Snake Eyes (Flash Fiction Experiment #2)

He passed her in Times Square. He knew he passed her because he passed her several more times. He couldn’t stop staring at her breasts. Staring was free unless he stepped too close. Too close meant he’d be lobbied into a hug and squeezed into leaking money which he didn’t want to do. This had happened twice before. Since then, he’d grown more clever about his distance. Close enough to absorb her saucer areolae, yet far enough away to avoid detection.

Unlike the other women with painted stars and stripes, this woman’s generous breasts were bejeweled with oblong reptilian scales. The scales were stroked in iridescent blues, turquoises and golds one merging into the next. The result was a fluid rainbow of liquid nature. Besides the soft roundness, maybe it was the exotic scales attracting him though no specific exotic reptile came to mind.

He had a thing for snakes. When he was a kid, he’d taken a summer snake course. His favorite snake to hold was the albino constrictor. At fifteen feet and weighing over three-hundred pounds it was the biggest snake in the classroom. The snake’s irises were brilliant pink with intense red rings around the outer edges almost like his, except his eyes didn’t have fiery rings. Not that anyone ever saw his eyes.

He wore dark glasses that only came off in blackest black. His pink eyes gave him superhero night vision. That’s what his mom used to say until she got sick and died and he couldn’t save her. That’s when he knew he wasn’t a superhero. His mom had had shimmering eyes of the lightest blue like a glass sky at 10 am. His mom would most certainly be disappointed if she knew he was using his superpower to stare at women’s breasts. The dark glasses made staring easy. Very few people could stare at breasts undetected. Sometimes he fancied he still had a special power, never super though, not any more.

Whenever he thought about his mom he missed her terribly, then he’d stop staring at breasts and cry. He was glad his faithful bicycle was always nearby. There was no other way to get around the city but on a pedal-pushing wheeler. Many times while riding his bike–the color of 6 pm winter indigo, its black knobby wheels would smooth out and become snakes. The giant yellow, splotchy snake would split itself in two–a viable severed worm–and wrap around each spoke tire.

He was happy to have albino anaconda wheels. Against the city’s uneven asphalt, his snake tires slithered at reptilian speed. He always arrived at his room in record time on the days he had spoked snakes. On the terrible days when he had rubber tires, pedaling taxed him. The distance from Times Square to his little speckled room was longer than all Manhattan’s bridges tied together with string. That’s what a snakeless journey felt like. On these days he’d be so exhausted, that when the woman who called herself Lynda Carter crawled into his bed, she’d start out all bumpy and curvy but then she’d turn into a snake with a long, red flicking tongue. She had breasts like Wonder Woman’s too, except her hair wasn’t dark and powerful and shiny. It was dirty yellow and brittle like the haystacks in his backyard growing up. He didn’t like touching Lynda Carter’s dead hair because it made him cry and think of his old dog he called Dog.

Whenever he cried and thought of his old dog, Dog, he missed him terribly almost as much as he missed his mother. Some days when he was really tired because he didn’t have snake tires and Lynda Carter was flicking her tongue at him, he’d think about Dog. On these days he didn’t like albino snakes or superheroes. It was Dog he wanted to pet, not Lynda Carter even when she said he had to hug her because she tied him up with her, “lasso of truth.” Dog had always made him feel safe. Whether he was tired or not, he could always find sleep when Dog was beside him. Dog would never have allowed Lynda Carter to slither into the bed. Dog had shielded him with soft golden fur. The warmth of Dog’s light was the only thing that ever reached beneath those dark glasses to comfort his dry, red-ringless pink eyes.
Again, I appreciate if you actually read this. It is a long piece like a snake. I’m trying the flash fiction form out and will post a piece here and there. The idea of writing a story capsule that one could swallow in one sitting is very appealing to me. Obviously, this particular piece found its inspiration in the recent headlines about the goings on in Times Square.The young man in this story followed the writer’s path who took a snake class when she was eleven and got to cuddle many slithering sidewinders. Her favorite–the albino python.



