Mid-Week Blues-Buster Week 2.14

Welcome to the Mid-Week Blues-Buster Flash Fiction Challenge, Year 2, Week 14.

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 is another oldie but goodie- an early ’80’s radio classic by the Greg Kihn Band.

It’s… “The Breakup Song”. Here’s the link: http://youtu.be/VgbsEz15SGg

This week’s Judge is back for a return engagement… the Rogue Tinker… Bryan Taylor.

The challenge opens the moment you read this post and runs through MIDNIGHT PACIFIC TIME on Friday June 20th.

Now… go write!



Posted on June 17, 2014, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. 7 Comments.

  1. Steve liked drama, it was his life blood. If he couldn’t make a scene and get everyone’s attention, what was the point? It didn’t have to be bad drama, it could be good drama too – he didn’t care as long as everyone was looking.

    But she’d stolen his limelight and he wasn’t impressed. It was his night; Friday’s were always his night, everyone knew that. While he stood there at the edge of the dancefloor he expected his ring of sycophants to be focused on him, but they weren’t, they were looking at her. He didn’t like it. Not one bit.

    Everyone knew Chelsea liked to dance, she always had, and Steve had to relent to the fact that she had a body worth watching, but he didn’t like her doing this to him. He put it down to her being upset over his rejection of her the other week, when she’d sidled up to him and wanted him to take her home. He wasn’t stupid, he wasn’t going to get involved with that – no way. Her rep didn’t match his. Everyone knew what she was like; she got about WAY too much. He couldn’t be seen to be with her.

    But there she was, showing off all her assets, and all the boys were loving it. He had to find a way to work this to his advantage. He had to find a way to win back their attention, maybe even get them giving him a pat on the back.

    He thought about joining her up there on the podium, but he might end up embarrassing himself and he couldn’t risk that, so what was he left with? He eyed the other lads in the club, maybe there was someone he could pick a fight with, bring the attention back to him – maybe even bring Chelsea running to him. He liked the idea, but there was no one in tonight he felt the urge to go to that much trouble over.

    Then the music changed and the lights dimmed, and he smiled. He saw her climb down off the podium and head straight for him. He didn’t have to do anything. And they all watched her too – exactly what he wanted.

    She stood there looking at him, slightly out of breath. He could see a sheen of perspiration on her face.

    “Well, how about it Steve? Will you dance with me?” She shouted over the music.

    He hesitated, giving the anticipation a chance to build, get those close by hanging for his response. His words would have to be good; he had to impress.

    He let out a laugh and sneered at her. “I don’t think so Chelsea, I ain’t desperate enough for your used piece of meat.”

    He smiled round at the others, enjoying the mix of winces and laughs they displayed. But then it came, something he hadn’t been expecting, that wasn’t part of his plan. She slapped him.

    It was hard too, everyone heard the crack. His head whipped to the side so fast he knew his neck was gonna hurt later. He could feel the handprint where she’d struck him grow hot too.

    He spun back, his eyes filled with rage at the humiliation this was causing him, but she wasn’t finished. She spat at him too and stormed off.

    As he wiped it off with the cuff of his sleeve he could see the partially hidden sniggers, the hands raised to lips to cover the smiles. She’s ruined his Friday night.

    587 Words


  2. Broken Up

    My head thumped in time to the music, and my hand shook as I raised the tumbler to my lips. I downed the shot and slammed the glass onto the bar.

    “Another,” I growled.

    The barman opened his mouth to speak but I shook my head, and he shrugged as he poured the drink. I lifted the glass and the harsh liquid burned its way down my throat.

    “And again!” I demanded.

    “Not my business,” he said as he placed another shot before me.

    “Damn right!” I scowled, oscillating the molten fire within the glass and staring into its hypnotic depth.

    This one slipped mellifluously down my throat, pooling in the centre of my chest, raising a gilded shield around my swollen heart. The music slowed, and my anger softened, and the swaying bodies filling the dance floor merged together into a rainbow of swirling colours.

    This time the barman anticipated my request, and the glass appeared on the shiny counter leaving a trail of silver water shimmering in its wake. I caught it into my hand and spilled the golden glaze as my hand trembled. I fastened both hands about it, to stop it dancing, and laughed as its twin hovered before my eyes.

    “You okay?” asked a voice at my side, and I spun on my stool, my head following moments later.

    A shock of red hair tumbled down upon her shoulders and concern shone from her eyes. I nodded. “Is he all right?” She turned to the barman, who shrugged and moved to another customer.

    “I’m fine,” I slurred. “Just having a good night, a good riddance night…all to myself. So if you don’t mind moving on…”

    “Leave him.” Her friend tugged her away and they disappeared into the throng.

    “We broke up!” My words echoed incoherently inside my head and faded into the music. “We finished!” I had no idea who I was talking to; the red-head or the barman or anyone who would listen. “We’re done, really done, finished forever this time!” My voice rose, whining through the music and the dizzy dancing. “Another drink, my man!”

