"I've eaten every last one on this island. If I EVER see another, it won't be too soon!" Rob Caruso lamented.
His boat had run aground on the south end of this island. If it had been a storm that wreaked havoc upon him and his dinghy, he'd be more OK with it. But taking that dare in his drunken stupor was... well, it was stupid. Set adrift with no cell phone, no compass, no shoes (?), and a half empty bottle of Jack. Oh, he owed those guys big time! It he would ever get out of here!
It was on this thirty-seventh day that Rob felt as if he's never see civilization again. Even if one of the local natives came along to help him along, he'd be better off. But, here it was, another Friday had passed and he was alone.
"Are those assholes even looking for me?" Caruso wondered as he chewed on what was left of his right sock.
It was starting to get to him, all this isolation. Mirages popped up all over the place, but no oasis awaited Rob. He freaked out when that battered volleyball washed up on shore and tried to engage him in conversation. He ended up kicking him in the face, sending him floating off with the current.
Caruso was a desperate man and his only hope rested in this clear glass bottle. The amber liquid had long since been consumed, so it served him no other purpose. He scribbled a note on a torn piece of cloth from his shirt. He had cut his foot on the coral off-shore so Rob Caruso used his blood to mark the swatch.
"HELP! I am stranded on an island in the middle of nowhere. There is a big tree in the center of it and I can faintly make out a land mass way off in the distance to my right. I'm out of sustenance; no more Jack and down to my boxer briefs. I can't go on like this. Please, bring me another bottle and some ice, otherwise this party will remain a dud!
Signed, Rob Caruso"
He dipped his crew sock into the water sucking on its nectar, and waited.
Mariya, if you hadn't noticed I have a slightly twisted muse at times, so it's good I got someone to laugh. Glad you enjoyed it. I'm liking your forays into the Flash Fiction. I call it Free-Form Fiction. You have the ability to take the prompts wherever you want to, and do rather well with it. Keep it up!
Hi, there! Wondering how many more bottles of Jacks I have to dry to keep this mailer thing going… And nobody coming to the rescue, either. Ah, sorry if my speech is broken, it’s all the Tennessee stuff I been gulping lately. Speech, did I say? Meaning spellin, I was. Wait til I get sober. *** OK, ignore the above. I mean the mistakes. Otherwise the message is correct. I’m stranded here, no one’s coming to take me away. This is my 24th message and they are all nearly identical. First I lay on the beach all day, but then I got hungry. Not very clever of me, as I didn’t have any power to swim to the ship. Then night came and I was still wondering what to do. Hunger kept sleep away. Next day I felt indifferent, so I managed to get to the boat. All I got was a casket of smoked meat and several caskets of Jack Daniels’ bottles, full of the original stuff, as far as I can judge. Oh, I also found the ship’s log. Our captain was not very diligent, it seems. I read all and couldn’t recognize a thing. And I am supposed to have been onboard there, you know. Maybe this log holds the records of his parallel world sailing, I don’t know. I believe all that whisky was for him alone. Well, it’s mine now. Or, rather, it WAS mine, as this is the last bottle I’m using to mail this. Still got lots of paper, though. Not using it much. No need for paper here… Nope. None whatsoever. So, somebody, anybody, just please, do bother yourself/ves and come over here to ship me away. This piece of goods is ready for free shipping. Come before it gets stale and unfit for use or whatever. Yeah, “whatever”! That’s the word that’s been plaguing me all around.
Honestly yours, Maroon, or Moron (I don’t really remember now – ocean water washed some of it away)
Walt, what can I say. There aren't words that accurately describe this piece of yours. Fictional absurdity is a gift all its own. Douglas Adams had it and Robert Aspirin, both great favorites of mine. Roger Zelazny wasn't bad in that vein either. I really believe you could sip into category yourself if you chose to take the trip.
Mariya, I loved this example of fun, too. I chuckled all the way through, picturing the one behind the note and the difficulty that must have ensued during the bottle's neck-stuffing procedure. Great little story.
DAY THIRTY-SEVEN
ReplyDeleteCoconuts!
"I've eaten every last one on this island. If I EVER see another, it won't be too soon!" Rob Caruso lamented.
