Short Story 11
Deck sat across from Flan…
…in what could barely be described as a flat and perhaps more fittingly described as a dive. And not a good dive either like in the sitcoms from the 80’s. We’re talking discernible layers of stains and dust, all datable to specific dive eras.
They were both slouched in opposing unmatched sofa beds in the one room that constituted their crusty bum dive.
Both of them had awoke at the same time in the afternoon, as it was a bank holiday and their drinking was inescapably synchronised to maintain stereo consumption, god forbid otherwise.
This afternoon, however, they awoke to a miscalculation. An offer they had agreed to partake in had left them both parked opposite each other and their shared single can, unopened, slightly chilled by the open sweat-airing windows.
As soon as was physically possible, but more likely slightly later than that, they realised the situation and decided between themselves that whoever claimed the can first could batter away their head buzzards with the singular dog-eared hair they were dogged thereof.
They agreed to the terms of the arranged situation by means of Flan’s eyes pinging open as they awkwardly broke free from some sleep which caused Deck to giggle and crack his lower lip in two.
The game was a-foot-ish.
Flan was first to start mouthing the words but forgot to force any air past his vocals so was quickly resetting his mouth shape as they both let out a pitiful “dibs”.
As the last plosive sound popped air out of Deck’s mouth, his perception of time shifted. He could see the wake of the ‘b’ flowing out from under his nose, towards the prize. He got up after several attempts and then fell down into a crawl alongside the flowing bulges in the smokey atmosphere of their cruddy pad.
As Deck piled his body up alongside his compressed air wave which also carried with it some spit and pizza shrapnel, he realised his would be a couple of inches away from the can when Flan’s struck. As was decided by the rules earlier, Flan would be the victor and Deck thus an arse.
Deck, his eyes starting to close again, either out of tiredness or because blinking takes much longer from this perspective, flung his left arm out behind the air bulge and gave it a couple of wafts, which to him took much longer than he might have been bothered to commit to had he known.
The bulge surged forwards and pancaked against the can just as Deck dropped back into a normal time frame and noticed a headache forming -he thought from the time dilation but in fact it was a hangover- just as Flan was given a bust nose and shat himself in surprise.
Deck and (especially) Flan are the shittest superheroes in the universe. It is therefore unfortunate that they are also the only two on Earth.