    Lights flashed, beats shook, sirens wailed, and I clasped the new, cold glass in my unsteady fingers. The drink sloshed over the sides, and I hurriedly sucked at it before I let go as it threatened to slide out of my grip.

    “And another!”

    “No more…” The voice was soft and mellow and I turned to the red-head.

    “I told you honey, I’m done with women…” I blinked at the woman as her ponytail shook along with her head.

    “Yes, you are,” she said. “For rather a long time, I’d imagine.”

    The glass slipped from my hand, rolling, empty, across the bar, neon lights sparkling across its glistening surface. Blue lights revolved from the door as my arms were pulled behind my body and the click of metal reverberated through my spinning mind.

    “Anything you say…” I tuned out as she recited my rights, and the night’s shots threatened to reappear.

    More hazy shots rang out in my head, ones resurfacing in my memory, from a couple of hours ago. My legs yielded, and as I fell to the floor I recalled her body, her eyes, her blood, as she crumpled before me. As the policewoman at my side pulled my gun from my belt, I knew that tears and booze and no amount of drink in the world would ever conceal my sins.

    (576 Words)


  3. “Pathetic.”
    “Who me?”
    “You and the stupid music, here are the keys. I already moved my stuff. Enjoy your idiotic obsession with illiterate musicians.”
    “No buts, you sound just like my father. He used to say the same thing. ‘they don’t write them like they used to’ and I though he was pathetic too.”
    “Maybe you just like pathetic men, attracted to weak guys who prop up your sense of worth?”
    “Maybe but I’m not sticking around another hundred years to see if anything comes of it.”
    “That didn’t go too well my darling glass of beer, at least you don’t think I’m pathetic. How about I sing to you? Na na na na na na na na na. Nope it isn’t too literate is it? Maybe she has a point.”
    “What’re you looking at yer daft bastard? Never seen a guy singin’ in his cups before? This is my friggin’ beer and if I want to sing to it I will.”
    “I’m not really pathetic am I? Oh shit here’s her old man. G’day Mr um, Mr her Dad, what kind of music did you like? Here I’ll get you a beer. She says you liked path- path- pathetic music too.”
    “I like something to sing along to in the work vehicle. Nothin’ too complicated. Thanks, cheers. She dump you?”
    “Yerp because of my taste in music I think?”
    “Yeah, she doesn’t like anything with na na na in the lyrics. There’s a lot of ‘em, songs that is, with na-na-na. They’re the most important lyrics in the history of music, modern day folderol and lyric fillers, if you ask me. She just doesn’t understand; her mother was the same.”
    ‘Yerp, had the same argument with her too. She was all high falutin’ la de dah music and me girl is the dead spit of her mother. They just don’t get a workin’ man’s need for a good na-na-na. Cheer up kid, you’ll get over it. Or she will. Now let’s get you home before I’m too maggoted to drive.”
    “Hey old man, wanna sing with me?”
    “Sure kid, what’ve you got in mind?”
    “Na na na na, Na na na na, Hey Hey Hey, goodbye.”




  4. A new bar’s always an interesting experience. Different people, bartenders, bands, music, but the same stories.

    I plunked my empty bottle down, and stared at it a moment, then waited for the bartender to find me. She was a hot one. Put a hot one behind the bar on a Friday night, draw in guys by the dozen, and watch them spend everything they have while they watch her.

    “Want another, hon?”

    I nodded, and she was off to get a full one.

    I turned to look out at the crowd. It was a good Friday night, all the tables were full. I saw what I expected around the tables. some were groups of guys, some groups of girls, and some mixed couples. Like always, the guys were hunting girls, the girls formed groups for safety, and the mixed tables were laughing, because they’d already paired off.

    That’s why bars have bands and dance floors, so couples can form up. Usually a guy and a girl, but sometimes two guys, or two girls. That’s how Chrissy and I met. In a bar, with a band, and dance floor.

    The dance floor was full of couples, some just forming, others having lasted longer, and some nearing the end. The new ones were fun to watch, especially on slow dances, as they got that first full body contact. It either worked, or it didn’t. If it worked, they got closer. If not, they barely touched. The couples nearly done looked around as they danced, with that “I remember when this was fun” look.

    “Here alone?” The bartender put the next bottle down.


    “Just break up?”


    “Let me know when you want the next one.”

    “And the one after that.”

    She had great eyes, lots of cleavage, and hips. God, what hips! The kind you want to put your hands on. Of course, she knew it, and she showed ‘em off well. The guy next to me took a big chug from his glass, gave me an evil smile, and whispered, “God, I’d love to bang that!”

