A Month and Two Days
A man loses all concept of reality as he battles addiction, grief, and self-esteem.
Submission to Round 2 of the 2022 Flash Fiction Competition for NYC Midnight. Feedback below.
April 4th
My adrenaline is pulsing. My heart races to the electric music. My nerves are on fire.
I’m up seven hundred. Whiskey aroma fills my nostrils and money chimes in my ear.
As the slot machine lights up for the thousandth time, my high is satisfied.
May 6th
I lose my savings. My despair overwhelms me. Or does it? I spin again.
A win. The high lasts a minute. It’s enough to keep going.
I lose everything I won. Another loss. Another. Another. I am left with nothing.
June 8th
She leaves without a word. My high school sweetheart. The girl I married and promised more.
I sit alone. Divorce, another prescription, voices in my head and silence.
The doctor says, “Medication will help. Depression sometimes requires a bit of a push.”
July 10th
Not everyone needs a job. It’s a social construct. “You do,” my mom tells me.
I can hear the concern in her voice. She thinks I am on the wrong path.
“There is no right path.” I rub the grease from my sandwich onto my jeans.
August 12th
A house is a house and nothing more.
“Sorry man, but you were given six warnings and thirty days. There’s a couple of shelters down the street from here if that helps.” He tapes a bright red eviction slip to the front door.
My life plays out in front of me. It’s like watching a sad, terrifying movie and I am the main character.
September 16th
I stumble on the cobblestone sidewalk searching for the casino. I think I see it.
A neon sign glows ahead and there’s movement. Characters walk in and out of glass doors.
I see my wife waltzing into the casino. My wife still loves me I chant.
Step. The foam in my cup overflows onto the street. Two pills swirl and sparkle inside the frothy liquid. I pick up the pills. Why would anyone get rid of perfectly good pills?
Step. I swallow them.
October 18th
An annoying beep keeps waking me.
Pain radiates inside. I feel panic deep in my throat but am unable to scream.
Where the hell is the noise…?
Alarms ring in my head and a man dressed in blue scrubs runs to help me.
I don’t want help though; I want to leave.
I sob until a sweet lady comes to give me the white pills. Sleep beckons and I feel numb.
I like the feeling of nothingness the pills evoke. I like these pills.
November 20th
The wind blows through my matted hair. I see bright lights ahead, and I follow.
I drag my bleeding leg behind me. Whimpers are coming from somewhere. I think it’s me.
No energy, no will.
I slouch against the cool tile of the casino floors, searching for my pills. I see my wife.
She looks upset with me, but I did nothing wrong.
“You,” she hisses. Her long finger points to the alleyway. “For the last time, this is not the casino, and I am not your wife. You need to leave. Police are on the way.”
I stare, confused at her words. Making her mad is not my plan. I leave.
December 22nd
The winter weather slices through my exposed toes and numbs my fingers. I crawl around the corner.
Characters jog to the glass doors, each dressed in tight bodysuits. Each has a different sized whip attached to their head. They are made of hair. I can’t do that with my hair.
I search my pockets for the comb I stole last week from the castle. My bunk buddy liked pills too.
The comb’s plastic teeth broke when the guard in gray took it from me. In a moment of compassion she returned it. I am glad she gave it back.
I plan to impress my wife with well-groomed hair.
I find the comb. My arms hurt. They work with pills and nothing else. I can’t find my pills.
My jacket buttons scrapes against the concrete as I edge to the building.
It takes a while, but I reach the cold glass doors, bright lights, and loud music. Characters talk inside.
The handles are heavy. I have a hard time opening them. It’s never been hard to open them.
They watch and shriek as I stumble through the door. They appear scared, but that’s wrong. “I am not the villain,” I promise the character talking on the phone. “I am searching for my wife.”
They all look fear-stricken except my wife.
She looks mad, so mad that she comes to kick me. My wife would never kick me.
This character is not my wife. My eye bleeds and my vision blurs. I can hear the sound of my comb cracking in my pocket. My ribs ache with each blow.
I collapse in pain. I crumble. There’s a voice yelling. It’s not her voice.
The character I mistake for my wife says, “You are a piece of shit. This isn’t the fucking casino, you degenerate! It’s Urban Cycling. You have been coming here for three months. You’re loitering, and at this point, stalking. Buy a membership or get your pitiful ass out.”
The door hits my body as a character enters with patches all over a thick black vest. He watches as my head slams the hard tile.
“A homeless junky like you stands no chance with a woman like me,” she says, disgusted.
Characters laugh as the big man hauls me away. I sit in a warm car with bars separating the villain from the hero. His victory and my loss. He must be a main character too. One with a storyline that gives him a chest of gold and the pretty princess.
More characters with large guns stand outside a tall barbed-wire fence.
I hope my bunk buddy is here.
Liked: I like the disorienting vibe of the story; I think it sets a realistic tone for someone who is unstable. I also like that we’re following an unreliable narrator who is so addled by addiction that he can’t properly see the world around him.
Disliked: I find the format of the story hard to follow. Because each day is more of a vignette, it’s harder to see how the narrator gets from scene to scene, and the amount of time between each vignette feels a little arbitrary. I would love to maybe follow just one event: like the narrator’s first visit to jail, him losing his house, the final confrontation at the cycle studio, etc. and follow the events leading up to that instead of following the narrator more broadly.
Liked: This story is so beautiful and vulnerable and authentic. I really appreciated reading it, and sitting with it. It’s a relief to find an author who empathizes with addiction and homelessness. I thought you did a really good job at showing your protagonist’s inner journey and development. Your voice as a writer is succinct and true, which is a rare quality. Thank you for sharing this.
Disliked: This isn’t so much a critique as a subjective recommendation. I would like to learn more about your protagonist and narrator, apart from his addiction. We see a lot of the tragedy of him, but where are the parts that are nostalgic and connected to life?
Liked: The first half was particularly strong, showing the degeneration of his lifestyle and the draw of the casino. It was easy to experience his same fears and share his loved one’s concern during his downward spiral. The reveal that he was entering the studio rather than the casino was quite successful. In fact, his inability to see the big picture was his fatal flaw throughout the story, and it was shown beautifully in the climax.
Disliked: At times, the reader had trouble following the events of the story. For instance, did he ever hold a real job and what was it? Did he have to trash or sell his belongings after the eviction? Where does he go to get the pills? Did he go back to the shelter after the hospital release? Every time he makes a big transition, it’s worth explaining it to the reader, even if he doesn’t do it in the most lucid way. For instance, he could just simply say “Back at the shelter. Left the hospital in the middle of the night. Stole pills.” Clearer and informative sentences will strengthen the plot. He’s a compelling character but there’s still a chance to make his journey easier to follow.
“A Month and Two Days” has a very sympathetic main character and heart-breaking climax. Once the author pays further attention to the transitions in the plot, it will be a great drama narrative.
Lauren Dee Boskie 