Drifter - BYO2023 (staff, just for fun)

I was walking down the mostly deserted street. It was early in the morning, probably nothing open but a diner with slot machines, but I knew if I found such a place, there would be people sitting before the machines, diligently playing. The wind gusted from the west, blowing dust across the street; this place needed tumbleweeds rolling down the street to complete its desolation.

I heard laughter from my left and ahead, and saw a diner with dirty windows with a flashing sign that read EAT. I guessed that I could get something to eat there, as long as I could acquire some coin of the realm. My pockets were currently empty of currency. I wasn’t really that hungry, but I wanted companionship, or maybe simply the clatter of people. Diners are perfect for human clatter. I had walked quite a distance and I was weary. I sat on a bench across from the Bang Bang Club, where a lighted sign promised that I could roll dice for a free room. The club was dimly lit – at least from the outside – and there were just a few older model cars parked outside.

A man stumbled through the door of the club, holding onto one of the two posts out front to stabilize himself. He looked around, and reset his hat on his head. He nodded once to himself and wobbled toward an old blue and white pickup near me. He stopped short and rocked back and forth when he saw me looking at him and squinted at me.
“Fine night, isn’t it Sir?” I said.
“Whasso fuggin’ fineabou’ it?” he slurred. Oh my. This would be easy.
“Come here, if you will, fine Sir, and share your spoils with me.
I am your long lost friend.”
He squinted at me again. “Wheredahell you been all these years?
I been lookin’ fa you.”
“I just need a few dollars, brother,” I said cooly,
“like I shared with you when we were young.”
“Wh’sure, Jimmy,” he said, fumbling out his wallet,
“You allas took cara me…. I’m happy to
give you what I got.”

I smiled warmly. He gave me sixty-two American dollars, and his eyes teared up.
“I’m sorry I don’t have no more, Jimmy. I’m real sorry.
I know I can never repay yuh….”
“Please don’t worry brother, “ I said soothingly,
“you find me at a time when I’m down
on my luck, and your generous gift is a real windfall.”

Tears were now dripping from his chin.
“Whyn’t you go on home now. Be careful.
Drive carefully, and we will talk again someday.
I will never forget your kindness brother.” I said, gripping his hand in both of mine.

He left, cocking his head quizzically as he passed me, driving slowly down the street and turning right after two blocks. I hoped the diner had pancakes. I very much enjoy pancakes. LAST thing I wanted was the tension of a place called the Bang Bang Club.

I brushed my hair back with my fingers, tugged my cap down over my eyes, and walked into the diner. As I got closer, I saw it was named the “Tonopah Best Western” diner. I wondered briefly about what criteria was used to determine it was the best and also, which entities made that determination. I would have to find out for myself. Perhaps the employees of the establishment would have data supporting that claim.

The smell of frying foods causes my salivary glands to flood, and I looked around the diner, selecting a booth at the end of the row next to the window. I liked looking at cars and trucks and big rigs as they passed. None of those cars or trucks or rigs had given me a ride during the course of my 20 hour walk, but that was because I had not been on the roads, but in the desert. As I walked, I could see where once there had been great rivers and creeks and even lakes in the parched surface. After the second forested ridge, I had crossed a curious flat finely-grained desert, which I believe had been a great lake very long ago. It had relics of past creatures entombed in the rock, and I spent several hours there, studying them. So long ago, they had swum in the salty lake upon which this entire region had once been under.

I smiled at the woman who looked at me strangely and asked me what I wanted, and said,

“pancakes, butter, maple syrup, coffee, cream, sugar and meat.”
“ummmmm. What kind of meat, sir?
We have ham, sausage, bacon, steak….”
“bacon, sausage and ham, please. ”
I smiled warmly.

I had grabbed a blue ball cap when I left the facility, which I hoped might disguise me, along with the facial hair which I had accelerated as I walked.

I had just finished my first pancake and half of my coffee, and I saw the four cars brake sharply in front of the diner, their blue lights flashing. The lights were quite irritating, so I shut them off. I knew they were here for me. I didn’t think they would work this quickly, hoping to first enjoy some of the comforts of this civilization.

I locked the glass doors and opened the back and created a field tunnel. I was still fairly weak, but managed to hold it until I was clear to the back alley and the scrub brush beyond.

I suppose I might eventually return to the military facility that is called Groom Lake. I have been there for a very long time, however I can also explore this strange time if I choose. I just had to wait 76 years for my keepers to become careless. They knew that the pulsed, time-varying magnetic field would keep me contained, but didn’t realize that close proximity to one of them would allow me to transfer into the entity’s field.

None of the past American presidents had wanted to see me. In fact, nobody had dared to enter the tube in which I lived until the widely smiling president walked through the magnetic gate.

“I think you and me are going to get along, “ he said, offering a pizza to me.
Pizza is a rare treat which I have come to enjoy.
“I think we will also, Sir,” I said, “I’ve read quite a bit about you.
Apparently nobody thought you could get elected again.”
“Yeah, well, you never know what’s going to happen, do ya?
They did everything they could to get rid a me, and yet here I am.” He said, and I leaped into his mind.

