The Confabulator Cafe

Category: Confabulation

  • Going for Broke

    In the beginning, the poker game had been my idea. I invited a few guys from the army for a friendly game. No stakes, just a fun way for a few of us from our old unit to kill a Friday night.

    At first it was just Pete, Daniel, Johnny, and me. We pretended we were playing in a big game like those guys in Atlantic City. But we spent most of the night eating and drinking as much as playing cards. Soon I invited a couple of the younger guys from the steel mill, Wyatt and James, to join in. The monthly game became more of a party.

    Then James got sick and we were looking for a last-minute replacement to keep the numbers even.

    “What about Nathan?” Johnny asked.

    Nathan had been one of our crew, but he was also a bit of a blowhard. He’d been married to MaryAnn for about six months. Word was that he was looking for a reason to get out of the house. So we invited him to fill in.

    (more…)

  • Whispering Secrets to the World (Flash Fiction)

    She’d been keeping it secret for so long, and she wasn’t really sure why any longer. At one point in her life, her fears of rejection wouldn’t have been unfounded. But now… now things were different. There was no reason not to tell them. Except that finding the right words were difficult.

    No. The words were easy enough. It would only take three. It wasn’t finding the right words to say. It was finding the right time to tell them. Finding the right time to reveal everything.

    All of her friends knew of course. They’d known for years. There was only a small group of people left to tell. The most important group of people.

    The people whose reactions meant everything to her.

    And she was a coward. (more…)

  • Mom’s Last Ride

    The house I grew up in backed up to a funeral home. As a kid, I had no idea what that meant, really. It was just normal for their parking lot to be filled up on weekends with people in church clothes, and periodically their chimneys would spew smelly smoke.

    I still remember that smell. The smell of burning bodies.

    Looking back, I realize it’s a little morbid, growing up being accustomed to the smell of weekly cremation. We just saw the parking lot as a great place to ride our bikes, and the snow plow made for great heaps of snow to play on. I only went inside the place once, when I was covering for a friend’s paper route. I set the paper on the table inside and ran home as fast as I could.

    That was when I was older. (more…)

  • Leaving

    “I guess you know by now we’re leaving,” he says, tears freely falling down his face. My son, barely twelve years old, stands on a step-stool in front of a bookshelf full of knickknacks, a frayed yo-yo in his hands that he fiddles with, rolling it up and letting it fall before rolling it up again. He keeps his eyes downcast but can’t entirely hide his sobs or the glistening on his cheek.

    Of course I knew. I’m not stupid, despite what my wife thinks. I knew before he did. I’m pretty sure I’ve known for months, ever since I got sick the first time. Maybe I’ve known this was coming for years. But knowing doesn’t make it any easier.
    (more…)

  • Parade Violation

    Shaun wasn’t normally a guy who carried around a lot of hate in his heart, but after the day he was having, he found he had plenty of room for a little want-to-kick-his-ass.

    When he reached the bottom of the stairs, Shaun saw his brother’s suitcase by the door. He took it as a good sign. Maybe Neil understood how serious this was.

    Shaun found the little prick sitting at the kitchen table. His kid brother, a twenty-four year old fuck up whose life ambition was to own a car wash, was fidgeting in his seat, but Shaun suspected it was an act. Neil had a general idea of what contrition should look like, but he lacked depth and sincerity, so he never quite pulled off seeming sorry about anything.

    (more…)

  • Based on Actual Events (Week of February 24)

    Adversity is the universe's way of saying your life was too boring to be a good book.Life is filled with stories. Some lives are interesting because of their historical context, like Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House series. Others lives are only interesting for a brief period of time because of some tragic event that happened — such as Alive, the story of the 1972 Andes flight disaster that led to the survivors resorting to cannibalism.

    The point here — and I do have one — is that our stories are often rooted in the real world. We may build fantastical worlds with flying airships and robot servants, monsters and mad scientists, but even these stories to some extent are built on our lives. Maybe the heroine in the story is patterned after an old girlfriend. Or perhaps the undead creatures coming for the hero are the sticky-fingered, snot-nosed children you babysat last year.

