backdrifter (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
backdrifter) wrote2010-05-24 05:48 pm
backdrifter) wrote2010-05-24 05:48 pm
Entry tags:
The Fight and The Jacket | #2 of 7 (192 and 219 words)
The assignment: Write two quick pieces of microfiction. Mine were a little over the suggested 150 word length, but I don't think it'll be counted against me.
She has just been in a fight, and her opponent has no idea. He was loud and uncouth, and the way he sat so he took up space others clearly needed bothered her. The elderly person clinging to the pole near the doors looked exhausted, and this man seemed unaware anybody existed past his kneecaps. And so she got into a fight.
She shouted at him silently that he was a pig. While he glared at nothing in an attempt to look menacing, she swung her heavy purse to connect with one wide-set knee, but not before it met with his genitals. He didn't know, either, that she spat at him to learn some manners before he ever got on another city bus, or that the other passengers, eyeing the spectacle from the corners of their eyes, burst into light applause at her words. He was oblivious to her deep bow as she pressed the yellow tape of the back doors, and sat wallowing in his ignorance as she exited the bus.
But she has been in a fight today, and she has won, whether the loser knows it or not.
Ben wanted so badly to wear it. It was a prohibitively expensive leather jacket that hung in his roommates' closet, the nearer sleeve of it always seeming to embrace the next five garments in front of it. His roommate had received it for a birthday present from his fairly wealthy parents, and the bastard never wore it, but he liked to tell people about it. Richard would first list the brand name, and as the people listening swooned at the implied price tag, he would describe the artfully scattered pyramid studs along the shoulders, the way the leather creaked with newness that one time he'd tried it on, the belt that hugged his slim hips and made them look so damn good.
But he never wore it, and it made Ben all the angrier that he could not wear it. He thought, some days, about rescuing it from its cramped prison and simply shrugging it on, telling Richard when he was caught, "You never wear it." But the jacket was the center of all of Richard's anecdotes somehow, and Richard's parents paid more than half the rent, without which Ben would be forced to find new living arrangements. So Richard carried on introducing himself as the man with the jacket, and Ben continued introducing himself as the man without.
She has just been in a fight, and her opponent has no idea. He was loud and uncouth, and the way he sat so he took up space others clearly needed bothered her. The elderly person clinging to the pole near the doors looked exhausted, and this man seemed unaware anybody existed past his kneecaps. And so she got into a fight.
She shouted at him silently that he was a pig. While he glared at nothing in an attempt to look menacing, she swung her heavy purse to connect with one wide-set knee, but not before it met with his genitals. He didn't know, either, that she spat at him to learn some manners before he ever got on another city bus, or that the other passengers, eyeing the spectacle from the corners of their eyes, burst into light applause at her words. He was oblivious to her deep bow as she pressed the yellow tape of the back doors, and sat wallowing in his ignorance as she exited the bus.
But she has been in a fight today, and she has won, whether the loser knows it or not.
Ben wanted so badly to wear it. It was a prohibitively expensive leather jacket that hung in his roommates' closet, the nearer sleeve of it always seeming to embrace the next five garments in front of it. His roommate had received it for a birthday present from his fairly wealthy parents, and the bastard never wore it, but he liked to tell people about it. Richard would first list the brand name, and as the people listening swooned at the implied price tag, he would describe the artfully scattered pyramid studs along the shoulders, the way the leather creaked with newness that one time he'd tried it on, the belt that hugged his slim hips and made them look so damn good.
But he never wore it, and it made Ben all the angrier that he could not wear it. He thought, some days, about rescuing it from its cramped prison and simply shrugging it on, telling Richard when he was caught, "You never wear it." But the jacket was the center of all of Richard's anecdotes somehow, and Richard's parents paid more than half the rent, without which Ben would be forced to find new living arrangements. So Richard carried on introducing himself as the man with the jacket, and Ben continued introducing himself as the man without.