And now, for a short story. I don't write short stories very often mainly because I'm not that great at them (I focus more on poetry), but I think this is one of my better efforts. See if you like it or not. If you think it could use improvement, e-mail me with constructive criticizm. Thank you. On with the story. Enjoy.
Pinball
My eyes shielded the night town lights that were
penetrating the lids. My arm felt as if a thousand
pin needles moved around as my nerves raced for room
in my blood flow. My legs were scrunched in the back
seat as voices from the front discussed our next
destination: food. My stomach talked to me in it’s
own little language. “Food!” It said, “Wake up and
feed me.” My older brother, Brian, who was in the
front of the car, asked me in his southern accent, if
pizza would be all right at this time, which was 10
o’clock P.M. His voice was that comfort that I never
minded waking up to. It had a long, comfortable sound
that never betrayed its impression. When he had a
different face, the tone of his voice changed. But
this time, although I could tell he was tired, he
acted as though everything was okay.
Even following the death of our Grandfather, Brian
could look at the future with an indestructible charge
of emotion. He held close the best parts of his past
as he kicked dirt in his not-so-fond-memories. When I
saw my grandfather, dead, with his cold, emaciated
body and his head set at a 30-degree angle on a fluffy
pillow in the coffin, my tears nearly escaped. My
Mother, who was ahead of me, didn’t cry right away.
She whispered that she felt comfort in seeing him one
last time, even with his head lying above the coffin
as if he could turn it to the side and just look at
us. But he didn’t do that because his soul is left
forever in the cold dark mist. With that, her tears
escaped, but I then looked at Brian, and I saw that he
had that same respectfully friendly expression, which
always gave me a familiar blanket for me to grab on
to. Everything was going to be all right. With that,
my tears stayed where they belonged and I felt
strangely content.
We pulled into a huge parking lot where, apparently, a
pizza place was open. My navy blue sweatshirt didn’t
keep a chill from running up my back. I pulled my
long, tangled hair out of my face as I stumbled out of
the car. We filed into the pizza place where the
light inside blinded my eyes. I still was not fully
awake. I was aware that towards the door it there was
arbors thickly decorated with plastic grapevines, for
the feeling of being in Italy. Although it reminded
me of many tales set in Italy where the scenes took
place in many beautiful Italian gardens, the fakeness
of the vines did not make me feel like I was in an
Italian garden.
We went to the back of the room to order our pizza.
When Mom asked me what kind I wanted I blankly
answered “cheese,” without force or awareness. It had
long ago been set in stone that I rarely had toppings
on my pizza ever since I got sick from pepperoni. I
do not like vegetables, and sausage is too filling.
I started to gain weight again so I didn’t need extra
fat. Cheese is good anyway. It’s perfect with just
the right amount of it and tomato sauce. While my
Mother ordered the pizza, a small teenager girl with
long curly hair rotting in loads of sticky gel took
the order. I also noticed that her eyes were red from
the brown liquid eyeliner that she piled on so close
to her eye that some of it leaked in. It made my eyes
itch just to look at the broken fakeness of her self.
She called to one of the guys in back to make the
pizza. He seemed rather normal and honest as he, in
good humor, started to make it. Then, from the
kitchen behind the wall jumped a monster. He was tall
and overweight. His waist hung out of his pants as
his chin was hidden and his elbows had a funny twist
within the skin. His skin was hidden in sweat and
grease, both, which had the stale stench that I could
smell from where I was standing. His voiced pierced
my nerves in the way he laughed. It caused friction
to my aching head with every loud, dominating sound he
made. The jokes he made bounced off the metal oven
and hit me hard in the forehead as I weakly acted like
I was used to it. Actually, nobody noticed my
attempts to act because they could see that I was too
tired anyway, so it didn’t really matter. My nose
then crinkled at the sight and my stomach talked to
me. It said, “Don’t look at him or I’ll twist. I
really need food. Just don’t look at him.”
We chose a somewhat clean and less greasy table near
the desk where we ordered food and sat down. I sat
next to Brian for the emotional security, which he
rarely provided because he lives so far away. Brian
and I both looked to the side of the room and noticed
the mini arcade. We looked at each other and knew
exactly what we were thinking. I was fully awake now.
It was time for me to challenge him to a game of
pinball. Brian and I were just like seven year old
kids begging our Mom for money which we could get
change from. Mom gave us each three bucks and we got
change from the change machine. The friendly noise of
quarters was so loud and bright, but it brought some
comfort to my shaken body. I was still tired and my
navy blue sweatshirt still did not keep the chill from
running up my back, but the fun expression on the face
of my brother did. I felt warm as I inserted the
quarters into the Star Wars Pinball game. Brian and I
took turns on the pinball machine. Brian was just a
little bit ahead of me in score when it was my turn
for the last ball. I knew I could beat him this time.
I was so close when out of the corner of my eye; I
saw the grease monster stuff him self into the Sega
Driving machine and shout as he played. My stomach
twisted, my eyes closed, and I missed the ball as it
went down into the pit. I lost the pinball game and
once again, I felt that chill in my back.
Again, I found comfort in Brian’s voice as he laughed
his little victory off. To him it was nothing. I
guess it was nothing to me either. We sat and had
huge slices of pizza. Both the grease monster and the
pinball game were taken off my mind as I indulged into
the glory of salty cheese, sauce, and pizza grease. I
was sleeping again and I wasn’t about to be woken up
to the disgusting depths of reality. I just dreamed
about being in a beautiful Italian garden, sleeping
under an arbor of real grapevines.
I hope you liked it. Go to art and poetry or the main page.