Thursday, September 02, 2010

COCHINOS - #fridayflash

The garbage bag bumps behind you through the glass-strewn median. You startle when the 18-wheeler barrels past. A cigarette spatters orange on the pavement.

Cochinos.” You stab a soggy diaper. “Pigs. All Americanos.”

The watch you found last week shines Indy-Glo green. Two more hours, no more breaks. Rats stare at you, their eyes fearless pinpricks, but you reach around them for the Corona empties, the crumpled McDonald’s bags, and wait for dawn to spill, a broken yolk across the desert.

You scrape crushed rabbit from the asphalt, gagging at the smell. Dead animals still get to you, haunting your dreams. Those nights Simona soothes you, reminds you of Spring, when you can quit and pick berries in the valley, then asparagus, almond, and, when the baby comes, grapes. Sometimes you curse yourself for listening to her, for leaving La Paz, but she wanted a better life for the child. It’s not her fault construction dried up.

Orange flecks the clouds. The cool breeze reminds you of the Coromuel winds, and you try to thank God for this job, but you can’t. You can only pray for this shift to end.

You hear the thrum of blowflies before you see the white-swaddled object, larger than the rabbit; a dog, perhaps, or small coyote. At one end, a thatch of black. Your heart races even as your walk slows and somehow, you know, even before you reach down to unwrap the sheet, expose the face, you will never again pick trash on a highway.

***

Inspired by a recent long drive when I wondered: who cleans the highway? And by the theme 'busy at work' from the good folks at 52-250 Flash a Year Challenge.

28 comments:

  1. This is ... I am not sure what this is. Bitter, sad and the end is just horrifying on many levels.
    Very well done.

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  2. Your writing never ceases to amaze me, Linda. Very evocative. That last paragraph reminded me of India for a minute there at the dog part.

    I like the second person POV. It really did put me right there in the story. And I was really struck by the line, "It's not her fault construction dried up."

    Great, impactful writing, as always!

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  3. Killer last line that acted like a garotte around the throat, or even the tie around a refuse bag.

    Nice (nasty)

    Marc

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  4. "a broken yolk across the desert." A short line that goes such a long way here. Sad, but brilliant.

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  5. You definitely know how to impress with your writing. Just wonderful.

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  6. Excellent story. The POV worked exceptionally well in this one. Great descriptions throughout really draw the reader in. Well done!

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  7. 2nd person is a challenging take which you execute flawlessly, love the broken yolk line as well. so many fine , nuanced descriptors along with the undercurrent of societal commentary on the detritus of our lives which says so much.

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  8. A huge dose of "Eww" comes with that last line. Masterful writing, perfectly captures the the setting and mood as a backdrop to the social statement. Great stuff.

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  9. I love the POV on this, his exhaustion and disgust come through so well. The chill of horror that is the last straw...perfect.

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  10. High octane piece. The final bit of discarded trash is enough to make anyone gag.

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  11. Incredible descriptions here. Always knocked over by your unique imagery.

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  12. Excellent job, Linda. I love his thoughts about his wife and the changing harvesting seasons. Great story!

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  13. Nicely done! A creepy, image-rich piece with lots of senses involved. Great work!

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  14. Wow! Horrifyingly beautiful. Reminds me of the story my sister told me of a man who ran into traffic in Phoenix & how they had to close down the freeway to scrape him off it. Not a job for the faint of heart.

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  15. The last line sums up a wonderfully evocative piece. And I love second person...there's something very personal using the second person and a little bit directive.

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  16. A great use of the POV and the descriptions work so very effectively. The last line is quite a hit to the stomach. My favourite image is the sun as a broken yolk across the desert.
    Adam B @revhappiness

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  17. Like Lauritta, the "broken yolk across the desert" just stopped me.

    I'm impressed that you showed such empathy for a person who in real life, is a political pawn; our society seems to have forgotten about humanity.

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  18. I keep the Corona empties in a spare bag. There's a deposit on those. Helps life a little bit.

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  19. As always Linda your words leave me breathless. Your work is nothing short of amazing.

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  20. The only thing wrong with these short pieces of yours is I want more. They're too good. I liked the way the colors helped carry this one - yellows and oranges, then that awful black and white. And then the juxtaposition of such acidic ugliness with aromatic beauty - so much in so few words. I really feel this man's pain and disgust.

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  21. Dear all, thank you for taking the time to read my story. I learn so much from you -- that colors carry the story, the societal implications, that the trash he picks is emblematic of his (perceived) status in our society.

    As always, your generous words humble me. Thank you. And welcome to the new folks who've dropped by. I'm slowly making my way around to everyone's digs. Peace...

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  23. I love your use of tense here ... and then there's that sucker punch at the end. Powerful...

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  24. Linda, Linda, Linda... OMG that is beautifully written. So many beautiful words but this paragraph is luxe and my favourite; Orange flecks the clouds. The cool breeze reminds you of the Coromuel winds, and you try to thank God for this job, but you can’t. You can only pray for this shift to end.
    GORGEOUS!

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  25. This is quite a journey, Linda, and the POV definitely carries the reader along. The details are stunning - keep up the good work :-)

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  26. You pain so very well with words. I could see everything - and then wished I had not.

    And that is what good writing is about. To show us the world - that which, for many reasons, we might not see.

    Really well done.

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  27. Thanks all for reading and kind words -- I really do appreciate your taking time to read. peace...

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