Flash Fiction: Stu is a Jerk

For Writer's Group, we had to compose pieces on the theme of recycling for some recycling convention.  I remember way back in sophomore year English, my buddy Andy Brown wrote a story about a bowling pin named Stu.  My favorite line: Stu is a jerk.  A sentence so simple and direct that it's stayed with me all these years. The story touches on other recycling themes -- namely, reincarnation and bowling itself.  But most of all, this story recycles that brilliant line from Andy.  

Stu is a Jerk

I can't imagine what I did in my past life to reincarnate as a 6-pin.  Maybe that's for the best.  Because when your sole life purpose consists of shivering at the end of a greasy lane as 15-lb balls spin in to blast you sky-high, you must've done worse than pinch a nudey mag from the corner shop.

All I can say is this: if you murderers, armed robbers, Mafia bosses, and political hitmen knew what was coming for you, you'd be chugging holy water and using those dead bodies to fertilize flowerbeds.

Still, life as a 6-pin isn't so bad.  I miss having legs.  And arms.  And a brain to think with.  This story would be so much simpler with those fundamental components.  But I have a steady job and I do it well. 

I might even enjoy the cycle of dull boredom and topsy-turvy terror if not for the 9-pin.  His name is Stu.

Stu is a jerk.

One night, after the lanes had closed and we're slumbering away our bruises, Stu taps my shoulder.

"Psst.  Hey, 6-pin," Stu says.

I pretend not to hear him.

"I know you hear me," Stu says, nudging me harder.

"Stu, stop bothering me, I'm trying to sleep," I say.

"Yeah?  Well I hear they're starting up the grinder tomorrow," Stu says.

"Shut up, Stu."

"Grrrr…" he says, mimicking the sound of the grinder.  "And then you know what you become?"

I close my eyes and try to sleep.  But I crumble under the curiosity.

"What Stu?  What will I become?" I say.

"TOOTHPICKS!" He yells.

I get so startled that I knock into the slumbering 5-pin, who hits the 2-pin, who knocks into the 1-pin, and before you know it, I've bowled a strike.

"Who did it!" booms the 1-pin. 

When your only refuge from pain is sleep, waking anyone during these precious hours is a cardinal sin.

"6-pin did it," Stu says. 

"No, that's a lie!" I say.

The 1-pin looms over me.  I glare back at Stu, who winks.

"Sir 6-pin," the 1-pin says.  "That's three nights in a row that you've managed to slip and knock everyone over.  It might be time for…"

"Grrr…" Stu says so only I can hear.

That does it.  I'm sick of being picked on. "Stu is a jerk," I say quietly.

"What did you say?" says the 1-pin.

I freeze. 

"Speak up, boy, or it's to the grinder with you."

"Stu is a jerk," I say.  "Stu is a jerk!"  And then as loud as I can: "STU IS A JERK!"

As I'm lofted away to the grinder, I feel okay.  I've stood up to Stu.  Maybe that's even worth enough to reincarnate as the ball next time around.  A 15-pounder with a beat on the 9-pin?  Please?  

Still, all I know is this life.  And in this life, it's always good to stand.