SUN 55 Fiction 2016

N O R T H E R N S A N TA B A RB A R A C O U N T Y ’ S N E W S A N D E N T E R TA I N M E N T W E E K LY > J U LY 7 - J U LY 14 , 2 0 16 > VO L . 17 N O. 18 > W W W. S A N TA M A RI A S U N .C O M

AT THE MOVIES

Swiss Army Man: Absurdly awesome [44]

l nua n a our 10] m o rs fr ontest [ e n n Wi stor y c t shor

PROGRAM INSIDE [17]

NEWS

County moves toward denial of Orcutt oil project [6]

ARTS

Bun introduces a new world [41]

EATS

Trade your doughnuts for pan dulce [46]

55

ILLUSTRATION BY EVA LIPSON

Fiction New Times’ annual super short story contest is back for the 29th time

H

undreds of writers put their stories on the line for New Times’ 29th annual 55 Fiction contest. Like the surf that pounds the sand, judges—Proofreader Andrea Rooks, New Times Staff Writer Chris McGuinness, and Sun Staff Writer Brenna Swanston— carefully mulled over each story in the stack, picking only those tales with the smoothest surfaces to deposit on the pages of this year’s issue. Snuggling up alongside those little novels are six works of art, created with the intention of giving image to a 55-word story of each artist’s choosing.

—Camillia Lanham

Fade to Black While fire waits for flint, the world grows thin with meaning.

I walk among giants and granite, listening to water flowing on shiny, speckled rocks.

The light illuminated your face.

The melon sky burned.

A crow flew by, black.

Marnie Parker San Luis Obispo ILLUSTRATION BY CHRISTINE AHERN

Not Today

Bathrobe Pending

Amanda sat at the airport bench, her stomach in knots. Eric was late.

What if they missed their flight?

What if he didn’t come at all? Maybe he hadn’t left his wife today. Maybe he never would.

Footsteps echoed in the deserted terminal. Amanda jumped up, relieved. But Eric wasn’t approaching.

It was his wife.

Laura Graves Santa Clarita

“You’re really into this new guy?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s treating you well?”

“Yeah.”

“Is he working?”

“Yeah.”

“Using drugs?”

“No.” “Drinking?”

“A little.”

“Sleeping together?”

“Some.”

“Leaving stuff at his place?”

“Toothbrush and slippers for now.

Bathrobe next week. Why all the questions?”

“You’ve made some bad choices in the past. I worry about you, Mom.” Steve Recchia Reno, Nevada

Words’ Worth

The Corpse Flower The crowd swarmed around the gigantic purple blossom.

“What is it?” asked a woman pressed against my side.

“A corpse flower in rare bloom,” I replied.

“But that smell.”

“The noxious odor of putrefying flesh. Nature’s way of attracting creepy-crawlies to aid in pollination.”

“Does it work?” she asked.

“Look around you,” I answered.

Mark Davis Denver, Colorado 10 • Sun • July 7 - July 14, 2016 • www.santamariasun.com

I just wanted to talk a bit. I moved in closer on the couch and asked as nicely as I could: “What’s going on inside that head of yours?”

He said nothing, so I phrased it differently: “What’s up?”

Eyes fixed on the flat screen, he replied: “Bottom of the third, score’s tied.”

Mary Anne Anderson Cambria

Dez from Above Dez, the dreaded American Labrador, eyed the legendary smoking tandoor of Illillabad hungrily. Oblivious Taliban guards laughed as they stuffed their faces with hot flatbread, dripping with ghee. Dez painted them carefully with his helmet laser and watched as the Marines’ Black Dragons rained down fire. Moments later, he was savoring his beloved naan.

Kurt Butterfield

Estate Sale

Fourth of July

The old man opens the door. We rush in.

“We’re the first ones!” So giddy, I pee a little. Fingers ransack private drawers.

The wife’s wedding dress stretches over your sweatshirt. “Taffeta. Can you imagine such bad taste?”

Outside. “$6 for a silver anniversary pendant! We robbed him. He doesn’t even know what he lost.”

Samantha Lê San Luis Obispo

The Blue Angels roared above the picnic. Missy’s kids shielded their eyes, rapt. Flat-assed old men in veteran’s caps squinted upward with watery eyes.

Missy slid a wallet from a baggy pocket, moved to the next veteran. As she flicked his wallet into her purse, he turned.

“Thank you for your service,” she said.

Ann Hillesland Paso Robles

I’m the Wind That guy was staring at me again.

I thought he had left, but he was just making a phone call. His eyes sunk deathlike and hollow, his skin taut against the bone. I pretended not to see him and walked toward my car. He beat me to it and asked if I knew Jesus.

Sean Barr Grover Beach

Watched

There’s a kid who wanders around the neighborhood, while her parents are working. Must be about six. I want to say, “Stay inside, there are creeps out there!”

But instead, I stare out the window the same way my dad stared when Mr. Schnik put his hand on my crotch.

Gloria Wilson Bradley

A Good Sponsor is Hard to Find “My name is Princess. I’m addicted to online dating.”

“Hi, Princess.”

“I’ve been dating from three different websites, 25 guys every month. I want my life back. I’ve never been in a 12-step program before. I’ll need a sponsor, someone caring and communicative, 45 to 55 years old, a guy who likes the beach.”

Steve Recchia Reno, Nevada

Text January 12 Noah: Hey. Whats up Jenny: Hw u?

Noah: Same March 3 Jenny: I had fun Noah: Rlly?

Jenny: U made me laugh Noah: Nuff 2 go out?

