General Flash Fiction posted December 27, 2015


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Political Flash Fiction

Hey Eduardo

by Robert Louis Fox

The author has placed a warning on this post for sexual content.

“What do you think it means?” Brach slipped her hand between his legs and squeezed.

Eduardo jerked then fumbled and dropped his brush. “Jesus, Brach!”

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not!” Eduardo caught her wrist. “That’s an expensive brush.” He held her fingers to his crotch.

She cooed and rubbed and pulled away when he began to get hard. “Seriously,” she told him, “every glacier in the world is melting.”

“You’re a tease.” Eduardo picked up the brush, swirled it in the wash. “You screwed me up.”

“Sorry.”

“So,” he asked, “why get your panties in a knot about a big cold spot in the North Atlantic? All things considered, shouldn’t we be glad for a place with record low summer temperatures?”

“No! It means Greenland is melting—faster than anyone ever thought! Don’t you get it? The Gulf Stream is stopping there. It’s not mixing. Can you say, ‘new ice-age in Europe’?”

“Really?” Eduardo paused to admire Brach’s summer dress floating loosely on her shoulders and shifting across her hips. He turned back to his easel, then looked at her again and sighed, “Is it all right if I just paint?”

“You don’t care.”

“I care.”

“No, you don’t. You’re just like everyone else.”

“What can I do? I’m an artist.”

Brach bent over the portrait. “Can you fix it?”

Feigning deliberation, Eduardo peeked down her neck line. Training-bra titties—he could hardly believe she was thirty years old and had training-bra titties. “You know,” he told her, running his fingers up her leg, “You’ve got a world-class ass.”

She slapped his hand. “Don’t change the subject! Why doesn’t someone do something?”

“Why don’t you do something?”

“Why doesn’t the government?” she asked. “Isn’t that what they’re there for?”

Eduardo lifted his brush, tilted his head toward Brach, and raised an eye brow. “Isn’t it obvious? Corporations bought out democracy. There’s no will for it.”

Brach reached her arms around Eduardo’s waist, set her chin on his shoulder, and in a breathy whisper asked him, “What are you talking about? Are you a Diego Rivera?”

“Don’t mock me! The World population doubled in a lifetime. Ever think about that? Human need,” advised Eduardo, “that’s where your political will is.”

“What we need is a national goal!” Brach twirled away letting her short hem spin up. “Like in the sixties. ‘We shall, before the end of this decade, send a man to the moon, and return him safely to the earth!’”

Eduardo spanked orange from his brush. “May I ask what any of that means now?”

“One man,” she answered, “inspired a generation with dreams. If we can go to the moon, we can do anything. We just need one man like that who can launch a national goal to stop global warming.”

“We’ve got a national goal. Our national goal is making money.” He squeezed cobalt blue onto his pallet. “Ask not what Camelot can do for you, lest an usurper followeth the golden-tongued king, and leacheth thou off to war...”

“Doth now thou mock me?” Brach giggled and tried pushing her hands inside Eduardo’s belt.

“Back then,” he told her, “people feared red. And then he was dead!”

“You don’t care!”

“I care. It’s just there’s no money in being against global warming.”

She pressed her pubic bone against his hip. “So?”

“So now corporations run the World. For them your carbon footprint has a payoff. And you can bet if one of those rovers hits gold on Mars, the private sector will build a starship and get there splicklickety-quick. But you can also bet big business isn’t going to do anything about the environment unless there’s money to be made.”

Brach pushed away. “Why are you so negative?”

“I’m just being realistic, Brach. There’s no moral mechanism in business. It’s no one’s job to care. In fact, if management does anything noble that loses shareholder value, it’s malfeasance.”

“That’s it?” Brach sat in front of Eduardo and posed. “We’re going to destroy the world because doing the right thing is malfeasance?” She raised her knees letting her dress fall back in her lap.

Eduardo watched. “Look,” he suggested, “look at all the civilizations that came before us. Seems to me we’re a boom and bust species with historical amnesia.”

“Hey, Eduardo,” Brach slid forward stretching a camel’s toe into her white cotton panties, “let’s make a baby.”


 


Political Flash Fiction contest entry

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In 2015, an ominous cold-spot was found to have begun forming in the North Atlantic between Iceland and Greenland.
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