Ricky the Fat Kid ( a very, very short story )

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                                                                    Ricky the Fat Kid

           A box fan blew a steady breeze across the living room floor to where Ricky lay. His untucked shirt tail ruffled as the air blew over him. He was dressed for the summer in light khaki pants and short sleeves. He was barefoot and a fly crawled across a pudgy heel. His hair was in a crew cut that could have been any color depending on light and angle. He was lying on his side with his head resting on one folded arm and the other arm reaching towards a plastic bag that contained a damp rag soaked in Toluene , a paint additive .

       His eyes were open but Ricky was dead, unaware of another fly that was walking across his face.

       The front door creaked open and Ricky's little sister came in and immediately smelled the paint solvent. She thought " Great, now I have to get his fat ass off the living room floor and detoxify him before Mom gets home. " She had to do it on a few occasions and gave Ricky a kick to rouse him. " Hey asshole, you got yourself all fucked up again so get off the floor and pass out in your room where no one can see you."

        She walked around him and got a look at his face and it was the first time she had seen a dead face.

        She ran screaming out the front door into the blazing bright of a summer day, the sun a blinding burst on the windshields and chrome of the cars on Wyoming Street.