    This week, the contributors at the Cafe have been asked to submit a flash fiction story based on real-life event. We’ve left it to them to decide how much of their real lives are being reflected in these pages. Maybe only the names have been changed to protect the innocent. Or maybe the story has been stretched and mangled beyond recognition (the way Hollywood tends to treat screenplays that are “based on actual events”).

    We hope you enjoy this month’s confabulations. Be sure to give some feedback on your favorite stories.

    Until Next Week,

    The Cafe Management

  • The Waves Greet Us Home (Flash Fiction)

    Dr. Koldun’s office is like a living room, decorated with wide windows and soft lights. The other patients in the waiting room are a mixture of gorgeous and unfortunate. Every one of them stares down at a phone or book, utterly oblivious to her curious glances. What brings them to this place?

    “Muirgen Brady?”

    Gen winces at the mangled pronunciation — another bit of family history she tries to hide. Unfortunate family names, unfortunate family looks. None of the other patients even blink. She stands and crosses the room to shake Dr. Koldun’s hand. “Gen, please.”

    The doctor’s appraising glance is a bit too intense, her hand too tight — then she nods and releases Gen’s hand. “Of course. Follow me, please.”

    (more…)

  • Broken Contract

    http://www.cnn.com/2009/TECH/space/11/05/space.elevator/index.htmlZhoq threw the switch which closed with a bang. The last of the couplings hummed to life and magnetically locked into place. “All right,” he said, shielding his eyes, “let ‘em know we’re good, Beanie.”

    The mooring cable connected to the coupling extended as far as he could see and was as big around as him. Zhoq stepped just beyond the safe distance ring and turned. “Beanie? You hear me?”

    “Roger, Zhoq.” The voice in his ear was amiable. “They’re advised.”

    He shook his head. Beanie was likable, a character by any definition, but he damned well better be doing his job. “Good. Let me know when they’re close.”

    (more…)

  • The Maiden’s Heart

    Once upon a time, there was a maiden. She was young and fair, and according to the custom in the kingdom, as she grew her parents gave her a heart. This heart was made of blown glass in a rich, deep ruby color, bound with silver wire and hung from a silver chain. She filled its hollow with her hopes and dreams.

    In the same town there lived a young man. He was witty and charming, clever and handsome, and knew how to make people laugh, and he flirted with many of the young women of the town. The maiden caught his eye with her sweet ways and generous nature, her beauty and her lovely heart. Together they would walk along a river path, or dance in the town square, or sit under a tree and talk for hours. She felt fortunate to have such a handsome suitor.

    When she offered him her heart, she told him, “This is the most precious thing I have, and you must promise to take very good care of it.”

    He promised most solemnly, and she hung her heart around his neck for everyone to see. He gave her his own heart, and she thought her happiness was complete. But his heart was a false one, made of cardboard and cheap sequins, and filled with cigarette ash and high fructose corn syrup.

    (more…)

  • Charming

    Woodcut Our true selves are often not known to us or anyone close to us. Sometimes it takes a stranger to show us what is in our heart, and where our destiny will take us.

    The King and Queen had no other children, so when I became of age it was decided that I must join the royal court.

    “Charles, come with me,” said the King one morning as I arrived in the hall for breakfast. He arose from his throne and ushered me to the balcony behind the thick velvet curtains. The morning was bright and warm, a beautiful spring day lay ahead. Despite the fair weather, a storm hung over my father’s countenance.

    “What is it, Father? Is something wrong?”

    “You are becoming a man, and it’s time for you to increase your studies … if you are to be king someday.”

    He told me this as if it was a great honor, but I saw it as a punishment. I had no interest in becoming a king. I knew well it would mean an end to my freedom, as the duties of my office as prince would consume every last hour of my day.

    (more…)