Have you ever noticed that when the highway department builds a new street they can’t wait to dig a ditch across it? Last year they added a new, one-mile extension onto the Don Tyson Parkway. The asphalt barely had time to cool and harden before crews were busy cutting little paths across it at irregular intervals.
There’s no evidence to indicate they were linking natural gas, water, or a subterranean crossing for blind, endangered termites from one side of the street to the other. Rumor has it the road was just too damn smooth and did not contain the required number of bumps, dips, and potholes per mile to satisfy the minimum standards of city code.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Director of Transportation for compact stories is Henrietta Ford Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Singh never fit in. Growing up, she was often ostracized by other children because of her physical appearance and unusual grooming habits. The problem grew even worse when she entered puberty.
“Why am I so different?” she asked her mother.
“I met your father while working as a cook for a logging camp in Oregon,” replied Jinghau Lync. “We had a short, but torrid affair. He would not leave the mountains, and I could not stay. His people, the sasquatch, would not accept me.”
“So, that’s how I came to be . . . .”
“Yes, my child. You are Miss Singh Lync.”
I apologize for not issuing a “groaner warning” in the intro of this week’s post. This story is the result of watching too many episodes of Fractured Fairy Tales and Aesop’s Fables on Bullwinkle & Rocky when I was a child. They’re right–TV really can warp your wind. There’s no telling what kind of stuff my grandchildren will write.