Bean’s Story – By Baruc Avrim
Flash Fiction / November 21, 2010

Bean, a nickname which has stuck longer than its origin, sits in front of a small black laptop lying on the kitchen table. An empty bottle of Gilbey’s gin lies on its side in the window sill, aimed at a silhouetted spider plant. The spider plant shoots stems and leaves relentlessly at the hapless bottle. Past the glib Gilbey’s bottle and beyond the window pane, sits an empty football stadium. Bean stares blindly at the computer screen and then at the empty stadium. “Whatcha doin?” Nance steps gingerly down the steps into the kitchen. Her long straight brown hair meets the middle of her back and contrasts with his curly black mop. His hair is long too, but it stays high up on his head, wild and unruly. “Writing a story.” An edge of defensiveness skitters from his voice enveloping the response. She opens the avocado green fridge and pulls out a yogurt, stripping the aluminum top off with the noise of tape peeled off wet skin. Then she bumps the avocado green door shut with her ample butt. “What’s this one about?” “It’s about a guy who can’t write a story.” “That’s a great idea.” The words ooze from…