I've been busy preparing what I think will be a novel (blast it), and I let a couple days go by as I wallowed in confusion and feelings of worthlessness. I forced this out as an exercise to get back into the mode. I flipped randomly through a dictionary and found my inspiration that way. It's short and strange...like I like my coffee.


the overturned novella

Manuel's brown shoes slap the pavement as he comes up to the round building with the pointed dome. He is carrying a duffel bag, red. He hollers for Jarrah, and a head full of unkempt white hair --as if it were electrically teased--pops out of the window. Manuel drops the duffel bag and sits down. After a few minutes Jarrah comes out of the building and runs to Manuel, who is now laying on the ground next to his bag.
"Are you ok?" he asks.
"I was at the opera," says Manuel, "and all the people were filthy! I couldn't take it!"
"All right, all right," says Jarrah and picks Manuel up in his arms. "Come on inside."
"They were all so rude!" claims Manuel.
Jarrah leaves the duffel bag laying on the ground and escorts Manuel inside the mill. The two of them push their way through scores of pigs and eventually Jarrah lays Manuel down on a gurney. Pigs sniff at him and grunt, but Manuel doesn't react. He only lays there.
"I had to!" he yells over the sound of scratching hooves and snorts. "I had to...I had to," he repeats, now staring at his hands. "Had to..."
Jarrah returns to Manuel with a handful of what looks like feta cheese. "Eat," says Jarrah, and Manuel eats without question. He fills his mouth with the crumbled food that smells like peanut butter.
He mumbles now and Jarrah nods.
"Nitrocellulose," he says.
Manuel suddenly looks panicked and shifts in his bed.
"Don't do that," says Jarrah. "You'll explode." He leaves Manuel in his bed and walks outside. A minute later, he brings in the red duffel bag. "Well, you made a mess of this," he says while Manuel lays perfectly still, eyes wide in fear. The pigs grunt louder now, they mill about on the floor, some raging, planting hooves in the others' backs.
Manuel sees Jarrah's mouth moving but he can't hear anything for the squeals. Jarrah holds the bag high over his head and when he's near enough he throws it at Manuel. The pigs rip through the canvas; some of them cannot distinguish between the canvas and Manuel's flesh. Both rip open to wet the gurney with blood and innards.
Jarrah climbs a large wooden ladder to an open loft. "Now where was I?" he asks, unheard even to his own ears. He returns to his chair and picks up the overturned novella, but as he reads he makes faces of disappointment.
The pigs are so loud.
There just isn't any good time to read a book anymore.

Want to comment on this Short Stories? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Short Stories and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...