His boat had run aground on the south end of this island. If it had been a storm that wreaked havoc upon him and his dinghy, he'd be more OK with it. But taking that dare in his drunken stupor was... well, it was stupid. Set adrift with no cell phone, no compass, no shoes (?), and a half empty bottle of Jack. Oh, he owed those guys big time! It he would ever get out of here!
It was on this thirty-seventh day that Rob felt as if he's never see civilization again. Even if one of the local natives came along to help him along, he'd be better off. But, here it was, another Friday had passed and he was alone.
"Are those assholes even looking for me?" Caruso wondered as he chewed on what was left of his right sock.
It was starting to get to him, all this isolation. Mirages popped up all over the place, but no oasis awaited Rob. He freaked out when that battered volleyball washed up on shore and tried to engage him in conversation. He ended up kicking him in the face, sending him floating off with the current.
Caruso was a desperate man and his only hope rested in this clear glass bottle. The amber liquid had long since been consumed, so it served him no other purpose. He scribbled a note on a torn piece of cloth from his shirt. He had cut his foot on the coral off-shore so Rob Caruso used his blood to mark the swatch.
"HELP!
I am stranded on an island in the middle of nowhere. There is a big tree in the center of it and I can faintly make out a land mass way off in the distance to my right. I'm out of sustenance; no more Jack and down to my boxer briefs. I can't go on like this. Please, bring me another bottle and some ice, otherwise this party will remain a dud!
Signed,
Rob Caruso"
He dipped his crew sock into the water sucking on its nectar, and waited.
Oh, Walt, this was hilarious :-) "bring me another bottle and some ice..." Hahaha. Big laugh!
DeleteMariya, if you hadn't noticed I have a slightly twisted muse at times, so it's good I got someone to laugh. Glad you enjoyed it. I'm liking your forays into the Flash Fiction. I call it Free-Form Fiction. You have the ability to take the prompts wherever you want to, and do rather well with it. Keep it up!
Deletehaha! I loved it, detailed and very graphic (not in a bad way.) This is a job for MacGyver!
DeleteTo Whom It Reaches (Even If Not Concerned At All)
ReplyDeleteHi, there! Wondering how many more bottles of Jacks I have to dry to keep this mailer thing going… And nobody coming to the rescue, either. Ah, sorry if my speech is broken, it’s all the Tennessee stuff I been gulping lately. Speech, did I say? Meaning spellin, I was. Wait til I get sober.
***
OK, ignore the above. I mean the mistakes. Otherwise the message is correct. I’m stranded here, no one’s coming to take me away. This is my 24th message and they are all nearly identical. First I lay on the beach all day, but then I got hungry. Not very clever of me, as I didn’t have any power to swim to the ship. Then night came and I was still wondering what to do. Hunger kept sleep away. Next day I felt indifferent, so I managed to get to the boat. All I got was a casket of smoked meat and several caskets of Jack Daniels’ bottles, full of the original stuff, as far as I can judge. Oh, I also found the ship’s log. Our captain was not very diligent, it seems. I read all and couldn’t recognize a thing. And I am supposed to have been onboard there, you know. Maybe this log holds the records of his parallel world sailing, I don’t know. I believe all that whisky was for him alone. Well, it’s mine now. Or, rather, it WAS mine, as this is the last bottle I’m using to mail this. Still got lots of paper, though. Not using it much. No need for paper here… Nope. None whatsoever.
So, somebody, anybody, just please, do bother yourself/ves and come over here to ship me away. This piece of goods is ready for free shipping. Come before it gets stale and unfit for use or whatever.
Yeah, “whatever”! That’s the word that’s been plaguing me all around.
Honestly yours,
Maroon, or Moron (I don’t really remember now – ocean water washed some of it away)
© Mariya Koleva, 2012
That's fun and rather telling. A good bit of Flash, Mariya!
DeleteI really like this little funny twist on this Flash. It makes it personal; yours. I love it overall!
DeleteWalt, what can I say. There aren't words that accurately describe this piece of yours. Fictional absurdity is a gift all its own. Douglas Adams had it and Robert Aspirin, both great favorites of mine. Roger Zelazny wasn't bad in that vein either. I really believe you could sip into category yourself if you chose to take the trip.
ReplyDeleteMariya, I loved this example of fun, too. I chuckled all the way through, picturing the one behind the note and the difficulty that must have ensued during the bottle's neck-stuffing procedure. Great little story.
Kudos to you both.