Special Flavour
Choose your flavour... [Flash Fiction #06]
“Choose your flavour,” says the ice cream man.
Jimmy looks at all the colours, finger at his lips. “Hmmm, this one,” he points at the smurf blue.
“Oh, yes. Special flavour, that one is. You will regret nothing. Are you sure?”
Jimmy nods, his eyes big and wide.
“Alright then, one scoop of No Regrets for the young gentleman. Enjoy.” The ice cream man grins from ear to ear as he takes Jimmy’s dollar bill and hands him a dark cone with a gigantic ball of blue ice cream, so cold it smokes in the midday heat.
“Thank you, mister!” Jimmy runs off and hears the ice cream man call after him, “See you in thirty years, kid.”
The ice cream truck rings its bell and rolls off into the distance, and by the time Jimmy turns around, the truck is gone. He blinks up into the sky, shrugs and eats his ice cream.
“Where did you get that?” His mother asks, coming out of a designer shop with a new Hermès handbag. “I told you to wait here. Where did you get the ice cream? And where did you get the money? Did you steal it? I swear, I can’t leave you alone for a second,” she grabs his arm and looks him in the eye.
“I found a dollar, Mum. And there was this ice cream truck. Taste it. It’s sooo good!”
“You found a dollar? And right away, you waste it. Have you got no sense in your tiny little head? Give me that.” She tries to take the ice cream, but Jimmy breaks free and steps back.
“No. I want to eat it. I paid for it. Fair and square!”
The mother stands there, adjusts her Chanel sunglasses, smacks her lip, takes out her vintage porte-cigarette and starts to smoke.
“Fine then, no lunch. And don’t come whining in an hour that you are hungry, you hear me?”
“I won’t. Can we go home now?”
“I told you I need to buy a new dress. See a dress anywhere? So impatient, just like your father. Stay here, and wait till I’m done.”
“No, I wanna go home now!”
“James Horatio Bosworth. That’s enough. Sit on the bench, eat your stupid ice cream and wait until I’m back, or I swear I’ll call your father right now.”
He contemplates protesting some more, looks at her, shrugs and sits on the bench, ice cream around his mouth.
“Mum.”
“What?”
“I hate you.”
“Whatever.” She waves him off, turns and steps in front of an oncoming truck. Her body flies high up into the air. Jimmy’s eyes follow it, and the ball of ice cream falls to the ground. The brakes of the truck screech. The Chanel sunglasses, twisted and broken, land in front of his feet with a hollow clatter, and on the street amidst a crowd of shocked bystanders, he sees his mother, Hermès bag clutched tight in her lifeless mangled arms.
A man in tattered clothes, unshaven and unkempt, a dollar bill in hand, stands in the same spot where he had bought ice cream thirty years ago.
“What’s your flavour this time?” the ice cream man asks.
He looks at the man who hasn’t aged a day, eyes like deep, dark, black holes. Jimmy reads the labels: No Regrets Blue, Ignorance Yellow, Love Red, Money Green and Time White, pointing at the flavours one by one, observing the reaction on the man’s face each time. Time.
“I choose Time!”
“Are you sure?” The man’s eyes are glinting pieces of coal.
“Time.” Jimmy nods.
The man grins and scoops a small ball of purest white Time into a dark cone and hands it to Jimmy.
“Careful now. This is the last time.” He winks at Jimmy, rings the bell, and the truck rolls down the street and is gone.
Jimmy stares after him, blinks into the sun and starts eating Time. The more he eats, the smaller he gets. He finishes it, cone and all and wakes up at the side of the street, nine years old. He rubs his eyes as he hears his mother call his name.
“Jimmy.”
“Mum!” He jumps up, runs over to her and hugs her tight.
“What did you do now?”
He looks up at her with big wet eyes. “I love you, Mum.”
“I love you, too.” She kneels and gives Jimmy a peck on the cheek. Look, I bought us matching T-Shirts. You like Zelda, don’t you?” She smiles at him, and Jimmy nods, wiping his nose, when she sees a dollar bill in the gutter next to them. “It’s our lucky day.” She reaches down and takes the note as the bell of an ice cream truck rings.
“Free ice cream?” She holds up the dollar.
Author’s Note
I hope you were able to enjoy some nice weather as of late, as did we. We had lots of ice cream these past few days, which formed the basis for a bit of a What if..? I had this idea jotted down in my Notes about a boy and a magical ice cream truck. Initially, I was mulling over a sort of Tom Hanks “Big” theme mixed with some “Groundhog Day” vibe, and then I forgot all about it. When I was typing up “Saved,” the 500 words POV of Man Friday from Defoe’s “Robinson Crusoe,” I kept thinking, “This ain’t it.”
Then I wrote another 500 words on Monday about an Infernal Dentist while on the bus to my actual dentist. Lots of teeth. Tuesday comes, and again I thought, “Nope, this ain’t it, either.” T-20 hours. Time is ticking. I went to the fridge and got myself an ice cream cone, as one does, when that note bubbled to the surface. Ice cream… special flavour. And there you go. These days it’s a bit more expensive, so let’s say the story plays out in the 80s when you could buy sweets for half a penny.
If you enjoyed this little story, you may also like my other flash fiction pieces here.
If you want to dig deeper into the S-zer0 and my dystopian novel SPHEREAN, the podcast with the car designer who designed the Qlev pod might interest you:
Or if you are all about the adventures of the smart but clumsy Dr. Samuel Carter on his hapless expedition to “find what no one else could,” then… well, then you will need to check back next time when you hear Dr. Carter say, “Where are my pink slippers?” on the next defraggingly fragalicious episode of Tales from the Defrag.
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Great story! Reminds me of When The Coffee Grows Cold, which I also enjoyed. I think I'll subscribe!
Excellent story. I love the twists and turns. Trying to decide if it's a happy ending or not. :)