Five Further
Flash Fiction Pieces
by Barry Ergang
HARDENED ARTERY
When the New
York critics lauded Louis Mercer's work as
important and original, Emily Parker, his retired
high school art teacher, felt as if she had been
indirectly honored.
Obsessed in
adolescence with painting, Louis had, under her
tutelage, experimented with water colors, oils,
and acrylics. Eventually, however, his maturity
brought disenchantment with brush on canvas, and
he sought new ways to express his roiling soul.
Emily attended
the opening of his latest exposition. Mercer's
newest works were montages sculpted from peanut
butter, oatmeal, gelatin, and other edibles, all
preserved in Lucite.
"What do
you think, Miss Parker?" Mercer asked.
"You came
a long way from paint, Louie."
Originally
published in The Writers Post Journal, September
2005
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FLUSH-OUT IN FLATBUSH
The men's room
had all the charm of a ragpickers' swap meet. Its
occupant had a revolver, pointed at me."
You a cop?"
he demanded.
"No, but
you're busted."
His finger
flexed on the trigger. "You tryin' to piss
me off?"
"No, just
bowl you over with my recognition skills," I
said to stall him.
"Know who
I am?"
"Sure,
you're in all the wanted posters."
"And I'm
the guy holdin' the rod, chum."
I plunged it
from his grip with my pipe wrench. Suddenly
drained, he sat down hard, gurgling.
"Who are
ya?"
"Irving
Crumlish, crime-rusting plumber."
Originally
published at Flashshot June 9, 2005
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PARENTAL GUIDANCE
"He's
your son! It's important that you spend time with
him."
"Doing
what?" James Norton demanded of his wife.
"He's five years old. He likes cartoons and
coloring books. I like golf and baseball."
"Then
watch golf matches and baseball games with him.
Explain how they're played."
"Did you
hear me? He's five!"
"It doesn't
matter if he understands them. It's important
that he spends quality time with his father."
James Norton
flapped his hands in frustration. "What the
hell do you want from me?"
"What
could be simpler--you or what I'm asking you to
do? Bond, James--bond!"
Originally
published at Litbits January 29, 2006
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RECIPROCITY
Seated on the
living room sofa, I glanced at the young Asian
woman dusting a bookshelf and remarked that Lou,
finally, had hired a domestic.
"Actually,"
he said, "I bought her."
"Bought
her?"
"Yeah,
when I was in Bangkok a couple months ago on
business. The Thais train these girls from
childhood to be servants."
"Who're
you kidding?" I protested. "They're
trained to be slaves. In case you've
forgotten, slavery's illegal and immoral. You're
a regular church-goer. How can you be part of
something like this?"
"Now wait--don't
get the wrong idea. A fat old guy like me needs
someone to cook and clean up after him. That's all
she does; I'm no barbarian. Anna--I call her Anna
because I can't pronounce her real name--takes
care of me and gets a good home in return. It's a
reciprocal arrangement."
Anna abruptly
stopped dusting, her breathing ragged and labored.
Without haste she produced an inhaler from a
pocket of her green smock, took a couple of puffs
from it, and resumed her work.
"She has
asthma," Lou said. "Otherwise, she's
just about perfect."
Upon arriving
home, I told my wife about Lou's acquisition. She
was as appalled as I that our long-time friend
was capable of trafficking in human beings, his
rationale notwithstanding.
A week later,
as we strolled the crowded corridors of the local
mall, my wife said, "There's Lou."
I looked in
the direction she indicated and saw him waddling
along, sipping soda from an oversized cup.
"That
girl just behind him. Is she...?"
I nodded.
"The Lou wheezy Anna purchase."
Originally
published at Flashing in the Gutters April 2006
********************************************************
SCIENCE AFFLICTION
"The Krot
is a fascinating example of alien life." The
instructor indicated the horned vermiform
creature that lay at its full length of six
inches upon the laboratory table ringed by his
students. All wore protective clothing and
goggles. "When threatened, it coils and
springs, releasing an acid that renders a
predator helpless. I've removed this specimen
from a terrarium of its native soil and bathed it
gently so you can observe it better."
He prodded the
Krot with the tip of a pen. It didn't move. He
poked it again, harder this time. Still the
creature lay placid, unmoving.
"You won't
get a reaction," someone said.
Instructor and
students alike turned around to find the source
of the voice. An angular woman stood several feet
behind them, a gentle but self-assured smile on
her face.
"And who
might you be?" the instructor asked.
"My name
is Anthea Lane--"
"Professor
Lane?"
"Yes. I
don't mean to intrude, but--"
"It's an
honor to meet you," the instructor, suddenly
deferential, said. "I had no idea you were
on campus."
"I'm here
to do further research on the creatures with some
colleagues. I heard you were conducting a
demonstration, and I--"
"For
those of you who don't know," the instructor
addressed the class, "Professor Lane is
Earth's leading expert on extraterrestrial bio-forms.
She was the first Earth scientist to make an
extensive study of the Krot."
"I just
wanted to tell you that bathing your specimen was
a mistake." Professor Lane's smile widened.
"They seem to feel safer with their own turf
on them, so to speak. Without it they're
defenseless and won't move."
"I see.
You're saying a washed Krot never coils."
Published
at Flashing in the Gutters, October 2006
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