Flash Fiction, stories of 200 words or less, is as much fun to write as it is to read. I use them to test my ability to put a bigger punch in a smaller package.
I've put this little piece together as an exercise in writing outside my own culture - for me football is played by fast fit lads who kick the ball around without a break for two fortyfive minute sessions, not by steroid-enhanced gorillas in armour who jump on each other in rehearsed ballet moves and take a rest every few minutes so the promoters can sell more advertising.
Anyway, here's a little offering from me to keep you amused on Super Bowl Sunday - even if you think NFL means Non-Fat Latte.
Super Bowl XLII © 2008 Mike Kimera All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without written permission from firstname.lastname@example.org
“You’re sure you want this?”
“Don’t I look sure?”
"You look wonderful. Wearing nothing but a Patriots shirt is a nice touch. But what about Matt?"
"Your brother, my husband, the one we’re about to cheat on - again? I’m wearing this shirt in his honor. He’s sure the Patriots will get the first touchdown."
"Where is he?"
"Downstairs, in front of the plasma, grazing on chips and guacamole. I offered to put an X in Superbowl XLII and he said he’d prefer pizza. That’s why you got the booty call draft. Hell, even I told him I was ovulating and that we could call the baby Brady. Made no difference."
"Of course not. Does stupid run in your family? Anyway, even if I was, there’d be no way of proving which of you was the father."
"Yeah but if the babies mine I want it called Moss"
"That’s what I like about you. You understand the value of a good catch. With Matt only the touchdown counts. Now bend me over and show me how deep you can go in the end-zone."
"You gonna be my wide receiver?"
"Honey I’m lubed up to be your tight end"