Cringe Curb (A flash fiction).

 

The high-definition dreams found on our phones. Reflect on what we are searching for.

 

Her platinum blonde hair was held tightly in his gentle hands. The thrusting makes her gag. She looks like she is crying but more than likely her gag reflex is to blame for her mascara running.

 

Knute Oakley Sparks is crying watching this video. His fraternal twin sister Heather Kaila Sparks is the star of this porno. He feels a disgust he can not fathom or articulate at the universe from this moment. This night is him and his hand and the mistakes that lead to this devastating punchline.

 

They shared a room till they moved out of his parents. Loose photos are thumbtacked on the wall. Posters of metal and punk bands. She is the punk and he is the metalhead.

 

She asked him once to play drums in a band with her. He didn't think it was a good fit.

 

His life hasn't gone anywhere special. He won't be losing much.

 

The phone rings and he pauses the video: the still frame of three men lining up to take turns and two other active participants. He starts crying again more intensely but he quickly taps the back button to cancel out the site.

 

It's her. Heather is calling.

 

"Hey what do you want?" He says doing his best to hide the sobs.

 

"They took away my visitation rights," she says.

 

"on what grounds?" he starts crying again and obviously so.

 

"They said I was an unfit mother..." now she is crying a quiet gentle stream of tears.

 

There is silence. A vacuum of poison and pain.

 

"you were crying before I called? what is going on?" Her voice trembling to look for peace.

 

"I was watching a movie...it was a tear-jerker." His voice cracks and he is sobbing again.

 

"I couldn't handle any sad movies right now..." she says wiping away a tear.

 

He imagines her beautiful face and bites his tung when he starts imagining it doing things to and for him.

 

"Things will get better." He says "I don't know how but they will get better."

 

"I just wanted you to know..." she says.

 

The conversation lasts for over half an hour. Like some kind of orchestration of what is not said.

 

When they hang up it was goodbye forever.

 

He knows what he is going to do. What are you avoiding? he thinks. walking over to the closet where he keeps the guns.

 

He holds it in his hands not fully comprehending how this machine works. Its life-taking power is near infinite. He feels no need for a sense of agency at this juncture.

 

No self-righteous anger. No self-pity. Only focused on threatening peace.

 

The sun seems digital today. Florid complexions march on a saturated day.

 

They were kids... no innocents lost from them. There is a quality of looking back on her as something more than human. Some kind of symbol for all his hopes and aspirations.

 

"It wasn't fair to you..." he says to no one. No one in the crowd seems to notice.

 

He watches him come out of the concrete cathedral in the worship of the dollar. His target doesn't recognize him. Two shots are fired and the story is over.