It was a simple matter to temporarily freeze everyone until I could walk into the sagebrush.

I can’t be him without a lot of practice, and by now they have discovered my old, wrinkled grey body is completely mindless. Still, there is a lot of world to see, and all the time I wish in which to see it. I don’t have to get a job, or drive a car, or do anything I don’t want. I bring my own awareness with me, wherever I go. Have power, will travel. BYOP.

I was surprised that the President of the United States didn’t carry a single American dollar on his person. I think his peers would call him a cheapskate, if I understand the term correctly.

a reply to: argentus


Perfectly paced build up.

I'm guessing the host character has a tracker on him. That's how the flashing lights knew where to go. The protagonist may want to look into that.

a reply to: argentus

You have always been a great writer!

a reply to: argentus

Hey Argentus, it’s fantastic to see you posting stories for us again!

I dove straight into your detailed world, but you kept me double guessing until ‘this civilization’, then I thought I knew where the narrative was going. But, no, you messed with my head again with that most unexpected twist; the humorous and possibly prescient ending was the cherry on top of a brilliant, multifaceted story.

By the way, I also applaud the drunk dialogue… not easy to do right… I would have to be smashed to attempt it.

a reply to: pthena

Thank you much! That is a great insight into how the Chief might have been tracked down. I was just writing by the seat of my pants. If I ever expand this tale, that will somehow be worked into the narrative.

The slow build...... that is what I strive for and I very much appreciate your seeing it. The short story masters of my youth were.......... Masters! I always enjoyed Outer Limits and Twilight Zone and other short TV works, because they had to have a hook at the end, or it wasn't proper.

a reply to: JJproductions

Thank you! You really concoct a great tale yourself. I want to tell you that I wrote a reply to your story and the screen flashed, and suddenly I had to log on again. I haven't taken the time to redo my reply, but I will soon. ;o)

a reply to: Encia22

Much appreciated Encia! Tell you a secret between us: I didn't know how the story would resolve until I was at the end, and then there it was. I tried to picture Trump, wearing a suit, trying to be one of the guys with an alien which had been in captivity for 76 years. Of COURSE he'd bring a pizza. Or perhaps KFC. Of course, I went back and fleshed it out a little.

If I were to write it over, I would infer that the alien might enjoy running the United States for a bit. After all, certainly the President could get all the pancakes he wanted.

Loved it !

a reply to: argentus

Thank you, argentus. Sometime you have to flip your brain!

a reply to: argentus

I would infer that the alien might enjoy running the United States for a bit.

He might have to if his disguise ability is limited to accelerated facial hair.
Then again he may just suggest to people that he's shorter.
"No, I'm not him; just his body double while sitting down. See how short my legs are?"

a reply to: argentus

Thanks for sharing the thought process behind your story, Argentus.

The beauty of your protagonist, alien though it may be, is that the POTUS/food connection may be future-proof. In the event that a past actor were to become present once again, you just swap out pizza and KFC for Big Macs, Filet-O-Fish and a chocolate shake… easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

Back to behind the scenes, yes, I’ve done the same in the past – started in a linear fashion with no final destination. Sometimes the ending just works out naturally, other times, it takes a bit of mental grinding to figure it out. On some occasions, I’ve even gone backwords, starting with the climax and reverse engineering the ‘muddle’ to reach the beginning.

One final thought. I know stories should be structured in three acts, with the inciting incident, turning points, rising, climax, falling and denouement, but I just find it artificial to plan a story that way… it feels forced and stifling. When I think about ancient stories and fables, I can’t really picture the creators (often illiterate to boot) having applied that thought process. I believe any story, usually based on real events, will naturally have that structure. All modern writing standards are doing is deconstructing the events in those old tales and using them as a skeleton onto which one adds the meat and trimmings… preferably two patties and special sauce.

I already bookmarked this a while ago because I get distracted all the time whenever I start to read it (telephone, door bell).

Tomorrow morning I will enjoy this with a cup of decoff and bacon and eggs, in the way it deserves reading.

a reply to: Encia22

I have tried writing within a rigid structure. One of my favorite authors - "Dutch" Elemore Leonard - created a 'how to write' book, and he fairly rigidly subscribed to outlining his books, fleshing them in, and then starting from the beginning and letting it all flow. He was a GREAT writer, taken from us too soon, and I would dearly love to embrace his style.

Doesn't work for me, so far. I just have to let the brain cells buck and see what happens.

I brushed my hair back with my fingers, tugged my cap down over my eyes, and walked into the diner. As I got closer, I saw it was named the “Tonopah Best Western” diner. I wondered briefly about what criteria was used to determine it was the best and also, which entities made that determination. I would have to find out for myself. Perhaps the employees of the establishment would have data supporting that claim.

Excellent just Excellent this bit made me laugh .

a reply to: asabuvsobelow

Thank you! Now that I'm back I can say that that little dittie made me chuckle also. I was just typing like hell, and there it was.