Day 10: Probably


Then, write a creative writing post (500-word limit) where you think of an absurd situation and then try to move it toward something meaningful. Consider this story about the talking wolf and how, later, it really became a story about a man who is grieving the loss of his brother and dealing with his own guilt about being a “bad person.” In my opinion, this makes it literary (based on character development and emerging theme) and not “fantasy” (although I have yet to meet a talking wolf).


The banana was already mostly lit, flame occasionally going out, and some wheel-chaired man was waiting for me to finish outside the stall. He’s going to have wait because this thing was getting so soft in my teeth I couldn’t keep it lit. Someone said you could get high if you lit the banana up, and I really needed to be high. My sweaty briefs were rolled up around the ankles, sitting in the mouth of my brown slacks, and my cheek was pressed against the inside door of the big bathroom stalls. My switchblade’s metal engraved my thigh and my palm, lighter in between my index finger and middle.

Aphrodisiacs, drugs, or ruse, if you needed it bad enough you’d do anything they told you. Put apple slices into your ass if it could—oh dear God! I’d never done anything like that before. Waves of hot rolled up my chest and to my face; my knees got weak. I felt muddled and I might’ve been moaning in a pool of my own vomit, but I felt like I could control space and time. My eyes shot open again to light the banana. I had accidentally bit through the skin and was near clenching my teeth. It tasted like crap.

I am convinced of it really. We’d believe anything—which is probably something someone must’ve been really convincing about before. The rest of the banana was on the ground, where I could see the wheel-chaired man’s feet. I bent over, sliding my sweaty face down the stall door, and the apple piece slipped out—God have mercy. Some tears slipped out too. The bit-off side was back in my mouth, and I carefully flicked the bic. When it was smoking I cut myself another slice and—Holy macaroni. My face might’ve boil off and that was exactly what I needed.

They told me that what I did was the right thing, but I’m not so sure anymore. They were knocking on the stall now, and it felt so good against my face. The jangling of keys was soothing. I was finally feeling it, eyes rolling back in my head. The hairs on my body were standing on end. The banging was getting worse, but I felt at peace for once. I could quiet my little boy’s voice. He wanted to stay with me but they told me that I wasn’t fit to take care of a child after all. My lips might have been burning with the banana but as the stall door swung open I was certainly rolling into it. They could make anyone believe anything because people do what they want no matter what. I guess I never really wanted to keep him, then. It didn’t even hurt. Maybe I wasn’t actually sad to watch him kick his way into the car, house burning behind us, handcuffs cold on my wrists. I couldn’t even feel the cold air on my wet back and naked ass, now. (499)


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