say that? Yes, I did, because it’s true. It’s always been true, from the first time I saw her, like I already told you. I drowned in those eyes and I wasn’t the only one. I knew I wasn’t the only one, I’ve seen how other men look at her.

    I wiped the back of my hand across my nose, sniffing loudly.

    Other men, yeah, they could look, but they sure couldn’t touch, she was mine. She was always mine. From the moment she said ‘I do’ she was mine.

    Blood pooled on the clean, white tiles and the knife glinted in my hand.

    You know I’d have given her anything, you know that don’t you? Anything she wanted, it would have been hers.

    I licked my cracked lips as sweat trickled down my back.

    He stared up at me as he collapsed, his hands, grasping his belly, as scarlet as the tulips in the vase by the front door, her favourite flowers.

    Turns out I wasn’t everything she needed.

    (412 Words)


  7. * ‘wretch’ should read ‘retch’…you know when you see it after you’ve posted! lol


  1. Pingback: MWBB – week 52 – the First Anniversary | Project Gemini

  2. Pingback: Good Enough | Ruth Long

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