Nicknames

Below you will find the results of my having challenged myself for a number of days to write a short story with a beginning and middle and an end inside of 30 minutes. Here is what I came up with. I hope you like it.

Henry had been watching Reservoir Dogs, again.

“We should all have cool nicknames,” he said.

Nobody in the car said anything. Actually, a more accurate way of putting that would be Everybody in the car said nothing. It was not a favorite topic of conversation.

“Like,” Henry continued, “Eddie, we should call you Ace, because you’re really smooth and you get in and out of trouble. Really slick.”

Eddie (“Ace”) was 15 years old and worked at his mother’s Pinkberry franchise.

“…and,” Henry seemed to be gasping for air. “…and Dave should be The Bomber on account of he drives all the time.”

The Bomber had saved up and bought a used Toyota Tercel.

“Ricky,” he continued, “your nickname should be…”

Ricky interrupted.

“Henry, I think your nickname should be Wide Ass.”

The small car became congested with an atmosphere of repressed laughter.

Henry was stunned…

“I think my nickname should be Mr. White,” offered Henry.

“I think your nickname should be Wide Ass The Galloping Rapist.”

“See… no… I was gonna be Mr. White because…”

“Nononono, I like Wide Ass The Galloping Rapist, better.”

”So do I,” contributed The Bomber.

“Yay!” exclaimed Ricky. “Hands up, who thinks we should start calling Henry ‘Wide Ass The Galloping Rapist?’”

Three hands went up.  Not Henry’s. They pressed their palms against the Tercel’s nylon roof.

Nobody said a word until Worcester.

“Wide Ass?”

”Yeah?”

”Please lay off the nickname thing, please.”

“Fine.”

”Thanks, Henry.”

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