34 thoughts on “Snake Eyes (Flash Fiction Experiment #2)

  1. I loved this story but I am simple and realizing that it is a flash story I still would like to have read more as to what happens to this he challenged beyond his pink eyes and let out once a week or alone…how does he survive…food, rent etc. Is he dreaming about the woman in his bed or does a woman exist?…Love you
    my daughter…Mom

    Liked by 2 people

    • Hi Mom:)
      I think every day challenges him, like it does most of us. Though, he has an unusual disadvantage that he tries ‘seeing’ as an advantage. His has been a sad life and if the story were to continue, I’m guessing the best things he would have had in his life would have already passed – his mom and his dog, Dog.
      This story actually makes me really sad to read and I wrote it. And I’m not sure why I wrote it either. I saw him with his bicycle in my head and then that bike wheeled around and I had to follow.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Send. Now.
    There are so many poetic touches in this story — especially word touches — but the thing I really love about it is how the story spools out, much the way a poem moves via ‘associative leaping’ (that “mind-leaping” thing I’ve mentioned before). In that sense, the story is always slithering, like a snake, and yet evolving into something quite other: we go from a guy who stares at women’s breasts and has super-heroic powers (very surrealistic at this point in the beginning) to a young man mourning the loss of his mother and dog (very realistic at the end). In all, the piece leaves me breathless in the best possible way: I feel as though I’ve been “through” a moment with this fellow, a moment after which nothing will ever again be the same — for him — or for me, the reader. Beautiful story, AM.

    Liked by 1 person

    • You so often see much more in my writing than I ever see. Thank you for expressing your comments in this manner. I’m learning as I go – with constructive feedback like this – the learning slithers along 😉 much faster. I will do my best to not let you down 🙂
      This fellow really does make me sad.

      Liked by 1 person

      • I am an all-seeing eyeball in the sky, Miss.
        You won’t let me down — I can do that for myself, thank you very much, 🙂
        And your sadness for the fellow means you really put yourself into that character, which is good!


      • You’ve got more than one eyeball up there and many more than two 😉 Sorry, can’t let you let yourself down either-lifting up is in my job description.
        This character really got to me today. I read this piece so many times this morning fixing all the little things that bothered me – there were many – that this pink-eyed soul did depress the hell outta me, geez.


      • I’ll emt (t=tomorrow). 🙂 Might need some “lifting up” as it’s chilly in these parts. BTW: You’re burning the midnight oil tonight, Miss.


  3. P.S.: Forgot to mention the art –> love it even if the woman DOES have snake scales on her! 🙂 Speaking of snakes: I just realized I read through your FF with nary “creepy-crawlly” feeling. That must be owed to your fine wordsmithing. 🙂


  4. Would someone please publish this gal!!!!!!!
    What a breathtaking ride you’ve taken me on yet again. Much like Mom Roselli, I’d love t0 read more, a short story perhaps even a book. Though your vignette is superb just the way it is.
    Fondly, Les


  5. I read it all……and wanted more. Sign of a good flash fiction piece — although I’m not a writer of this genre. Love the description here — her breasts, his dark glasses, the snake spoked wheels going faster than the rubber tired wheels….you created a fascinating character. A twist on the Times Square painted ladies. Painting goes well with it too. This man is indeed a very sad character who lives behind and beyond his dark glasses.
    I, for one, would be a bit nervous coming upon him, but it seems that if he existed, he would be one of those who melts into the scene — who no one notices.


    • This was my second shot at the flash fiction. I pub’d an earlier one. I can easily see myself heading down this road. I enjoy the form very much.
      This fellow most definitely “melt” though (I’d like to think) he’s loaded with just as much emotion and complexity as the dude wearing Armani and getting all the looks.
      Thank you, Lillian for your kind and most thoughtful comment here.

      Liked by 1 person

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