The Bacon Prompt

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
I decided to start a story with "What do you mean you don't want bacon" based on a vlogbrothers video and see what happened. It ended up being about a kid who was raped by his priest and just wants his doctor to tell him why...

Submitted: January 19, 2011

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Submitted: January 19, 2011

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January 19, 2011
The Bacon Prompt
 
“What do you mean you don’t want bacon?” Honestly, you’d have thought I’d told him I was going to tattoo Hitler’s face on my butt. “Every Sunday you come over here when you should be at church, and every Sunday you ask for bacon, and every Sunday I pretend I don’t have any just to make you crazy. This Sunday I have the bacon already made and you say ‘I don’t want bacon’!?”  His voice rose manically, cracking as it ran out of octaves to clear.
I break into a grin, unable to keep my amusement to myself. “And this Sunday I pretended I didn’t want any bacon to make you crazy.” His expression is indecisive; should he laugh along with me or chuck something at me? “You sure are gullible, Doc.”
“Don’t make me diagnose you as a compulsive liar.” He grumbled, and I knew I’d taken a chunk out of his pride.
“’Tastes great, Doc.” I repented. No matter how many times I denied my faith, Catholic guilt always found its way back to me.
While his ego repaired itself, I went about my Sunday ritual.  Bacon in hand, heavenly grease dripping down my wrist- needless to say, OCD had been ruled out within my first visit- I investigated the book shelf. Sherlock Holmes was more abundant in volumes than Freud. For the Doc, psychology and detective work were one in the same. The mind was a crime scene, and he had to find out who or what did the damage. I didn’t tell him, but I knew I was his greatest mystery.
“This week you went Renaissance happy. The Canterbury Tales; The Prince; The Inferno. Barnes and Noble have another sale on their classics collection?”  
He didn’t answer, and we both knew that I was right.
“You’re gonna need a bigger bookshelf soon, Doc.” I considered lapping the grease from my arm, but thought better of it and reluctantly used a napkin. “Now it’s your turn.”
This had been a game of ours for how long now? Three years? Four? I know it started after The Arrest. It was funny, because everything else stopped after The Arrest. I stopped going to church. I stopped sleeping. Everyone stopped smiling. I could have sworn I stopped living, or else life had stopped but I kept going for some reason. And I stopped talking. I knew that if I talked, everything that kept me away from church, that kept me up at night, would come pouring out, and the crying would never stop.
But it was different with Doc. I wanted him to know. He had to know. It was his job. But after however long, he still couldn’t place his finger on it.
No one could.
No one knew what was wrong with me.
My family and the police knew what had happened, of course. They knew why I wouldn’t talk and they knew why He’d been arrested. But that didn’t explain anything.
It didn’t explain what was wrong with me. Why He had done that to me.
It occurred to me that He was supposed to have all the answers then. He was God’s vessel, wasn’t he? He had known. He had known I was dirty. He was just trying to clean me. But Doc didn’t know that I was dirty, and he couldn’t clean me. He didn’t have the answers. I was his mystery.
He stared at me pensively. He’d proposed every explanation for my code of silence from it being a ploy for getting attention, to being the result of my embodiment of the kid from the Sixth Sense. “I give up.” He said at last, and my heart stopped.
He didn’t have the answers.
I was a mystery.
I would always be dirty.
“I don’t want your bacon anymore.”
 
A/N: I was watching the vlogbrothers, and Hank said that he’d started a story with the line “What do you mean you don’t want any bacon?” because it sounded like a good way to start a story. I decided to start a story the same way and “take a walk in my brain” as he said. I’ve discovered that my brain is a frightening place. I went from bacon to a kid who got raped by his priest and just wants to know why. I should put a danger sign up in my mind so that no one goes for walks in it without me as their tour guide.


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