The Staring StrangerA Story for Chuck Wendig's Flash Fiction Challenge

Chuck Wendig runs a weekly Flash Fiction Challenge. This is my second time trying it out and came out to 961 words. Go check out his post! Write your own! Here are the rules for this week:

FLASH FICTION CHALLENGE: CHOOSE YOUR SETTING
You know the drill: Random number generator or d20. Roll it. Grab a setting from the list below and go forth and write yourself around 1000 words of fiction set in that location.
The list, then, is:

1. A Starbucks during the Apocalypse
2. The gates of Heaven
3. A slaughterhouse
4. A library on an alien world
5. Satan’s palace, Pandaemonium
6. Inside a giant creature
7. On a pirate beach
8. In a penal colony built by elvish astronauts
9. Route 66 during a tornado
10. On a crashing plane
11. Inside the virtual reality landscape of a robot’s mind
12. The NYC subways
13. Ancient Sumer
14. A monster brothel
15. A shopping mall in Arizona
16. In a police department during an epic blizzard
17. In the base of the Moon Nazis
18. In a serial killer’s nightmare
19. A distant island far from home
20. Lost in New Jersey

Here's my story:

The Staring Stranger, A Short Story |  © Dan Absalonson 2013

There he was again, the bum who always stared at me on the subway. I hated everything about him: his white hair tucked behind a purple bandana, his ratty black tank top hiding none of his Rambo physique, his stonewashed denim cut offs that were much too short for anyone's comfort and his bare feet with their too long toenails tap dancing around on the dirty black floor. Every time I looked at him he was staring right back, like he had been waiting all day just to lock peepers with me. I turned my back to him, but I could feel his eyes, like cyclops or superman shooting a hot red laser into the back of my skull. It made me itch. I waited for a long time, hoping he would get off before my stop but he never did. No matter what time I was riding or what stop I got off at, he was there right behind me following me out.

I looked over my shoulder for a brief second to see his unmoving eyes looking right into mine. Had I ever even seen him blink? It sent a chill straight through me. I faced forward and shivered despite the warm subway car. I felt the subway slowing. My stop was much farther down the line but I had to lose this guy. I waited until the last second, knowing the timing of the doors well, and shot out of my chair sprinting out to the terminal just before the doors closed. I looked at the spot the bum had been sitting. He wasn't there. 

I looked behind me, but did not see him. I looked to my left, and there he was just settling down on a bench. It was the first time I had seen him without his eyes staring right back into mine. I darted to a column and edged behind it out of view. As far as I knew he had not seen me and now would not know where I was. I waited for the next subway trying to be patient, but I couldn't help it. I leaned over the least amount possible to catch a glimpse and see if he was still on the bench. He was, staring right back at me. How could he possibly know where to look to pierce me like that with his gaze? I tried looking at him from the other side of the column. Again his face was locked in place, directing his vision right to me. I slid back out of site.

The subway came to the stop and again I waited until the last moment and sprinted inside. The doors shut just as I got both feet in. I looked out the window and saw that he had left the bench, but I didn't see him anywhere in the car. I found a seat. Before long the itch was there again. I didn't want to look, but I had to. Sure enough he was there staring me down this time his eyes so wide that I wondered if he was in some sort of pain or something. His ugly feet tapping away as if he was in the best of moods just riding along in the subway while his bulbous eyes were aimed at me like a rifle.

I didn't look at him again. I just waited. Once the next stop came I jumped up and flew out the door. Then just before it closed I jumped back inside. I looked and saw the bum outside of the subway car. Finally I had won. Finally I could sit in peace until my stop came. I found a seat at sank into it letting out a deep breath.

I had almost fallen asleep when I felt his eyes on me again. I looked up, my eyes jumping around the subway car. There he was sitting in the seats across from me at the other end. I'd had it. If he wanted to play games, I could play games. I stood up and found an empty seat directly across from his. His gaze followed me with every step. I sat down and stared right back at him. I already knew everyone else in the car was staring at us too so I gave up all worries of being embarrassed. In a booming voice I did my best impression of Will Ferrell as Robert Goulet in a Saturday Night Live skit and yelled at him.

"Look at you. You're hungry. You don't even blink do you? Quick staring contest, me and you now!"

We stared at each other. The car was silent. I was through with this guy, if he wanted to try and weird me out, I was going to do it right back to him. I opened my eyes as wide as I could and leaned in towards him with the maddest grin I could spread across my face. Then I blinked.

"You win, you always do. That's why I come up here. Nature! Goulet."

Everyone went from looking at the two of us to looking at him. I had won. Now all eyes were on him. Every passenger was giving it right back, staring him down as he had done to me so many times. To my great surprise the man's face flushed red and he blinked. The subway slowed. For the first time he looked away from me at all the others. He shrunk back in his chair. The doors opened, he glanced at me one more time with an angry frown, and then ran out of the subway car. The familiar ding dong sounded and the doors closed, and for the first time I rode the rest of the way home in peace.

