Double Dutch

18 Jul
Double Dutch

These crazy stories are all up in my shit, poking me with sticks, breathing hot, stinky breath in my face, “C’mon dude. Wake up. Time to write.”

Gary Was A Sandwich

Its cold.

Been snowing to beat the devil for the past 6 weeks.

Paper says the spring thaw will be a month late, looks like I’m going to be stuck here for
awhile. At least I am not alone.

Satellite dish won’t work through this blizzard.

Nothing but static on the radio.

I have food and enough cut firewood to last me to the thaws if I am careful.

I have enough books to stave off boredom for awhile.


I check in on Gary.

He looks peaceful enough.

Don’t want to wake him.

He hates being woken up early.

I pass the time.

I read.

I masturbate.

I try in vain to get something on the radio.

I cook my food and eat without pleasure.

Gary doesn’t talk much.

He just lays around, staring at me.

Sometimes I just want to throttle him.

Went out today. Needed to check the petrol in the truck hadn’t frozen solid.

Was gone awhile.

Musta left the front door ajar.

When I came inside, stamping my feet to get the snow off my boots I noticed something was wrong.

The cabin felt strange.

As if there was someone here who shouldn’t be.

When I went into the kitchen a shriek of horror escaped my lips.


Gary lay there, torn apart.

Tomatoes and cucumber mingled in runny mustard.

I felt ill.

He had been eviscerated.

His bread was torn, his filling spilled all over.

I sunk to my knees and wept.

My best friend was dead.

Gary. Gary. I will miss you my friend.

I scooped him up and made him as comfortable as possible.

I rearranged his filling in his bread and tried to make it seem as if nothing had happened.

I went to the pantry and got a bag of potato chips.

I put them on a plate.

I added Gary.

Sobbing, I dug in.

I miss you Gary.


A shattering spray of gold and silver jumped from his outstretched hand, as if he had flung them away, unwanted!

He hit the ground a second later, sprawled –chin first – across the razor ripshred of cinders and sun-baked concrete.

HahhahaHahahhAhahaHa Whatta Doofis!

Jimmy and the Snakes – ever the enemies, ever the rock-thrower-motherfuc–.

Mercifully, the drone of the barker and packs of giggling girls drew them off.

He stung and ached – he was bleeding and torn.

Slowly he picked himself up while old folks and kids and dogs and families walked, ran, trudged, skipped, bounded past him unkind, unhelping.

His eyes dropped to the dusty, patchy turf and dirt. He scanned for gold and silver, there! he leapt, and there! and scrabbled, there! but the powdery earth had taken its tax and he was missing over half his coveted treasure – a few golds and a clinky mess of silver, a summertime’s bounty of chores and endless errands.

He looked up at the neon sign strung across a seemingly endless wooden fence and saw the shuffling line of people and pets funneling into a single breach, a clown danced nearby clutching a fistful of balloons, capering and waving to all.

He ran to join the line.

The endless summer waited.

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Posted by on July 18, 2017 in Flash fiction


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