Works of fiction appearing here are © 2011-2017 by Jack H. Tyler, and are not to be assumed to lie in the public domain.
Any reproduction of this material is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

Saturday, July 29, 2017

Unsung Mastery

          I want to introduce you to a friend of mine, Richard Schulte.  Richard is best-known, and he is known, for his work as a photographer, and thousands of his elegant photos grace the pages of his photoblog, Cool San Diego Sights.  But there is another side to Richard, one that he doesn't publicize, one that he just pursues out of love, and doesn't seem to much care who sees it.
          Well, I care.  Richard writes little slice-of-life stories...  No, not stories, vignettes, a glimpse of something fleeting, something haunting, an event passed on the road that you'd like to know more about, but you never will.  You just have to fill in the lead-up and the aftermath yourself.  And make no mistake, you will.  Happy, tragic, storybook, or sad, your mind will demand closure, and will eventually provide it.  Here is today's example, a story called Elvis and the Time Machine.

     You’ve probably seen Elvis–with that ridiculous hair, upturned collar and sequined jumpsuit–riding his Time Machine up and down Main Street every single day. I’m not sure where in town the guy lives. But he’s out there riding the Time Machine up and down the street and, I’m positive, savoring every minute of it.
     Everyone laughs. Many shake their head. That absurd Time Machine is impossible to miss.
     Bright silver-painted cardboard panels envelope the rickety little bicycle. It’s like the rocket ship dream of a child–with fins, and a whirling red police light mounted behind the bicycle seat, and flying streamers on the handlebars, and a galaxy of painted stars, and spelled out on the cardboard on both sides in big glittery letters: TIME MACHINE.
Veering with abandon, good old Elvis steers his Time Machine up and down Main Street all the live-long day. Pedaling forward, moving through time.
     First Street.
     The traffic light turns green.
     Second Street.
     The church clock strikes the quarter hour.
     Third Street.
     The sun moves higher above the horizon.
     Fourth Street.
     A woman opens the window shades, breathes in and gazes across the land.
     Fifth Street.
     Secret lovers behind the gas station kiss and part.
     Fourth Street.
     A boy forgets his school books and sprints back home.
     Third Street.
     A man remembers how his uncle burned the casserole the night before and laughs.
     Second Street.
     A wrinkled hand wipes away sudden tears.
     First Street.
     The Miller’s dog barks.
     Second Street.
     A rocking chair rocks.
     Forward through time Elvis travels, his preposterous Time Machine shining brightly like a shooting star.
     Back and forth, up and down Main Street he pedals.
© 2017, Richard Schulte

          Flash fiction, my writing group calls it; I call it amazing.  You can discover the amazing worlds of Richard's creation at
  Do me a favor...  No, do yourself a favor, and pay him a visit.  It's one you'll never regret.

~ JT

2 comments:

  1. Everything old is new again. Very retropunk of you to reinvigorate the hideout, Jack. Lovely diddy by Mr. Schulte. As always you continue to shine a spotlight on indie works. Have a ball blogging!

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