Friday, June 22, 2012

FFF: Who Are You Talking To?

Every Friday Kurt is posting a new Flash Fiction story. This is the first week, so don't judge it too harshly. Also, if you have a word or phrase in mind that you think might make a good title to a short story, post it in the comments and maybe I'll try to write something that fits it.

Who Are You Talking To?
Word Count: 600

“Hello, Charles.”

“Hey, Greg. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I frequently find myself here on Sundays, especially in May. I’ve been coming out here regularly for the last six years… yep, since 2006.”

“Oh… okay. Uh, well, it’s good to see you.”

“And you, Charles. It’s nice to run into friends from work.”

“Yes… Anyway, it’s good seeing you, but I’ve got to run.”

“Oh, and where are you going on this fine afternoon, Charles?”

“Um… why do you keep saying my name?”

“No reason, Charles. I just like people to know when I’m talking to them.”

“Uh-huh. So, I’m on my way to a movie and it starts in twenty minutes.”

“At 2:45?”

“Yes, at 2:45.”

“That’s excellent, Charles. Are you going down to the little cinema on Long Ave or the multiplex on 67th?”

“The one on Long. Look, I’ve really got to get—“

“Ah, that’s such a glorious little cinema, Charles. With the trees out front, and the art deco lobby and the gold moulding around the screens—”


“Yes, Charles.”

“Who are you talking to?”

“I’m talking to you. I was just commenting on the art deco in the lobby and butter dispenser that’s shaped like a Buddha—”

“Greg, you’re narrating.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Charles.”

“I’m… okay, well, I really have to be going.”

“Before you do, Charles, I was hoping you could assist me with something.”

“Um, sure, Greg, as long as it’s quick.”

“You see, I was standing under that oak tree there, the one near the pond, and I noticed that woman walking by with her dog—”

“Seriously, Greg, who are you talking to?”

“You, Charles.”

“You don’t have to describe the park to me. I’m right here. I can see it.”

“Of course you can.”

“Fine, so what’s the favor?”

“What was that, Charles?”

“You said you needed my assistance with something.”

“Well, that’s true, but if you’re going to be cross—“

“I’m not cross.”

“You seem a little cross, Charles. Your forehead is scrunched and you’ve started breathing faster, and I dare say your face is getting a little red.”

Who are you talking to?

“Charles, maybe you should head on down to the cinema. You’re movie is going to start soon and you’ll have to walk a block and a half down Hitt Street and then turn left onto 64th—“

Stop doing that!

“Charles, you’re getting a little over-excited. I can see sweat forming in your medium-length brown hair.”

Sweet Jesus, Greg, you’re really freaking me out right now.”

“Charles, I’m—“

“No, shut up.”

“But, Charles, I’m just—“

“Shut. Up.”



“Yes, Charles.”

“I’m going to go away now. Because I’m afraid that if we spend any more time together, I’m going to end up punching you in the face. And then things would be awkward when we’re both back in the office and Jesus Christ, now you’ve got me doing it!

“Charles, I—”

“Greg, I’ve got an idea. You see that woman over there with the dog?”

“Yes, the one I pointed out to you earlier, with the pink sweater—“

“Yes, her. Why don’t you go chat her up?”

“Well, I was going to ask you to introduce me. I smiled at her earlier and she just ignored me.”

“Greg, she’s blind.”


“I’m pretty sure that’s a seeing-eye dog.”

“You think so, Charles? You think that labrador—“

“Yes, I do.”

“You think I have a chance with her?”

“Greg, I think you two might just be a match made in Heaven.”

“Well, Charles, I think I will… Goodbye, Charles.”

“Goodbye, Greg.”

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