Initiation - flash fiction

Working night shift was always another world separated from the world of the sun.

We stumbled out smelling of work finally done and blinking at the enemy in the sky.  We couldn't explain to anyone, even ourselves, without benefit of moonlight and darkness.  We stumbled along, half blind in the light.

Jacob called, “This way, Michael! There's beer waiting.”  It was a Wednesday by the morning people's clock; Friday night for the blinking followers of Jacob and newest meat, Michael.

“Don't worry”, I said.  I knew there was blood in my eyes and zombie in my hair.  “We'll just have a little fun.  It's our way of remembering we are where we are supposed to be.”

Michael nodded, looking as if he understood.  It was too soon to tell if the work took to him, but it didn't matter much.  It was never what we did, but who we were to each other.

Morning people, freshly lacquered and caffeinated, passed us with worried glances if they bothered at all.  We were not of them.  Our tired eyes, shadow stubble chins, and the long removed press of our pants threw up barriers harder than concrete.

At the 'Desert Island' the sign still buzzed in the lights of night.  The door squeaked 'home' as we entered.  We laughed our way to bar stools that gleamed in chrome though the morning was kept from reflecting on them.

“Beer and donuts!”, cried Machov, and Michael stiffened, hearing an implied initiation.  We relaxed among our own; out of the sun's daily ritual of coating the city in hurtful contrasts.

We congregated and reveled in the secret life we shared.  Soon Michael was laughing, coughing on sugar and foam as we toasted him, shoulders stretched upwards under our hands holding mugs; mouths opened wide in loud pronouncements of joy.

We celebrated another night done.  Our discussion was in the language of sleep and dealt with things that happened in those hours the day people don't know.  We told Michael how we ruled there as kings chained to our land.

We each clapped him on the shoulders in acceptance.  Later we made fun as his head turned into a lead weight pulling a night baited hook into a lake called 'sleep'; attempting to catch that which was never plentiful.

We drank beer and tequila.  The cheap dim lights slighted us blue and marked our pasty blemished faces that had all but forgotten the sun.

Properly our rituals were seen to and the mugs left on the bar; some with foam or a spent wedge of lemon.  Others were coated in vegetable blood; the gift of the tomato and the excuse of breakfast.

We ended another communion and dispersed like light shot through a prism.  

Each color untangled itself from the whole.  Some headed for things that only working nights allowed.  For the rest, including myself, it was the oblivion that passed for sleep until, groaning, our best defense would be breached by the light and sounds of day.

Author's Note

artwork by Tim Wistrom

Reviews

[Antonio Valentino]

you're a wonderful story teller my friend.. this reminded me of working graveyard at Memorex many, many, years ago.. there was one of those neighborhood bars that was tucked in a dingy corner up the street that we would frequent more times then we should have right after it opened at 6 am.. what is it about those places, they always have the same damn smell.. a kind of cross between malt liquor and funk.. but yes, vampires we were for all intents and purposes.. crawling back to our houses or appts, and trying to sleep but never really accomplishing it..

thanks for taking me back to that memory.. its surprising how many experiences are stored in our brains that will never surface again, until something poignant like this, brings them out..

wonderful job

:)

[Mark]

Thank you my friend. I had hoped this would be something of a shared experience. I can't take full credit for the style though. I wrote while I was reading "The Last of Deeds and Love in History" by Eoin McNamee. http://us.macmillan.com/thelastofdeedsandloveinhistory/EoinMcNamee

I hope I paid homage to his style without ripping it off!

[Antonio Valentino]

youre very welcome buddy..

what written piece hasnt been influenced by another one right..

i would think you did the writer proud.. :)

[Claire Twinn]

You have used beautiful and unusual ways of describing, I love the ways you make the night workers sound almost surreal in their feelings of being 'different'.

[Mark]

Thank you Claire! I have to give credit where credit is due though, the surreal style was inspired by an Irish writer named Eoin McNamee. Worth a look if you've never read his work.

[Coyote Poetry]

I work the night shift for 8 years. I drink less because of the hours. No fun to drink alone. I like the story and the ending. Good to find fun. Thank you for sharing the excellent story.
Coyote

[Mark]

Glad you liked it friend. :)

[Robbie~xoxo~]

You have brilliantly depicted the comaraderie of an intriguing group... the sleepless become interesting as the night unfolds into the morning...

"Each color untangled itself from the whole. Some headed for things that only working nights allowed.For the rest, including myself, it was the oblivion that passed for sleep until, groaning, our best defense would be breached by the light and sounds of day."~ Well penned Mark!

[Mark]

Thanks hon :)

[Ogham13]

This is beautifully descriptive. The use of the light metaphor is very strong, especially at the end. It creates a sense of unity to think of them as their own light, each a spectrum of one prism. I wanted to hear the banter at the bar and get a better sense of each person. How many where there? How long did they stay? It pulled me in and there should be more!

[Mark]

Thank you, I have trouble with concepts for flash, I start writing them and they want to continue! I wanted just to give a feel of what it was like to be a part of this world rather than get down into an actual plot and characters. Glad you wanted more! :)

[Neva Flores Smith - Cha..]

I have worked night shift before and it is another world, but the one you have painted here with your story is a lot more interesting.......a chapter in a book perhaps? Very good.

[Mark]

Thanks hon, it is another world and this story has some relation to my past. There was a bar in Stockton CA (still there as far as I know) called The Shamrock that was open at 6am. Night shift workers from the local newspaper, hospitals, and warehouses would congregate there. That early in the morning the place would often be packed with people. The doughnut person was real, (I changed his name). I never tried it but he talked several others into dunking in their beers.

[Stanley Wilson]

yep great story get the vibe really enjoyable

[Mark]

Thanks Stanley :)