Flash Fiction Friday: I Am Tigre de los Bravo
by: Andrew Novak
The people see me dance and they can’t believe. They compliment my wooden mask, its bright saffron and blackened stripes. They stare into my reflective eyes and touch my mouth lined with rotting teeth of creature.
Only, it’s no mask.
It’s my face.
And the people, they love me.
Burning yellow and black-spotted, I run around town kicking up dust at the base of the mountain. I’ve twice trashed the offices of the major political parties. First with cinder stones, then with fire.
I run faster than cops can drive.
At the strip club, ladies tug my tail and stroke my fur under dim purple lights. I purr to the sounds of reggaetón. The owner of this place knows me well.
I blast dumpy rock music at unreasonable volumes in the zócalo. When people come to stop me, to shut me down, I spit cheap beer onto their clothes. When they spit back, I catch it in my mouth and laugh.
I eat tobacco leaves and dance the danza.
I smoke a pipe and drink mezcal.
Yes, I’m the wiseguy who buys up all the books at the bookshop. And after I’ve read each one, I eat the pages. I chew paper to pulp and swallow.
The mayor hates me and prays for my death. He knows: I secretly run this town and, if pushed, I’ll run it right into the ground.
The people erected a statue in my honor, right downtown. But someone spray-painted a hooked phallus ejaculating over the bronze face of my likeness. That someone was me.
The mayor, he hates me because I was wearing one of those trick handshake-buzzers the first time I met him. He looked so foolish yelping on stage, pulling back his soft palm, and flailing in front of thousands of respected city denizens. I burned his house down later that week.
My email address is email@example.com. I spend hours each day sending obscene spam emails to every person I hate.
I care for stray dogs and cats. I feed them the food I cook for myself. I also keep a green bird as a friend that I teach to swear at passersby.
I spray-piss poems onto walls and prolapse my ass squeezing coiling shits into rich people’s pools.
Yes, I live on peanut butter sandwiches.
And still I run faster than cops can drive.
Andrew Novak is a journalist and news editor in Washington, DC. He likes to read. He likes to write. He likes to take pictures with his camera. His fiction has appeared in Shotgun Honey, the Robbed of Sleep anthology series, Dark Moon Digest, and Out of the Gutter Online. His bloggings can be found at Neon Grisly.
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