THE END

Death of a Salesman's BossA Story for Chuck Wendig's Flash Fiction Challenge

Chuck Wendig runs a weekly Flash Fiction Challenge. This is my first time trying it out. Go check it out! Write your own! Here are the rules for this week:

I’m going to give you ten words. Your job is to work all ten of these words into a flash fiction story, ~1000 words in length. That’s it. End of mandate. The story’s due in a week: Friday, August 30th, noon EST. Post at your online space. Link back here.

The ten random words are as follows:
FUNERAL, CAPTIVATE, DECEIT, BRIMSTONE, CANYON, BALLOON, CLAY, DISFIGURED, WILLOW, ATOMIC

Here's my story:

Death of a Salesman's Boss, A Short Story |  © Dan Absalonson 2013

I was listening to my favorite band, Atomic Willow, to get psyched to ask my boss for a raise when I saw on the news that he had died. I dropped my spoon into my bowl of frosted flakes.

“Dead? Great! How am I going to get my raise to pay for that flyer now?”

I sat not moving for a moment, then picked up my spoon and scooped the last of my flakes into my mouth. Soggy! I hate it when they get soggy, like thin chips of clay. They figured out how to fly us to distant planets and terraform them into habitability, but they still couldn't keep my frosted flakes crunchy till the last bite.

I looked back to the screen with the stuffy mustachioed man reporting the details. What I saw on the vid-screen after lowering my bowl would captivate me for several minutes before I got up to leave for work. Right there on the screen was a picture of my boss for all to see. It was a bit unreal. My bowl in the sink, I pulled on my jacket and walked to my apartment complex hanger bay.

I got into my flyer, buckled in, and pushed my thumb onto the ignition button until it turned green. The engines started up creating a low hum. The computer greeted me.

"Good morning Dave. You have an..."

"Yeah, morning. Destination work. Local news feed to screen,"

“Yes sir, but first you have an urgent vidmail from work.”

“Fine. Put it on.”

“Yes sir.”

“Hey guys you may have seen the sad news but Mr. Stanton passed away last night so no work today. Everyone is to fly straight to the funeral. It starts at noon.”

So that was it. No chance to ask for the raise to pay for my new flyer. I mean it had everything. If I needed to I could live in the thing, but now I couldn’t make the payments. If only I had done the smart thing and waited until after I had secured a raise. I was due for one I knew, and my first payment was schedule for my next payday. If I didn’t get a raise I would have to sell all my junk and move into my flyer for real.

It had a sleek black hull with a mini kitchen, small lounge with one extremely comfortable couch, and even a bathroom. If only I had been in this bad boy last year when the skyway guidance rigs had malfunctioned leaving us all stuck in space. That was the one thing I couldn’t do in my new ship, manual flying. Sure if I had perfect eyes, was in great shape, and had the time to study for the test I’d get my pilot’s license. The only people I knew with one got theirs under the federation’s credit account in the military. If they were in a skyway and the traffic was bad they could just switch it into manual and fly off whichever way they wanted to go. Not me, but I finally had a new ship. I wouldn’t have to bum a ride to the bar after work to hang with the guys because I was too embarrassed of my own vessel.

As I flew to the skyway that led to my work I listened to the news. I learned the disease that had left my boss disfigured had actually been killing him the whole time. I wondered at the deceit. Had anyone known? Was it all just to keep the office running smoothly so people wouldn't waste time worrying about him? He was a great boss, a driven man, but sometimes I thought he cared a little too much about how efficient the office ran. But I guess that was his job. You can’t let your employees slack off when they’re in sales. Now he was finally able to rest.

* * *

At the funeral the pastor preached fire and brimstone, telling us to take this moment to think on our lives. I did. I needed that raise. I spent the time working up the courage to ask for it in what would historically be the worst timing ever. I approached the V.P. of our company on the way out.

“Hey Todd.”

“Hi Dave.”

“What a terrible tragedy huh?”

“Yeah, Richard was a great man. I’ll miss him.”

“Yeah me too. He was a great boss. Hey listen, I know this isn’t the right time but I was supposed to have a meeting with him this morning, about a raise…”

“You can’t be serious man. Are you kidding me?”

“I’m sorry I just have some things that it would really help with right now and I…”

“Forget it. Listen, now is not the right time. I have enough to worry about with the company. None of us were expecting this. May he rest in peace but the least the guy could have done was warn us. Look it’s going to take some time okay?”

“I understand.”

I’m screwed, I thought.

* * *

As I flew home the sun was setting over the canyon, like a huge balloon devoid of its helium slowly sinking back down to the real world to once again be among the rest of us. No longer could it fly up into the sky and gaze down upon all of the people and things which could not fly.

I got online and rented a space for all my stuff and a small cargo ship. I was moving out.

“Looks like I’ll get to see how great it is actually living in my T36 Luxo Sailer. Whatever, it was worth it.”

I often showered at work anyway after using our onsite workout facility, and the couch would make a great bed. Now I’d spend less time at home, and more time out - living my life. Maybe all this was a good thing. I still really wished Mr. Stanton had stayed alive for just one more day.

THE END