Flash Fiction: September 2, 2016


“Hi Brooklyn. How was school?”

“Call me $50. I’m Brooklyn nevermore.”


“I’m like the loving, Merry Christmas version of 50 Cent. Instead of being a jingoistic, judgmental philanderer with all the clap back and scativism, I’m all about benevolence.

I’m gobsmacked. “I don’t want to stultify your possibilities, but you’re nine.”

“I have a plan to transmogrify myself into a beautiful, rapping oenophile. I’m not going to coddiwomple ambiguously, but go the distance to my goal.”

“Where did you learn all those big words?”

“Here.” Brooklyn holds up a dictionary/thesaurus.Uncle Reamus gave it to me. He said he booked me at Knott’s and some Mastaba in Egypt already.”

“The same Uncle Reamus that sits around drinking Manhattans all day, and babbling about docking, hygge, and his lack of circumcision?”

“Yeah! He even negotiated a bonus!”

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