Noko

Hey guys I'm looking for some honest feedback on a short story I wrote. I'll just get into it. The title is my poster name

A chubbier than standard hombre anxiously pushes open the door to a bar.

"Uhh Gimlet, please." The words trip over his crooked teeth, and out from under his mass of black and frizzy hair. The dour woman behind the counter lifts a sole eyebrow. Hombre watches as her broad hips carry her ass with much less sag than would be expected after examining her face. Hmph, Smokers, Hombre thinks as he watches the bartender make his drink stoically. He mutters a thanks that goes unnoticed.

His swig of drink bubbles down his throat to his surprise. Choking slightly, he feels alcohol bubble up into his nostrils causing him to sputter and drip. With his hand cupped close to his face he self consciously walks to the bathroom where he clears his nose into tissue. His wide hands leave red marks on his face after he puts them down. He stares fervently into his own eyes. With a grimace like an abyss and alcohol invigorating and intensifying his emotions he thinks, Lime juice, not Sprite, is the sole companion to Gin in this time-honored drink.

His thoughts are clear, steady and passionate which is the antithesis of how he feels about everything most of the time. It catches the cosmos off-guard as an individual who is normally so complacent, complying, and confused unleashes such a commanding, powerful, and unerodable thought into the ripples of reality. Its majestic translucent waves are perceivable only to the all-seeing as they lap on the shores of even the widest unknown stretches of this plane. A surly, resolute, drunk, fun-loving, disheveled, rabble rousing and long ego ancient god, awakens and quickly coats Hombre's vocal chords in pure and utter seduction in gratitude of his alcoholic appreciation. The deity immediately returns to slumber like a puerile adult avoiding responsibility.

"Can I get my next one with lime juice instead of soda?" Hombre's words slide into the bartenders ears like warm ambrosia.

"Anything you want, Sugar." Her cheeks flush. The comment surprises both of them, and when she looks back to meet his dumbfounded gaze, she lets out a nervous giggle. His jaw slowly resumes its normal position before he begins to assess the situation. Had that smooth crooning really come from his bulbous lips? He stopped her in order to experiment.

"Please ma'am, only lime juice in my next drink. The bubbles hurt my tummy." The woman's cheeks flush again.

"Haha!" a breathy laugh absconds with her words for a moment. "S-sorry yes I'll make sure of that." Hombre gets up resolutely.

"Alcohol's gone to my head. Better clear it." He leaves more than enough money for the drinks. Stumbling slightly off his barstool he crosses the sporadically damp red carpet. His consciousness barely notes the floor's change to the tile of the entrance foyer. Something tugs at his sleeve as he reaches for the door handle.

"You forgot your change." The transformed woman squeaks out.

"Thank you" replied Hombre with a skeptical look and sarcastic tone. The lady makes a vestigial ape-like gasp in the bottom of her throat and speeds off. The doors to the old building squeal and Our Hombre steps out into the twilight.

The sun paints the garish facade of the building in warm hues. Hombre stares in nostalgia at its washed surfaces that hint at glitz and glamour glory days. His feet know the way home. He lets his thoughts dance in his head to the slurry beat of alcohol which distracts him almost enough to walk right into an old woman waiting for the bus. She glares at him with the intensity of twelve angry ogres in a frothing blood-lust for parfaits. Hombre tosses the word "sorry" at her with half-hearted intentions. Her eyes widen while her jaw drops. Saliva dribbles down her lips as well as from one half of toothless gums to the other. "Sorry for what being sexy?" Hombre turns to her with a scared and questioning face. "You ever gotten a toothless mouthie?" She squawks, in an attempt at seduction. Our Hombre does a hundred and eighty degrees, walks away quickly, and egregiously thanks whatever god responsible for coaxing that bartender to make his drink a little strong. His thanks flutters into the abstract lair of the god like a butterfly and is subsequently squashed by a mass prayer from a dimension housing much more pious followers.