Jenny:  October 16 Noah: Babe I’m sorry Noah: Please reply Noah: Baby dont do this January 13 Noah: U and Luke Jenny: Yeah Noah: …

ILLUSTRATION BY GENE´E TOY

Chicken à la King He stares at his lap, trembling, then carefully presses 19 keys. “Screw ’em.” He presses the final key. “Screw everyone.” The orderly approaches and gently removes the calculator from the man’s hands, replacing it with a dinner plate. “The nuclear codes will have to wait, Donald. Chicken à la king tonight.”

Bob Ingraham Avila Beach

Happy Sunshine!

Walmart Nascar legend Sony Richards writhed on the cold lab table as the re-education probe explored his frontal lobe. All he wanted was to attend his grandmother’s harpsichord recital. He plucked the probe out of his forehead, rolled off the table, and punched the tech in the throat. He was going to hear some Bach.

Kurt Butterfield

Her Last California Conversation

Booger Stuck in public. A quick pick or snot rocket won’t work. I tentatively sniffle, then snort. Like ripe fruit, it’s ready to be plucked off the stem.

Maybe a side-thumb deep sweep maneuver and extraction while covering my face with my other fingers will go unnoticed. This is going to taste delicious.

Joe Amaral Arroyo Grande

ILLUSTRATION BY DORA MOUNTAIN

“What’re you doing here?” she said.

He glanced at the strange girl. Pink hair surrounded her thin face. An oversized coat draped her.

“Waiting for the bus. How ’bout you?”

“Waiting for the end.”

“That’s sad.”

“It’s coming.”

“From where?”

“Topeka, Kansas. By bus.”

He laughed. “Boyfriend?”

“Mother.”

“Taking you home?”

She shivered.

Christine Ahern Los Osos

Glass Bottles

Gracielle Li Paso Robles

It was a delicate morning, the kind so wonderful you’re scared that you might break it. I was in my kaleidoscopecolored dress. I answered the phone with a transparent smile. But my amazing, magnificent morning cracked when I heard you crashed. The reason enrages me.

You had been sober for five years. Why? Gabby Tucciarone Larchmont, New York 55 FICTION continued page 12

Cray Cray on the A Train Last summer my drama club visited New York. Broadway! Deplaning as a wide-eyed tourist, I left feeling like a native. Once when the subway doors closed, a passenger in bedazzled high heels announced, “Showtime!

Free your ass and your mind will follow!” He danced seductively to Prince’s “Let’s Go Crazy.” I pretended not to notice.

Anne Sprecher Pismo Beach www.santamariasun.com • July 7 - July 14, 2016 • Sun • 11

ILLUSTRATION BY EVA LIPSON

55 FICTION from page 11

The Road Day and night he worked. He’s been training his whole life for this moment. Everyone said it was impossible. They called him a coward, a CHICKEN, but deep down he knew he could do it. He walked up to the edge of the curb, and breathing in he thought, “Today, I WILL CROSS THIS ROAD!” Stuart Partido

Renaissance Woman “There’s just no passion left in this world,” she said as she brushed his jaw with the back of her fingers. “I imagine Michelangelo and Rembrandt living in a world completely consumed by their passions.” “Uh huh,” he rose and grabbed his shirt. “Listen, I gotta run, I’ll just leave the money on the dresser.”

Dr. Zimmelman Above the grade

Say You’re Just Fine Our neighbor Cora hangs out wash, does housework, spreads gossip.

Few realize she is the angel of death.

Unbidden, she tells about acquaintances’ and former neighbors’ maladies, which soon prove her prognostications of fatality.

Asked “How are you?” we all say “Fine, just fine” regardless.

I heard she mentioned me last night. I’m worried sick.

Tim Leary Halifax, Nova Scotia

ILLUSTRATION BY AMANDA ROMERO

Valley Visitor Two pert plastic tits plop on the bar demanding a moment of male attention. Gum won’t get in the way of her enchanting Edna Valley experience. Acrylic talons point to pretzels, as she demands dessert wine. Just give the bedazzling enthusiast what she wants and no one gets glue-gunned.

C. Lynn Oceano

Bubble Rapper “What’s that?” the investor asked.

“A prototype bubble wrap popper,” explained the inventor.

“How does it work?”

“It feeds bubble wrap between rollers and pops it. It’s quite efficient.”

“That’s plain crazy.”

The inventor smiled and turned the machine on. “Just listen,” he urged.

The investor listened intently.

“We’re going to be rich,” he crowed.

Mark Davis Denver, Colorado

Liberation She thrust her hand out the car window, cool wind in her palm.

Her previous life strained her trunk nearly to bursting. The ground crunched beneath her tires; the heaviness lifted from her chest.

By morning, he’d know she’d left.

Her friends wouldn’t understand.

Glancing at the bruises covering her arms, she knew he would.

Laura Graves Santa Clarita

Support student journalists with 55 Fiction!

Mousetrap He raced in circles looking for a way out, but there was none. One moment joyously free, wandering wherever he pleased, the next moment trapped, surrounded by metal teeth, no crack to squeeze through. Without the strength to go on pacing, he lay down in hopeless surrender, awaiting death. All for a nibble of cheese.

Alyssa Rose San Luis Obispo 12 • Sun • July 7 - July 14, 2016 • www.santamariasun.com

New Times established the Stephen Donnellan Moss Memorial Scholarship in Journalism Fund to honor our founder by providing scholarships to deserving student journalists enrolled in Cal Poly’s journalism program.

This year, student Megan Schellong received the $1,500 award. Applications are available to Cal Poly journalism majors during the winter term, and the scholarship fund is held with The Community Foundation San Luis Obispo County.

Make a contribution to the fund by finding 55 Fiction volumes at the Amazon Kindle ebook store. Proceeds from ebook sales go to support the scholarship fund. To find out more about the scholarship, visit cfsloco.org.