I decided I’d smoke crack, and a friend’s roommate was an addict, and it was just before morning, and when you get like that, you never want to sleep.
We were in his room, sitting on a mattress on the floor. Cartoon animals on the sheets. Gunk on the carpet. He had a glass pipe like in the movies. I was silently waiting my turn. He thumbed a lighter and I watched fire fill the glass bowl, and chalky smoke filled the shank, bundled its way toward the bit, slipped across the dude’s bottom lip, got huffed down his lungs, and the magic of the universe abbreviated him.
He lusted dumbly into a new demeanor.
Every part of him lowered.
Flopped, sorta.
Leaned against the mattress and wall.
“It’s my turn,” I said. I reached for him. Held out an empty palm.
He shook his head. “Gone. Gone,” he said.
He showed me the empty pipe, sloughed into an addicted existence.
There was an open window in his room, and you could see the sky, and it was dark but it wouldn’t be long, and I thought, fine, motherfucker, I’ll meet you alone, and I’m not sure what the crack addict did then, but I definitely waited.
Waited for the sun to come up.
Waited for the sky to get pink.
Waited to feel absolutely miserable.
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Brian Allen Carr is the author of Bad Foundations, Motherfucking Sharks, and Opioid, Indiana. The feature film Weightless was based on his story “Whisper to Scar.” Larry McMurtry gave him the first Texas Observer Story Prize. He’s an Aspen Words finalist and a two-time Wonderland Book Award Winner. His short fiction has appeared in Granta, McSweeney’s, Hobart, Boulevard and other publications. This is his first piece of flash fiction in over a decade.
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image: Ashley Beresch. Check out more of her work on Instagram @ashleyberesch
Rejection Letters 