Buck, Naked
Buck, naked, has no words. The best he can manage is a strangulated cough. His wife, who is clothed, stands before him, next to a mattress that took Buck half a day to force into the trailer.
‘Make a …’
‘Please,’ says Buck.
‘…mischievous face. A mischievous little boy face.’
Buck tilts his head and angles his eyes, aiming for insouciance.
‘No.’ says his wife.
Buck thinks mischievous. Imagines stealing a biscuit. Then a van load of biscuits. Then a van driven by a crazy-naked mermaid, breaking the speed limit, Buck leaning out the window, waving his Stetson, screaming like a cowboy that just found god.
‘Yes, that’s it!’
She pushes down hard on the Polaroid. It snaps and whirs, spitting Buck out onto a small square of emulsion. She takes it, stares at it and pins it on the notice board next to all the rest: Buck, angry. Buck, unhappy over a lost balloon. Pleasantly surprised Buck. Caught in the zipper. Caught in the act. Caught again and again and again, over and over, ad infinitum.
Frank's work has appeared in SmokeLong Quarterly, Flashquake, Monkeybicycle, Pequin, The Linnet's Wings, The Legendary, Grey Sparrow Press, Night Train and Toasted Cheese, among others: http://www.frankdahai.blogspot.com/