About Me

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I live on the ocean, write women's fiction, love to read so much that it's an addiction rather than a hobby (I read an average of a book a day). I live on the wet west coast so it's a good thing that I like to walk in the rain.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Flash Fiction Exchange - Jiggly Bits

Here's the second month of the flash fiction exchange - my take on a title Lisa and I came up with over the summer. Her version will arrive on the last Wednesday of the month. Enjoy.

Jiggly Bits

The sky was falling. I wasn’t imagining it. Not in hard hail stone chunks or in vicious pounding rain, but in pink jiggly bits that reminded me of those gummy worms my next door neighbor’s kid loved so much. I hate worms.

I grew up around bugs – hard not to when you grow up on a farm – but worms? My three older brothers would dig them up for fishing and, once they knew how much they grossed me out, they’d often show up in my shoes or even occasionally in my bed. There’s nothing worse than worms.

I tried not to touch them, tried to walk around them as they fell but eventually I lost my balance and ran right into one, and then another.

And then I was fighting them off.

The first one splatted and stuck on my face and I screamed. Another. Then another. They poured down around me in a veritable storm of pink ick. I should have a better description than that but it was all I could think of. Worms . Ick.

And they smelled like shit. That wasn’t a metaphor, that was exactly the aroma that surrounded me.

I’ve been in serious storms. Anyone who grew up on the great plains knew what to do in a storm – hunker down and wait it out.

But that wasn’t an option here.

Once the jiggly bits hit the ground – or me - they didn’t turn into piles of dead pink worms. No such luck. They began to wiggle and, as I was the only person lucky enough to be coming home at midnight , they wiggled right at me. On me. Around me.

I ran, slipping and sliding on the jiggly bits, trying desperately not to fall into the pink worms piling up on the sidewalk and in the gutters. I knew I’d never make it down the hill to my house so I headed for Uncle Greg’s.

Just one more house. I could make it. I had to make it. Vomit burned the back of my throat, my chest throbbed with pain, my arms and legs had turned to jelly.

I turned off the sidewalk onto the path and my feet came out from underneath me, my face slammed into the jiggly bits and I breathed one in. It wiggled down my throat. Totally gross.

And then it wasn’t.


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