Pisaries Creator

This is my test flash fiction story for a book idea that is in the vein of David Sedaris. Since I’m not obviously writing consistently to get done with my other novel idea (due to personal shit going on to be honest), I decided to write try something else. For some reason I’m having a hard time following through and finishing the goals I set for myself each week. So here is a flash fiction story called The Sturdy Desk.

The wooden desk had turned 66 years old on the first Tuesday of May. Every passing year she dreaded the worst scenario. She would be discarded because she was seen as a relic. Better desks were being made by metal arms and hands that were once attached to human bodies. These metal machines could churn out desks as if tomorrow wasn’t given and yesterday was a fart in the wind. The smell no longer lingered and what once held books when the family was too lazy to put them back on the shelves now was a refuge of dust bunnies and aged memories of visiting adult children. They would run their fingers along the top of the desk, blow the dust from their fingers, and wipe any of the remains on their clothing.

On this particular day, when she turned another year older, the youngest son named Michael licked his finger and said out loud whatever was on his mind.

“I thought this desk was beyond stupid back then and now. Why did dad insist on keeping this ugly monstrosity. It weighs a ton.”

The desk was really hurt by his comment and screamed inside herself. Every cut plank of wood could be used as a weapon. She envisioned a hundred splinters digging into Michael’s flesh. She would make him bleed one little prick at a time. Maybe enough for him to bleed slowly and die a wicked death. Her committing suicide would be worth it just to know he would die with her. Unable to contain her anger, she yelled as loud as possible, but no one heard her because she was a desk.

“Fuck you and that stupid looking box of a car you drive. You’re not only retarded but that girlfriend of yours has a horse’s ass for a face. You could do so much better, but then again look at your own face. Shit, you sure turned into an ugly motherfucker, didn’t you?” The desk wasn’t used to having these emotional outbursts. This forthcoming nature surprised her. There wasn’t much time to reflect on why she had lashed out at Michael. He was now deep in conversation with his brother and sister.

“I can’t believe dad just got up and left like this. Did he say anything on when he would return?” his sister asked.

“Don’t you think if I knew when he was returning, I’d say something. I’m in the dark as much as you are,” the oldest brother said.

“No need to jump on my back like a 700-pound gorilla,” his sister said. “I thought the reason we were all here is to figure out what to do next about dad missing. I know it’s only been a few days, but I’m worried something bad has happened.”

“I don’t think we’re at the panic point yet,” the oldest brother said.

“Don’t say that. Why would you even say that to us,” Michael said.

“Because I don’t live in a fucking fantasy world. You’re so basic to the point of sickness. I’m surprised you ever survived this long with your limited brain capacity. We all know how stupid you really are. You might’ve fooled dad but not us. You’re a failure and you know it. I’m not saying anything except we need to face the fact of reporting him missing.”

The desk sympathized with Michael. His battle was a lost cause. It was two against one now. None of them talked about it but before their father left, he had written them each a letter. They were similar to each other where he mentioned he was proud of each of them for accomplishments. Michael had received the longest letter because at the end his father told him he meant every word and promised he would see him again.

The lies his father told him reminded him of the hatred his brother had for him but now both of siblings had ganged up on him. He went into defensive mode and protected himself the only way he knew. A verbal assault ensued between them. He turned all of his wild thoughts into accusations. The calmness he had before was gone and knee jerk reactions brought him out of his own fantasy. Michael looked at his brother with intensity and yelled he would never make the same mistake again. He would never be viewed as weak by him or his sister.

The desk recognized this behavioral change. She had witnessed this with Michael’s father. The coldness in Michael’s eyes meant his father was no longer alive. There was no way of her to tell anyone because she did not have the conventional voice all humans possess. She only had an internal operating voice that she and a few other desks knew about. The desk had grown accustomed to their father. The worst he had done was slap her in anger. He didn’t have the desire to scratch or kick her when bored or angry. When the father was gone, she was happy for the peace. Now with Michael seeming to overpower his siblings, she became afraid again. If Michael was capable of killing his father, he wouldn’t think anything of hauling her to the dump or fire pit. Mean people shouldn’t be trusted and for the first time in her life, the desk thought it might be better to dead than alive and living in constant fear.

The desk hadn’t been taught to give up and worse to give up and cower like a weakling. She had survived so much in life. Even though she had been put on the discounted display in her teenage years, someone found her beautiful. It was her turn to prove to herself she was worthy of living another year. If she could withstand the 200 plus pressure by countless humans fornicating on her in all directions in the past, she had the fortitude to endure whatever came next, with the hope of many more years left.