so another failure for me. i tried submitting this to a small online publication which i thought was small enough to publish me. i had no high hopes of becoming a paid author but i thought i at least could get some flash fiction published online. anyways here is my rejected flash fiction for you guys. maybe you will enjoy it or at least give me some constructive criticism.
The Other California
I hold the lighter’s flame under the glass bulb and watch as vapors begin to swirl around within. I breathe the vapors in deeply and stare at the moon light glinting off the undulating water. Immediately I feel the rush. Mike and I are sitting at the bank of the Merced River patiently waiting for the catfish to bite. The fishing poles are being held in rod rests and the poles have bells clipped on the ends so that we can hear the bites. Other than the occasional re-bait and re-cast there is no work required. When we fish we don’t have a care in the world, we just smoke, drink, and bullshit about nothing all night.
My friend Mike and I fish often on weekdays after I get off work. Mike is generally regarded as a fuck up, but he is one of the nicest guys you’ll ever meet, one of the funnest to be around to. Sometimes I worry about him, that maybe he does meth too much or that he’s never going to straighten up and find a job. I can’t really lecture him about it though right after I did meth with him and all. I haven’t let it become a problem for me though, or maybe I have and I just don’t know it yet.
We could blame our abuse of mind altering chemicals on our surroundings. Give the familiar excuse that many teens from Atwater give.
“It’s boring here. There’s nothing to do.”
But that’s not me, not Mike either. Neither one of us blames really blames anything on where we were born; it would be useless to do so. Would we rather have been born into rich families with trust funds, overseas bank accounts, and million dollar yachts? Ya, but that’s not what happened so fuck worrying about that shit. Most people complain about living here in the Central Valley, but we like it fine. We are losers from a loser town and we’ve learned to like it here or maybe we are just too lazy and stupid to do anything about it.
As the night drags on the thirty pack of natural light becomes lighter and lighter and cigarette cartons become empty. It’s a slow night, so far we haven’t caught any fish.