I sit in my car and watch this old dude, like maybe approaching a century, drag his sorry corpse-body across the parking lot toward the bakery, staggering like the living dead straight out of vintage Romero. He is wearing these overalls and a feed hat, probably a retired farmer or whatever, although I’ve learned farmers never really retire. The bakery, Munchers, swallows this old guy into its brightly lit belly, and I muster the energy to hoist my butt out of the car.
Inside, tables-full of these peculiar old men sip on small paper cups of coffee. They all turn to look in unison when I walk in the front door. I’ve always been a connoisseur of pastries, and one sure sign of a quality donut joint was the volume of elderly that would beat the sun into the place. Munchers seems to have that market locked. I scan the glass case in front of me, and rows of shiny fried bread, dripping with glaze, stare back.
“Can I help you?” this voice says–a woman’s voice at the lower end of the register–a really sexy growl floating just beneath the words.
“I’m just checking out what you have here.” I look up and see the clerk, this cute twenty-something with her dark hair pulled back from a smooth, milky face and blue marble eyes that are fixed on mine. My brain locks up in one of those cognitive dissonance moments–why is this beautiful creature hawking donuts at six in the morning to all these walking cadavers?
“Let me know when you’re ready,” she says before moving to refill a cup of coffee. I continue to watch her as she snags pastries for a couple of the coffee club members from a rack behind the counter.
“Ready?” She catches me in the middle of my thousand-yard-stare.
“Could I get one of these,” I say, gesturing to a rather opulent-looking wad of dough drizzled with white icing.
“Good choice, the cream cheese donut–Munchers’ specialty.” She turns to the rack and stuffs one in a small paper sack. “Anything else?”
“No–yes.” My tongue launches an ambush on the rest of my mouth, and my reasoning faculties are caught asleep. “Just curious”¦why give the regulars the donuts from that rack?” I poke a thumb toward the special pastries and wait for her return volley.
“Oh–those have secret ingredients.” Her mouth grows into this lopsided smile as she leans forward and says quietly, in a near-whisper with that sexy voice, “Human brains.”
“Brains?”
“They look like zombies, right?” She flashes her eyes toward the old guys.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Ahem.” This ancient fellow behind me coughs into his hand as a hint to move on out.
“See you later.” She hands me the bag and I realize I haven’t paid. She winks and whispers, “My treat.”
Aaron Polson is a high school English teacher and freelance writer who dreams in black and white with Rod Serling narration. He currently resides in Lawrence, Kansas with his wife, two sons, and a rather sturdy–almost supernatural–tropical fish. His short fiction has appeared in various places, including Reflection’s Edge, GlassFire Magazine, Big Pulp, Johnny America, and Permuted Press’s Monstrous anthology. You can visit him on the web at www.frozenrobot.com.
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16 Responses to “DONUTS OF THE LIVING DEAD • by Aaron Polson”
Comments
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August 4th, 2008 at 1:04 am
Aaron:
That was strange. I think I like it; I’ll let you know after I have my morning donuts.
K.C.
August 4th, 2008 at 3:26 am
Great story. Lots and lots to like about it.
Thanks for the read.
Joel
August 4th, 2008 at 3:26 am
“My brain locks up in one of those cognitive dissonance moments–why is this beautiful creature hawking donuts at six in the morning to all these walking cadavers?”
Is this really “cognitive dissonance”?
August 4th, 2008 at 3:38 am
Totally agree with Gerard onlt my brain was grinding to a halt long before that.
l.3 these overalls
l.5 this old guy
l.7 these peculiar old…
l.12 this voice says
l.16 one of those cognitive
l.17 this beautiful creature
this these and those just wore me down and the English teacher within refused to read on.
August 4th, 2008 at 6:12 am
I couldn’t get past the first sentence “I sit in my car and watch this old dude, like maybe approaching a century,”
dude? like maybe?
August 4th, 2008 at 6:45 am
Wow, Aaron. You’re taking a beating this morning. Hope you wore your protective gear
The voice didn’t really bother me. I just put it down to the narrator being a bit infaturated with his own intellect.
The zombie twist caught me off guard. Perhaps I missed the clues.
August 4th, 2008 at 6:59 am
I didn’t have a problem with the voice, but it’s a dangerous choice to create a character who’s clueless grammar-wise. However, flash is a good place for trying new things that might send readers fingernailing up walls.
Best for me was the title. A few pieces here haven’t seduced me, bad title, bad first paragraph, but you got me to read the story.
August 4th, 2008 at 7:44 am
Licking my wounds…
August 4th, 2008 at 9:36 am
Aaron,
I’ve taken a few risks here at EDF myself, and while Jordan & Co. seem willing to give oddments a try, much of the readership bristle at any variance in ‘begining, middle and end.’ Odd voices included.
The voice put to mind that 70’s/80’s California-speak–Like, you know, Man?
Drives English Majors plum wild!
It seemed a College-kid vs. Octogenarian piece to me–And it got published! On a Quality site like EDF, too!
–dj
August 4th, 2008 at 10:32 am
Thanks, DJ. My eyes are now wide open.
August 4th, 2008 at 12:38 pm
Aaron:
I finished my donuts and I decided I like your story. It made me laugh.
K.C.
August 4th, 2008 at 3:39 pm
Interesting piece…but the ending was too much of a surprise for me. Zombies really? hmm I guess is just some sort of metaphor..or sorts…
anyhow interesting enough to give a read and vote
August 4th, 2008 at 5:07 pm
Ouch - full credit for dealing with the comments.
My issue was actually very different:
“I sit in my car and watch this old dude, like maybe approaching a century, drag his sorry corpse-body across the parking lot toward the bakery, staggering like the living dead straight out of vintage Romero. ”
I felt like I could see a big old cop, not very happy with life in general, watching the scene and looking at it in such a way that it made his own life look good.
But the problem is, I read that and said, ok, it’s a zombie, and everything from there fit right in, they are all zombies, out before dawn, having donuts. Cool.
“They look like zombies, right?†She flashes her eyes toward the old guys.
“Yeah, I guess.â€
I guess? Huh? He just described them clearly as zombies - so even if I ignore that what I thought was fact turned out to be the twist, his reaction grates.
I don’t mind that I jumped to the wrong conclusion and it turned out to be the right one … but to have him deny what he just spelled out to me, that hurt.
August 5th, 2008 at 12:51 am
(I generally read the daily stories before any comments are posted, and am too shy to make the first post…)
Anyway, the language didn’t bother me, since I sometimes hang out with people who speak like that, but I got a completely different (I think) impression of the story than the other posts here.
The title already implied a zombie scene, and that first line describing the old man confirmed it. When I got to the end, I figured it was just the girl in the store flirting with the guy by making a joke about the old people being zombies.
(I must admit that I’ve worked in a donut store before, and as employees, we get free donuts whenever we want. Theoretically, she shouldn’t have given it to him for free, but it’s not like as if the store loses heaps of money from it.)
The story and plot was a bit too random for me though.
August 5th, 2008 at 7:32 am
Hi, Aaron, you got me with the title and then the Romero reference - I was yours from that point onwards. I thought it was fairly clear throughout that you were serving up a slice of quirky life seen through eyes not like ours. You stayed true to that voice throughout. That made the story work for me. That and the zombies.
August 5th, 2008 at 12:26 pm
Thanks Sarah. I know this piece was risky, but what’s life without a little risk…