WORKS OF ART: BALLING, DIN – pt 2
WORKS OF ART is an exercise in serial flash fiction, as part of Declaration Editing’s Super-Short Summer Serial Challenge (S4C). Part five, Balling, Din, pt. 2, is below.
“Balling, Din – pt. 2″
Syl wrenched her hand away from Blo, swayed from the table and moved like a boar through the crowd. She wanted out but got stuck at the stage, slammed two feet from the singer, whose spit hit her in the face as he cried into the mic. Syl waivered, nearly fell backwards – she was about to piss herself.
This was the problem with pills and booze. Every part of her forgot what the hell to do, went into some sort of social retardation.
All she could think to do was scream, but the bar itself was one loud scream – the noise that shot out of her throat was soon swallowed by something larger, which itself was swallowed by something larger. Russian dolls in reverse.
She pivoted to see if she could push through when someone grabbed her.
“Did that guy hurt you?” a voice yelled. Syl turned. It was the girl from the table, the S&M one with red and white hair.
“Stay away from that louse,” Syl growled. “You need to get me out of here.”
“Let me.”
The sounds got louder again, crossed into that place where they were no longer auditory sensations. A visceral, felt sense, like a pride of boulders landing on your chest. The way you imagine the world will end.
Syl’s vision blurred. The singer’s mask was a skull, his body a husk, his guitar a scythe.
She growled again for the girl to do something, leaned into her, almost sent them to the floor.
“Put your arm around me,” the girl said. “Pretend we’re lovers.”
“Wha?” Syl started, but didn’t get the word out before the girl pressed her lips to hers then led them away from the crowd. The girl pushed her way through double doors and dragged Syl down the hall into the woman’s room.
Syl was sitting when she came back to life, opened one eye half way, looked up and heard a trickle of piss smacking water. Somehow she’d made it to a toilet.
She saw that the girl was in the stall with her, just standing there watching.
“Why the hell did you kiss me?”
“Everyone wanted us to kiss. I gave them what they wanted. Then they stopped looking. I’m not a dike. But you kiss nice.”
Syl was too wasted to be flattered. She reached her hand out when she was done and the girl helped her up. They walked to the sinks. Syl splashed water on her face and glanced in the mirror. She was dying. At least she looked it. The girl stood a few feet behind her. Syl looked at her reflection.
“What’s your name?”
“Angel.”
“Isn’t that sweet.”
“My mother thought so. My father too.”
“Well Angel, I need a cab.”
“To where?”
“I don’t know.”
Tags: Declaration Editing, S4C, serial fiction, serial flash fiction, Works of Art
I’m enjoying reading your serial, Dave. I’m also a participant. And I think we’ve met via the OLC…