Happy Monday👋🏼
Do you love short, 600-word stories? Have I got a post for you.
I sat down last week to write an essay. It wasn’t working. Then I tried a poem. That wasn’t working, either.
So finally, I took a few of my favorite lines and expanded it into this flash fiction piece.
I’m new at writing fiction. Give me some grace. Hope you enjoy.
-Tim
Everything Ending
Short Story
Everything in my life is ending.
My feet shuffle in small steps. The cold glass grazes my fingers as both arms lift instinctively. Hope I’m back off my feet before this ride gets any rougher.
Room 215.
Wide eyes peer through parted curtains at my left. College kid.
I’ve never seen wealthy sweatpants before, but I’d bet that cotton costs more than my ticket.
I’d hazard to guess this boy bought neither his sweats nor his ticket. His folks probably paid with the money he saves them on haircuts. He’s out on an adventure, finding himself with that camera at his side. Meanwhile his parents find themselves by the pool at a beach house in Rockport or Galveston. They aren’t on no train to New Mexico, heading to Deming to sell paper.
A bump. His eyes widen.
Get comfortable kid. Feels much rougher when you’re paying attention.
Room 216… 217…
The violet carpet is a tightrope.
One wrong move and I just may tumble through this window to the plains below. It’s hard to keep upright. Like the rest of my life, I guess. The whiskey doesn’t help the steps, but it helps the rest.
I muster my best balance. Shuffle forward again. Four more cars and I’ll reach the diner, where they hand us riders meals in a grocery bag. Salisbury steak and a tough roll, if history’s any indication.
Another bump near throws me to my knees. I lean with my shoulder on the door to my left.
Room 218.
Through the window is an elderly couple. Retirees, I’d say. Their faces are turned to the other window, a peace resting like the folded hands on their laps. It’s all they can do to watch every inch of the passing plains.
They must see something different in these yellow grasses than I see. All I see is more of the same of what I’ve seen. Everything dying, surely.
I get it now, why Dad got so mad back when the city lines changed and his paper stopped showing up on the doorstep. It goes one thing after another once the ghost starts closing in. First Samantha leaves, with all she took. Then I learn she took Rick, too. Should have figured when he stopped showing his face.
Once my business is done in Deming, I don’t know where I’ll go next. Just try to keep shuffling, bumps and all.
There’s only two reasons to take this nauseating train, two things you can’t do on the highway. One, there’s no blinds to pull when it’s your own hands down on the wheel. All this talk of the sights? They’re overrated. Two, there’s no bottle of seven to sip on. At least, you can’t get caught if you take one.
I’ve learned that lesson once or twice. It’s how I got stuck selling this paper.
A third crash and I’m on the floor. I feel the dumb end of my pistol push into my thigh. It hurts like the devil herself.
Like Samantha.
My face rubs in the violet carpet as the car continues to shake. I hear a shift behind me and the faint click of a door lock. The kid with the sweatpants hiding, I think.
Whether he saw the pistol on the ground or just a drunk, old man—I don’t know. What I know is he’ll stay in that room, either way.
I never needed this pistol. That’s what I’ve learned. You start living like me and imagine people are coming to get you.
They never do. Only thing people do is avoid.
Somehow, it hurts worse.
Everything in my life is ending. Makes me think something new must have gotten started.
I just pray I track it down, before it finds me first.
Still reading, I see?
Thanks as always for being here🫂
If you enjoyed this post, the best support is to share As It Were with a friend. I put a lot of hours into this newsletter, and seeing new readers join is the greatest payoff.
And speaking of fiction, I’m slowly working on new songs for Useful Fiction. You can stream the latest EP from my music project in the meantime.
I’m typing this note from my desk before I clock in for work. I don’t really know how to wrap it up other than to say thank you again for reading.
Until next time,
Tim