He finds himself staring at his own sweaty, flustered, and ruddy face in the mirror again today, this time in his own apartment. His hand slaps to his mouth with control and speed that come with well practiced muscle memory. Pills tumble down his throat without water. His breathing becomes less erratic. T.V. and beer can dull my senses. He sits down, thumbs the remote and bathes in its ionizing glow. Flashing and iridescent an egregiously over the top commercial featuring a long tongued elderly lady sends terror ricocheting through Hombre's organs. His stomach took the brunt of the penetrating-piercing stress, and warm beer mixed with stomach acid soaks into his shirt.
Cameron the Callous Classmate blitzes through his mind. A bully from his schooldays whom was suffering so much from his own inner turmoil he was blind to the turmoil he seeded. Subsequently Our Hombre was seriously scarred. His old bully's face fuses with that of the Bust Stop Crone's and flashes through his mind erratically and sporadically. Feeling like a helpless child again he calls his mother. He can already feel himself calming down as the phone connects and makes its first few rings.

"Hello?"

"Mom, I'm having the attacks again" gasps Hombre. A falcon snatches up a young rat in the wilderness close to Hombre's house.

"Oh. Honey I'll be right over" she replies very quickly.

"Oh, well no that's ok mom I just wanted you to talk me down over the phone a bit. You live over an hour away."

"Oh, it's nothing for my dearest boy"

"Dearest?-"

She hangs up and presumably begins her journey. She's never been this attentive but I guess I should be grateful. He goes about tidying up in anticipation of his mother's visit.

Somewhere in the bowels of an unbeknownst plane, the deity presiding over mental repression nods slightly to himself in contentment at Hombre's complete disregard of reality. The regal being's gaudy and glittering throne can distract from even the most tenacious urges. Eclectic and flashy it sparkles in contrast to the god's dull blue-grey skin. Its garish glory contributes to Our Hombre's disengagement.

The notion that these strange and extreme changes in attitude from women today is not a coincidence, and that as soon as his mother heard his voice she wanted to fuck him, just could not formulate in Hombre's mind. He has no previous scars that come within a mile of the distress this thought would cause. Blissfully unaware Hombre begins to tidy up his small apartment in anticipation of his mother's visit.

Light bursts into a small padded room with an excited man in his late twenties.

"FUCKIN' EL POLLO LOCO" bursts from his mouth.

"Holy shit, Seph. He was sleeping!"

"oh, fuck I'm sorry, babe. I'm a little high heh haha" his laugh rolls out of his mouth lazily, but infectiously. She is soon giggling and smiling too. They embrace and kiss while a man in a straight jacket squirms back into consciousness from slumber near them. He lies on a bed and sighs heavily as reality sets in. Sleep is his only reprieve.

The young couple begins to eat.

"this chicken needs something" muses the male.

"like what?"

The man struggles to place it. His hand hangs in the air in a meaningless gesticulation. Not quite a peace sign, and not quite a flip of the bird, his fingers dangle meaninglessly.

"fuuuckiiiinnnn----"

his brow furrows

"uhhhhhhh---"

His mate begins to wonder why she's with him.

"OH! uhhh Fuckin LIME JUICE!!"

The bonds on the prone man in the room strain and stretch as he convulses. Foaming at the mouth his body jerks sporadically and his face stretches in a pained grin. Gasping retching noises escape his mouth.

"OH-oh my God! What the fuck! Seph go get the nurse!" The man runs from the room quite grateful to be able to do so. The woman stares at her brother with wide eyes as his twisting, and jerking fit causes areas of his straightjacket to darken with blood. She also now notices for the first time the surrounding areas around the spreading blood patches are already a light shade of brown. Her mind races from thought to thought. Dear god those stains. He hasn't made any noise since the incident. I wonder if mom has similar fits. He opens his mouth without gasping or choking.

"Terrance?" Her dark irises bring out the whites of her eyes uncovered by her surprised expression.

He swallows and looks back up solemnly. He opens his mouth and with a teary expression. he says, "I can't hold it in anymore."

well thats all of it. I hope you enjoyed or if you didn't I hope you're willing to tell me why.

>noko

Oh dang, I forgot about that, it's been how many years since that became obsolete?

I wont read something by someone who thinks he is too good for a critique thread

ffffffffuuuuuuuu
yeah I didn't lurk. well if everyone is too buttmad about it like you i'll just try a different day.

I did not realize it's obsolete. thanks bruh

Did you just crawl out of a cryogenic time capsule or something?