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Posts Tagged ‘carnival’

Flash Fiction Month #2, Episode 4: Partially Hydrogenated

We are up to four episodes of Flash Fiction Month now! It all ends next week, but try not to think too hard about it. Sometimes, you just have to live in the moment. The overall plot of today’s story was inspired by a longtime reader’s suggestion. Read the last installment here, and read the installments from the first Flash Fiction Month here.


Somewhere in the unfathomable depths of rural Iowa…

Okay, let’s be honest – Bill doesn’t like carnivals all that much. Sure, he tags along if his family wants to go to one, but the peculiar mixture of low budget thrills and low budget customers doesn’t quite sit right with him. Too much of either actually tends to make him wake up in the morning with either a hangover, or a stress migraine. Still, he’s here, so he figures he ought to man up for his wife and kid and try to make the most of the day. Bill has, however, picked up a few tricks for minimizing the casualties of carnival. First, he gets all of his thrill riding out of the way in the morning, when his breakfast (bacon and eggs) has settled a bit, and isn’t quite at risk of emergency ejection. Afternoons, on the other hand, are a better time for games and shows that don’t require quite the same level of physical endurance and toughness. After all, it’s not like he’s the one getting dunked or shot at. In the middle of all of this, though…

“Get yer fried butter here! It’s deep fried, it’s buttery, and this is the only place ya’ll can git without your doctor having a heart attack for you!”

Bill has already sampled enough fried carnival food to legally change his name to “Big Bill”, but the novelty of fried butter is simply too much for him to pass up. He heads over to the stall that’s selling the product and asks for a portion.

“Fried butter! Bright as the moon and tastes better, too!”

That’s a little weird, but the carnie is still following through and prepping Bill’s “food”. He pays for the fried butter, eats a piece; I’m not entirely sure what he was expecting, but he seems to like it, at least as a work of carnie art.

“You like that, eh? Got plenty more where that came from, n’yeh,” says the carnie, finally addressing Bill, who has by now pushed down about half his portion and is beginning to reconsider his initial approval. It seems a bit too greasy, even for carnival standards.

“You know, I just go with the moon stuff because the kids seem to like it,” the carnie continues, because Bill’s suddenly glazed expression makes it obvious that he’s clearly very interested in what the carnie has to say. “Thing is, nobody’s ever been to the moon, so I don’t know if it’s true.”

“I, I, what?” Bill finally says. His mouth doesn’t feel right. There’s a congealed mass of something inside that’s interfering with his diction. It turns out to be fried butter.

“Oh, sure, they broadcasted moon landings in 1969, but everyone knows those are fake,” continues the carnie. Fried butter was an afterthought – this is his true passion in life. “Haven’t you seen them so-called photos? They’re full of flaws and glitches that a trained eye can see.”

Bill is questioning whether or not he should eat the last blob of battered butter. It looks like it’s beginning to get cold.

“And for every faked photo, there’s a photo or film that NASA claims exists, but it’s missing! Do they think we’re all rubes?”

Bill is beginning to question the entire course of his life about now.

“And NASA is still faking science in an attempt to drain money from the military! We have to do something about, I-”

“I gotta get to the bathroom, man. I’m gonna hurl-” Bill can’t even finish his sentence before the fried butter and other carnival delicacies (partially reconstituted by now) force their way up his digestive tract and end up spattered on the dirt below him.

“You okay, man? I was sure I washed my hands before I served you?” says the carnie, who clearly doesn’t have the temerity to preach to the sick. Let’s hope his boss didn’t hear him.