Flash Fiction and a Monologue
Dark Clothes and Shady Places
A woman is lying on her side, facing away from the snoring man beside her. Her hand reaches up to touch her hair, which is tangled and frizzy, and her face, swollen and puffy. The man gives a sudden lurch as a particularly loud snore wakes him. Startled, he looks around and sits up. The woman breathes very quietly and makes no sound. The man rolls toward her on the bed and wraps an arm around her mid-section. He nuzzles his face into the back of her neck and begins snoring again. The woman, waiting until the snoring becomes steady, carefully lifts his arm away from her body and places it down at his side. She then removes the covers and climbs out of the bed, trying not to disturb him. Dressed only in panties and a bra, she pauses as her feet touch the floor waiting to see if he wakes up. He doesn’t and she begins scanning the room for her missing belongings. She tiptoes over the carpet and scoops up a little black dress and two towering gold stilettos. She spots her jacket hanging crookedly over the bed frame and gathers it up into her arms as she retreats from the dark, moon lit room and heads into the adjoining bathroom. As quietly as possible, she closes the bathroom door and turns on the light. Looking at herself in the harshly lit mirror, the women sees smeared mascara running down her cheeks along with the residue from the body glitter she applied before setting out that night. Her dark hair is sticking up in awkward directions, stuck in clumps from leftover hairspray. Her lips are rubbed clean of any lipstick and are now swollen from the night’s workout. She tries to pat down her hair and splashes cool water on her face, taking off the rest of the remaining makeup. She inspects her nose carefully and sees traces of white powder clinging there. Lip quivering, she rubs it off, a little too harshly causing her nose to be red and irritated. Wiping a tear from her cheek, she bends over and steps into the skin tight dress waiting on the dirty floor. Pulling it on laboriously she zips it up halfway and gives up. Holding both shoes in one hand with her coat over her arm, she turns off the lights and pulls the doors open slowly. She tiptoes toward the exit and almost makes it out when one of the shoes slips from her grip. It crashes to the hardwood floor in the hallway and as quickly as possible she picks it up and makes way for the front door. Behind her, she catches sight of the bedroom light flicking on. Just as she is about to close the door she hears a groggy voice calling, “Hey, wait!”.
Memory and Suspense
Air. Rippling past, filling your lungs, caressing your cheeks, tugging your hair, singing in your ears. Breathing never felt so effortless. Every atom in your body quivering in suspense from the moment you start to the moment you finish. Living is real even when sound disappears and colors become neutral. You never remember freedom until you realize you are free. Free from worry, from burdens, from thinking, from acting. Just free. You know you are not alone, you are not even leading. Your friend, your partner, your companion leads the way. He is your ticket to living without fear in state of trust and devotion. Can he realize how much you cherish this feeling? Does he sense your internal plea for all things in life to be this simple? You reach down and stroke his neck. Feel the taut muscles moving in rhythm to the thundering of a thousand heart beats. You feel his breathing accelerate as you move faster and faster together entwined. Then just as suddenly as it began, you run out of time and space. Together you come back to earth. Your feet remain on the ground and you thank your friend with an open heart and soft hands. Together, you breathe in the now stagnant air.
As memory recedes and reality seeps back in, you realize something. You blush and try to bury the thought within your shocked embarrassment. Slowly thinking returns and with it the undeniable inkling that you may have just described sex…
Fat Girls Have Problems
PATTY, A young, overweight woman arguing with her brother. She’s a bit overdramatic but her sarcastic nature makes her funny and easy to be around.
Patty, having just had an argument with her thin, smug brother comes out on stage to have a chat with the audience. No props are required, just a spot is focused on her as she rants.
Addressing someone off stage
Is that what you really think? Is that how all guys think? ‘Oh she’s fat, she must have problems.’ That’s like me saying, ‘He’s skinny, he must live with his mother.’
Address the audience
I can’t believe he thinks that. I don’t look at him and see arrogant, smug, self-absorbed, asshole! But I guess that’s the difference between men and women. Guys see muffin tops and women see prospect.
I’ve got to give him props though. No one has ever told me, straight to my face especially, something so true.
So now, what, am I supposed to change? Yeah, I’m overweight – well let’s face it, I’m fat. But does that make me defective?
I mean, it took me a long time to accept myself for who I am and I’m not just going to let someone strip away all of my confidence in one fell swoop-
Wow, that sounded pathetic.
You think you are finally getting somewhere…
Brother yells offstage.
but obviously this entire rant is just evidence of a lingering self-depreciation!
Patty grumbles under her breath.
If I were really over all of my insecurities, I wouldn’t be taking offense to what he said at all.
So what’s the real problem here? Is it the fact that I can’t bring myself to lose weight or that I keep making efforts to accept the state of my life? Why should I accept that this is who I am? Everyone says that you have to love yourself and feel beautiful in your skin - but my skin is pretty tired.
Maybe the biggest problem is that I can’t picture myself thin. I have been fat my whole life. How is it possible to wake up one day and look in the mirror just to find some stranger staring back at you?
It’s almost inconceivable.
How long did I hide behind the words ‘I don’t want to change for anyone else’ or ‘If someone can’t accept me this way, then they aren’t worth my time’.
Had I only known the majority of men looking at me weren’t seeing my confident smile, they were staring wide eyed at a list of likely personal problems.
Who’s to say that if I lose weight I’m not going to have problems anymore? I can pretty much bet that I will end up a smaller version of exactly who I am. Does that sound more inviting? Is it easier to deal with another person’s shit when they’re nice to look at?
‘Oh I’m sorry I just sent threatening emails to every single one of your ex-girlfriends for no apparent reason, but doesn’t this dress flatter my curves?’
Yelling while looking offstage.
Too bad you only looked at the scale and not my shrink report!
Address the audience again.
I’m sorry I sound so sarcastic.
I guess you can just add that to the list.
What’s the moral of the story here? Well, truth is, I’m fucking fat; but I’m also human which comes with its own set of problems. I’m happy, despite all that you may think is wrong with me.