Flash Fiction: The Blue Hue

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“I’m telling you Gloria, it’s all about some form of sexual innuendo.”

(Pause for audience to say: “OOOOhhhh!”)

“Oh yeah, Frank, so’s your mother.”

(Pause for some uncomfortable laughter and some applause.)

“I’ll remind you Gloria that I am a homosexual human being born of a minority persuasion, and I do not have to put up with such abuse,” the throat is cleared and an uncomfortable expression appears. “So, go sit on a male reproductive organ and Sissify!”

“What that mean?”

“That’s means that you just got east-side CRUNKED!” a tremendous amount of black spirit intones these words, and a hand is lowered quickly to provide the emphasis of male character.  This is followed by extended eye contact and a crinkled expression of anger that lasts far beyond the comment.

“Oh no you dint.”

(Pause for laughter.)


“I’m trying to tell you that I want weed in a fairly complex manner that’s simple enough for common folk to understand.”

“Aha Messhuganah, those were the days,” said with a hip twang to the voice and a probable high five to follow.

“When you say days I believe you are referring to days in which my brain was induced with altering chemicals, chemicals that most likely caused me to forget those days.”

“If I were referring to those days, I would be compelled to inform you that I don’t remember them much either.”

(Pause for LAUGHTER.)


“Something derogatory about America!”

Side characters look at each other in a wide-eyed manner.  The cast members are shocked that another cast member can deliver a line from a screenwriter.  Presumably, no one has the intelligence to counter this statement for they are so awed by a variation on truth that will never be explained, countered, or furthered.  It’s enough to know that you know what they know.

Fiona Apple

“The world sucks!” says a rock and roller.

“So does your mother,” comes a reply.  People stare at the reply, for the man knows nothing of the rock and roller’s mother.  Then, it dawns on them that the rock and roller knows nothing of the world.

Chunky Monkey                                       

“Thank God that is over,” she says with sweat on her brow and exhaustion apparent in her every pore.  She looks at the child.  She smiles at the child.  “I think we can all learn a little something from the way this little child dealt with matters.”

“Chunky Monkey!” says the child.

(Pause for audience to say: “Awwww!”)

“I guess you’re right,” says the male who finally understands, “kind of puts it all in perspective doesn’t it?”


Something intelligent said by a male.

(Cue the female)

“Your fly is down!”

(Pause for LAUGHTER.)


“I realize that this sordid matter is not concluded, and I know that opinions vary a great deal, but I would like to know what the anonymous man in the caption thinks of my opinion on this matter.  You’ll excuse me sir while a ramble a bit.”

(A minute of excused rambling.)

The man in caption replies: “Well, let me say first that I agree with you—In part—In part, I say because the only reason I attended a prestigious college was to lord it over people when I happened to be held in check in an argument such as this.”

“I’ve traveled extensively, so I know what you mean.”


“At 10:00, a scientific research team discovered that there is no evidence to some controversial claim, but because the story is of no consequence to us we will not report it…Tonight at 10:00!”


“If you could just keep your mind together, we will make it through this.”

“But I want to live,” he says with a dreamy eyed smile sent to the heavens, “I want to live in a drug-induced state.  I want to live in a culture that appreciates art and nature.  I want full-fledged nudity, and I want to see people smoke grass the way they now eat gravy.”

There will be no counter to this, only open eyed awe of a man who wants to live this way.

“Imagine what a thin country this would be if people smoked grass instead of eating gravy.”


“Mrs. Mogilny Ipresume?”

“Yes. Craig Spezza?”

“Yes, we finally meet.”

“What a joy it is to finally meet the man who has cared for my Harold all these years,” she says while they hug.

He pulls back on the hug, examining her in a manner one should never examine another in polite company.  “You’re a lot plumper than I ever imagined.”

Her smile quickly flattens.  She removes herself entirely from the hug. “Excuse me.”

“Sorry, I meant fatter.  You’re a lot fatter than I thought you would be.”

“You had better be retarded.”

“I’m not.”


         “Why are you ignoring this seminal fight in our relationship?”