    “Who wouldn’t,” I thought, “Now that Chrissy’s gone.” We’d shared the same apartment for years, but not any more. The thrill, the excitement, was gone, and had been for months. We’d met at a bar, on a dance floor, and we’d liked what we felt on that floor. That first slow number, every curve of her molded right into me, like two puzzle pieces did.

    But the physical parts were the only parts that fit together. In every other way, we fit together like housewives and cockroaches. Gods, the fights we had! Of course they always ended with us naked, trashing the bed sheets again. “Hi, honey! Let’s have another fight, so we can fuck!” Yeah, that’s what everything turned into.

    So, we broke up. It was for the best.

    I wasn’t in the bar to find a new girl. No, I was there to understand I might find another Chrissy, and have hot sex with her for a year or three, and then have to find another bar, and another Chrissy. And it would never end.

    I was drinking to think about how to find a woman. A real woman. A friend, someone to trust, to talk with, and spend time with. Someone who’d be there when you needed ‘em. Not just another body I could bang.

    But I had to admit I missed banging Chrissy. Damn, she’d been hot, and so had the sex. But I’d get over it.

    I looked at the guy next to me as he stared at the bartender’s ass. “Dude, no drooling on the bar.”

    “God,” the guy mumbled, “Give me one night with a number like that. That’s all I want. One night.”

    I spent the rest of the night watching hot women turn guys like him stupid, and wondering if I’d ever find who I was looking for, and where I’d find her, because I knew I’d never find her in a bar with a dance floor, and a band.

    675 words


  5. It was an hour ago – to the second, if you care to be that precise – that we’d broken up. But, since I was looking at the clock next to the glass shelf of assorted bourbons, so all bets were off. Bar Time! Could be an hour, could be could be ten minutes – I was on my fourth drink, so it was probably closer to . . .no, wait . . . that’s a poor gauge too. . .

    I sucked the last bit of Maker’s off an ice cube and set the glass down in hopes of catching the bartender’s eye. I looked past my empty glass staring at the bodies on the dance floor pulsating to bad eighties songs –

    traveling in a fried-out Kombi, on a hippie trail head full of zombie, I met a strange lady, she made nervous –

    indeed – Ladies Night re-imagined with a clever slash of a Sharpie to Eighties Night. I could see Maggie and her friends sitting at the rail, just above the dance floor. This time it was “for good,” she’d said. I didn’t see any good in it and neither did she, from her expression, although her BFF Alice seemed to be having the time of her life. That’s what I should do – take Alice home – revenge sex is a dish best served. . . no, wait, that’s not the expression. . .

    . . .you better run, you better take cover. . .Whoa ooo ooh, where were you, when I needed you. . .

    perfect segue, as the DJ eased into Greg Kihn Band. At least he was kind enough not to play that fucking break up song. I don’t think I could take that tonight.

    “They don’t write ‘em like that any more.” The bartender had finally found me.

    “Thank God,” I answered, pushing my glass toward him.

    He refilled the glass. “Girl problems?” the bartender asked, sliding a white calling card across the bar. Small block letters read – THE SPECIAL.

    “The Special?”

    “You want her back don’t you?”

    “Nooooooo! We’ve been together for like a million years, why would I want her back. I want her to realize that she was wrong.”

    “Then take the card and go through that curtain at the end of the bad.”

    “That curtain?”

    He nodded.

    “The special?”

    He nodded again.

    I stepped through the curtain. It was a private bar, three stools and an ancient bartender.

    “Welcome,” he said. “Come for the “Special,” did you?

    “I guess.” I said, humoring him. “So, how’s it work?”

    “It’s simple. Drink this,” he said, sliding a tall shot glass of blue liquid toward me. “And then you have a choice to make. Forget your past or get her back, either choice is guaranteed, but both have its own consequences.”

    I’ve never a big fan of mixing my booze, but I was already five Maker’s into the journey. “Alright, what the hell?” and I slammed it back.

    “Okay,” said the old man. “Now, in order to activate the potion I need you to step through this door and kill the person on the other side.”

    “No way, I’m not killing anyone.”

    “Fine,” he said. “That’s your choice, but, if you don’t activate the potion, you will forget your past..”

    The old man laid a Louisville Slugger on the bar. “You have three minutes.”
    I grabbed the bat and stepped through the door – the florescent lights of the ladies room were blinding – Alice was kneeling over some poor girl who’d had better evenings. Blood was everywhere, as Alice bit and tore into her chest, growling and writhing. She turned her dead eyes to me and I swung. Again, and again.

    The bat slid from my bloody hand as I stepped outside. Maggie was walking toward me, slowly. I expected round two – or worse, I’d just killed her BFF – instead, she threw her arms around me.

    “I am so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I love you baby. I can’t live without you. I want us to be together forever.” She kissed my fingers, tasting Alice’s blood and smiled. “Forever,” she whispered, always tender and loving, as her teeth tore deep into my shoulder.


    699 Words


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