prompt: good, title: consolation and prizes in "the next big thing" flash fiction

“I healed,” Frank turned his right arm out toward me, parting through thick fur to show the marks that remained from the scientist’s rushed intravenous-port installation, pink skin underneath, knit back together, still shiny in relative freshness, “but it still hurts.”

He similarly separated the hairs over his left shoulder, showing a faded-but-still-extant scar where he’d been shot decades ago, putting him into the coma from which Frank eventually woke up alone. “Time fixed some of it. Magic, some too. Over the years, it gets difficult to tell which did what but I healed nonetheless.” I bit my lip before asking. “Does the shot, uh, your shoulder still hurt?” “Sure, it does,” he said, “every single day. Some days worse than others, of course, but it has and will ache to some extent until whatever day I finally actually die.”

There was a thump in the background. A teenager was smacking the claw machine, trying to knock loose a stuffed toy he’d almost claimed for what looked to be his boyfriend, except for the fact it got stuck half-way down the chute. That’s how they get you, my dad would’ve said.

“The older you get, the more awful things you barely survive, the more your body just hurts. The only alternative to getting up every morning hurting a little more each time is to not wake at all. That’s just how this life works.” He paused, that kid just kept trying to retrieve the Spider-Man plush for his paramour, but it clearly wasn’t going to happen.

“In a way, that’s good. Physical pain is a distraction from the hurt that builds in your heart. The more you lose, the more you have to let go to keep going. The pops and pains, the longer you live, the more of them too. In my case, the place where that shot healed through, it’s a useful distraction from what I lost.” The kid finally gave up on the toy, he and his left the diner, dejected but still clearly in love. “I think that’s how this too-long life makes up for itself to us.”

“That’s…” I couldn’t help but think how my brother Dan, master of claw machines, might have figured out how to get that toy yet, “that’s pretty shitty recompense.” “Yeah,” Frank smiled, “this is often a pretty shitty life, but it’s the only one we get. May as well try and make the best of it.”

Last updated April 06, 2022