“Because after we finish here, I will be playing in the snow.  You know I prefer to play in the snow without shadows.  You know this Donna, yet you continue to prolong this argument.  Wait a second,” he says.  He pauses.  He looks at his watch.  “I won’t be doing that.  I won’t be doing that at all.  Thank you Donna.”

“Are you changing the subject?”

“I am not.”

“You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

“Don’t compliment me woman, for that would make me nervous.  That would make me cry in utter confusion, and it might cause me to briefly lose control of my bodily functions, a moment in which both of us would be uncomfortable.”

“I’m not even sure what that means.”

“Why do you need to know what it means, I ask you.  Why do you have to define everything we do and say?  Why can’t some things remain undefined?”

She says nothing.  She leaves the room.  He follows her.

“It’s mucus from a calf.”

She feigns exhaustion and pulls her luggage from his closet.  “This is dumb.  I can’t do it anymore.”

“I was in a barn one time, and I saw a calf shoot mucus across the barn.  I was disgusted at first.  I never saw a calf do such a thing.  My stomach was churning as I approached it.  Looking down, I couldn’t help but understand the beauty of such a thing.  Why did I feel this strange feeling of adoration?  Who knows, but I could not define my disgust for this small pool of mucus.  A strange feeling of hyper awareness overcame me when I realized that I didn’t have to define it.  There was a certain beauty in that that you will never know in your world of definition.”


“What I’m trying to tell you is,” continues Mark, “that this feeling that I’m getting it…it just ain’t right.”

“We all go through this at different points in our lives Mark,” says his older friend Lucas. “I wouldn’t stay up at night worrying about it.”

“I think I’m changing though.”

“We’re all changing my friend,” Lucas says. He can’t help but laugh at his friend’s earnest theatrics. “It’s called the cycle of life.”

“It’s not the cycle of life,” Mark said with exasperation, “you don’t understand.”

“I understand, my friend, it’s called midlife. Our lives and our bodies change as we get older. There are some who say that we change dramatically in ten year cycles. Are you the same person you were ten years ago?”


“Of course not, when we reach the midlife stage things change on us. The same way our bodies change during puberty, and when these changes hit us we all think that it’s completely unique to us. It’s not though, and if you need me to help you through it, let me know.”

“All right then, let me show you what I’m talking about,” Mark said as he pulled out his eander. He did it with a red face and a great deal of moaning.

“Good God man,” Lucas said shielding his eyes and turning away quickly, “what are we doing here?”

“No, look.”

“I don’t want to see-”

“LOOK!” Mark called out in a pained cry.

Lucas’ eyes popped wide when he saw what appeared to be an electromagnetic emission flowing from his friend’s penis. “Maybe you should get that looked at.”

Black Man

Cory Simon sees a huge black man walking towards him. The man stands probably 6’5” and not basketball card 6’5” either. He’s a genuine 6’5” and a bulky 6’5”.  Cory is scared.

The black man’s eyes light up, and he smiles at Cory. There is a hint of recognition that puzzles Cory.

Cory is listening to an iPod, and it is too loud for him to hear the initial things the black man has says. The black man extends a hand to Cory. In utter confusion and fear, Cory removes his wallet and hands it to the man after removing his ear buds.

“I don’t want any trouble,” Cory says.

“I don’t want your wallet,” the black man says.

“What is it that you do want?” Cory asks in utter fear. A hundred thoughts surf quickly through his brain.

“To shake your hand my man.” And the two of them shake hands in the manner Cory has shaken hands with all the white people in his life.

“And why would you be doing this my good man,” Cory asks with a confounded smile while they shake hands.

“Because of your iPod,” the man says. “I could hear it as I was walking over to you. You’re listening to Battles aren’t you?”

“Battles?” Cory says looking to his iPod. “Battles!” he says, realizing the man was referring to the group Battles. “Gotcha!”

“Them boys can play,” the black man says with another smile before he passes on.

Cory watches him exit.  He was a particularly nice black feller, not at all what he imagined.



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