Part 1 of 1
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Tonight, we enter the home of a family in transition - a family on the cusp of a life-altering move.
The Skinner Co. Network
140 - Bearing, Part 1 of 1
[music] Welcome to FlashPulp, episode 140. Tonight, we present "Baring," part one of one. [music] This week's episodes are brought to you by Netty Bites. Wake up, go to work. Work. Come home. Eat dinner. Rot your brain out. Go to bed. Lather, rinse, repeat. Are you tired of an old home drum life? Tired of things that just weigh you down and depress you? Wouldn't you rather just focus on things that are awesome? Tune into Netty Bites. Find out what's awesome. NettyBites, nimlas.org/blog. [music] FlashPulp is an experiment in broadcasting fresh pulp stories in the modern age. 3 to 10 minutes of fiction brought to you Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings. Tonight, we enter the home of a family in transition, a family on the cusp of a life-altering move. Baring, part one of one. Written by J.R.D. Skinner. Art and narration by Opopon X. An audio produced by Jessica May. [music] Carlos was pulled into consciousness by the smell of cooking bacon and the sound of a wreath of Franklin. Both were drifting into the bedroom from the distant kitchen, and he took a moment to bask in their potent combination before damning his late start to the day and climbing out of bed. He hadn't risen that way in at least a year's worth of Sundays, and now it was two weeks till their move to Texas and his wife's new job, and he considered the swelling brass and frying pork a hopeful sign. Violet smiled as he entered the kitchen, and Carlos found himself tearing slightly as he closed the distance to hold her. They took two brief dance steps together before she was forced to attend to her preparations. "Haven't seen you smile like that in a while," she said, scooping a double handful of flapjacks onto a plate. "I haven't been staring down the barrel of a meal this big since Billy and I forced the Chinese buffet place down on third into bankruptcy." He took in the pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs, sausages, and a leaning tower of toast. "Seems like you have had a busy morning." "You're just feeling good." "And hungry?" "Yum." Billy dragged his heels onto the linoleum, rubbing in his eyes and tugging at the short hem of his dinosaur pajamas. "Hippa," said Violet. "You look pretty pooped. Have a bad sleep?" "Yeah," the five-year-old yawned. "It was loud all night." The boy's mother and father exchanged an embarrassed smirk, and Carlos began to transfer some of the bounty onto plates. He awoke to rough shaking. The clock told him it was just after three in the morning. "I heard something," said Violet. "Huh?" he pinched the sleep from his eyes. "Can you be more specific? Was it a murder or something? A burglar or something?" "A billy something?" A month earlier, they discovered their son had taken up the habit of climbing from under his covers and spreading his various collections of Lego, cars, and batmen across his floor. Finally, sick of his denials, they'd unboxed their baby monitor and set it in his room so they might keep tabs on his behavior. I think he's out of bed and tossing his stuff around. He's quiet now, but I'd swear that he tipped over his big bucket of trucks a minute ago. As they lay staring at the bar of red lights which would flare at any noise provocation, he began to doze. He started to a slamming sound, familiar to any afternoon on which Billy was too excited to carefully close his toy box. Carlos brought his feet to the floor, and the annoyance of being turned out of his own bed sped his footsteps down the hall. Grasping the door handle, he started his lecture. "Badi, what do you think?" Even through the night-merk, it was obvious Billy was sleeping peacefully. And yet, Carlos still found his foot impaled on the rear fin of a rogue batmobile. "Dad?" asked Billy, his slumber having been interrupted by the truncated chiding. "Uh, nothing, pal," replied Carlos. "Lie back down, we'll clean this up tomorrow." Violet was asleep by the time he'd finished his detour for a stolen mouthful of milk from the jug, and he thought it best to wait till mine to discuss the possibility of their sons sleepwalking. Despite the comfort of his sheets and the warmth of his wife's nearby body, something sat wrong in his stomach, and it was a long two hours spent with his ears strained for any disturbance before he nodded off. Three out of ten full days later, with Violet once again on her side snoring, Carlos was watching Letterman and preparing for sleep. "Goop, goop, goop," said the monitor. In a single silent motion, he stood from his bed and reached for a t-shirt. With a steady wrist, he noiselessly exited. "Buh," replied the monitor. Under the photographic eyes of distant cousins and cherished ants, a moment's creeping brought him to Billy's door, where he set his ear against the thick layer of stickers they'd allowed the boy to apply. There was a pause, then a thud, as if something had been thrown against the nearest wall. It was a twist and a push, the dim light of the hall's nightlight followed him inside. The area was once again in a state of disarray, but he didn't bother to wake Billy. He'd finally recognized a familiar pattern in the chaos. The next day he repackaged the monitor. He also made a point of adjusting his cell phones alarm so that he might rise early to tidy before Violet awoke. Three days prior to their departure date, Carlos' eyes were black with lack of sleep. Using packing as an excuse, he'd transitioned the equally unrested Billy into the living room, setting him up on the couch for the final phase of the move. The child slept better, and it gave his father an opportunity to sort and discard action figures as necessary. A new concern had made itself known on the previous morning when Billy, carrying a single, non-plastic arm, had approached Carlos. "I can't find the rest of this guy, and look, I think something's been chewing on him." "Huh," he replied, noting the watchful eye of his wife. "Must be a rodent." "That's disgusting," Violet had stated. "Can I have it as a pet?" Billy had asked. "I'll get some more straps," was Carlos' reply. He pocketed the damaged limb, then added, "Good thing we're moving." The issue was that, as the hours ticked down, it wasn't just the bad appendage. Nearly every plastic and pliable surface within the boy's room began to display the nicks and dents of toothy wear. Once the job was complete, and the last of the Transformers posters and Star Wars coloring books were sealed, Carlos used buying steaks for supper as an alibi, then deposited every box that had Billy written in thick black marker across its top at a nearby Salvation Army depot. Twenty-four hours before their scheduled take-off time, Carlos slammed his son's former bedroom entrance and picked a fight with Violet. It wasn't hard, they'd both been on edge over the impending relocation, and his lack of sleep had done little to brighten his mood. "What is your problem?" she shouted. "You know," he replied. He knew she didn't. "You're being ridiculous! I'm taking Billy to Moms for the night, but you're staying here." The whole family had intended on embarking from Violet's mother's, but he was happy to cut open the tape on a few boxes to locate bedding if it meant she was leaving immediately. She did. When he heard the screen door bang to a close, he let out a deep breath. Entering the kitchen, he began to fill a bucket with soapy water. As he closed the tap, he paused, thinking he might have heard a distant crying. He was relieved to be wrong. Retrieving a rag, he carried his load to the room he'd been defending. Carlos could live with Violet's rage. He knew it was temporary, and he'd much rather take the blame for griping than divulge to his wife that he suspected the spirit of the girl she'd lost during birthing, 14 months earlier, who was slowly aging inside the house. As he scrubbed at the looping and aimless marker-scrawl that now adorned the walls, he began to weep for the child he felt he must abandon for the sanity of his remaining family. [Music] Flashpulp is presented by http colon slash slash Skinner dot FM. The audio and text formats of Flashpulp are released under the Canadian Creative Commons attribution non-commercial 2.5 license. [Music]