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vlclasby
vickie clasby
United States, TN, Franklin

Words: 389
Access: Public
Comments: 7

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Dead Lobster Tales

He couldn’t believe this was happening. Today of all days, when he’d finally managed to get Jenny from the apartment downstairs to agree to go out with him. It took him six months to get the nerve to talk to her. As he grumbled about the unfairness of it all, his stomach contracted into a hard, vicious knot and tears sprang into his eyes. Brad retched into the toilet again, for the twelfth time in the last two hours, gagging and managing to hurl up more of the foul liquid that reminded him of bleach and cheap tonic water; bitter and caustic, burning his throat and causing him to cough uncontrollably.

After his stomach finally stopped its internal acrobatics, he stood up from the cool bathroom floor and looked in the mirror. Holy mother of Pete! He barely looked human. Black circles under his eyes, deathly pale skin, hair lank and damp. “Oh, as God is my witness, I will never eat mussels again!” he thought, wondering what on Earth possessed him to eat at Red Lobster. Hadn’t he always called it ‘Dead Lobster’ because of the poor quality of seafood? Even if forced to eat there today with his client, why hadn’t he played it safe and just ordered a Caesar salad? With the mere thought of food, his stomach started the now familiar routine all over again…

He awoke with a piercing headache, rubbed his watering, hollowed eyes and looked around the room, wondering what had happened to the light. Glancing over at the clock on the nightstand he saw the red numbers displayed - 6 : 0 8 … but had lost all track of time during his near death experience. Was it AM or PM? Was it still Tuesday, or had he slept through to Wednesday. He just didn’t know. But what was he thinking about before he fell asleep? What was he supposed to be doing tonight? He knew there was something…

Just then the phone rang. He leaned over to grab it from the nightstand, trying to stop the shrill ringing noise from hammering his brain. “Hello,” he croaked.

“Hi Brad.” a voice croaked back. “This is Jenny. I’m so sorry but I’m sick. I can’t make our date tonight. I don’t know, must have been something I ate…”

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Comments  
TrackerBt1 Comment by: TrackerBt1 Online- 2008-05-13 21:35
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You really paint a vivid picture. The woes of the physically ill are sometimes over wrought in the pieces I've read, but this was handled very well. Look forward to more. (As a side, I couldn't find chapter one of Barely a Trace, did I miss it or do you not have it posted here?)
vlclasby Comment by: vlclasby - 2008-05-08 10:38
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Thanks, Al. Glad you stopped by. This was my very first attempt at flash fiction. Hated it then, but love it now.
alcarty Comment by: alcarty Online- 2008-05-08 09:27
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Saved by the bell! Very nice phrasing in this vignette. With all the background info you have presented, this reads like a short opening chapter from a longer work. Easy to read, and entertaining. Good work.
jgilgun Comment by: jgilgun - 2008-05-04 15:45
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A gripping description. When I got sick from mussels, my other head was deeply colored and affected. Red Lobster won't like this story. I love mussels myself and they are perfectly safe in Belgium.

Nice work. Too bad he could not call his client and say he was sick.
Stratus Comment by: Stratus - 2008-05-03 14:50
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This was an effective piece of flash that could be expanded on. A good sprinkling of issues that readers can relate to. Who hasn't had that 'first date anxiety' Who hasn't had gut-twisting food poisoning' Who hasn't woke up disoriented, wondering if it was morning or night. Because these situations are experienced by everyone, they're the exact things that make readers want to continue on to see what happens.

As I mentioned earlier, lots of elements for a strong (1000 word) piece if you felt like working it.

Thanks -
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