The Golden C

Golden C - a short story - fiction - relationship satire“WHAT A STUNNING RESTAURANT,” said Jenny. “By the way, may I see your Golden C?

“It’s not the right time,” said Alexander.

“Just a tiny peek.”

“The waiter will be back any minute.”

“Just a peek. Just a peek at your Golden C. Please, Alexander. I really only want to see it for a sec. K?”

“Okay,” said Alexander. “This is crazy. I don’t see why you have this obsession with my Golden C.” He pressed his hands together, rubbing the top hand quickly over the bottom, closing his eyes, and then he fanned his hands slowly open to reveal the star-gleamy, glowing, spinning **drinking glasses boiling and wobbling** utterly-phantasmagoric  Golden C.

“Wow! That’s amazing, Alexander. And that’s what gives you your sense of control?”


“I want it!”

“Why don’t you just develop your own sense of—?”

“I want yours!”

“But if we both had Golden C’s, Jenny, think of the potential, think—”

“I want yours!”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Remember that time you had the pet hamster? You left it outside in its cage in the middle of winter.”

“It disobeyed me **grumbling; looking down** …making hamster faces. Just let me hold it for a sec.”

The waiter leaned over them. “Oh! I see the monsieur has a Golden C. Good for him. I once had one but I let my wife hold it for the briefest of moments.”

“Did you ever get it back?” asked Alexander.

“Get what back? Ohh—my Golden C. No. She said she left it on a park bench and a pigeon took off with it. To be completely honest, it has long since troubled me, monsieur, to wonder what heights that pigeon may attain while I toil. Your meals…”

“This looks stunning,” said Jenny.

The waiter leaned toward Alexander’s ear, “Please put away the Golden C or otherwise conceal the golden source of your powers, monsieur. Some of the customers find it unsightly.”

“No problem.” And it disappeared into his hands.

The waiter remained there with an uneasy expression, standing at attention. “Last spring, there was—there was”—he squinted—“talk, monsieur, of a particular birdseed baron, a certain pigeon, flaunting its presence and flapping its feathers for all the gossip rags—

“‘Sqwaah! **flapping arms** Sqwaaah! **darting head** Sqwaaaaaah!’ it would say. Its lawyers assured me that there was no connection—

“I will return shortly to check on you both.”

“Sounds good. Thank you.” Alexander cut into his steak. “I think I know the pigeon he’s talking about. Last I heard it was in London, marrying some sexy bird.”

Tears rolled down her face.

“What’s the matter, Jenny?”

“I want your Golden C, Alexander. I want to flush it down the toilet. I really must destroy something with my love before the year is out.”

“Maybe we could go to the toy store. You could crush some of those tiny green soldiers. That always cheers you.”

“It’s not the same. Their faces don’t even change when I crush them.” She slumped. “My friend Karen has collected like fifteen Golden C’s already. She’s really stunning at it.”

“What does she do with them?”

“Christmas tree ornaments, doorstops, paperweights, bookends. But that’s not the point.”

“What is the point?”

“The point is, if she keeps destroying men, she may eventually want to keep something she’s destroyed.”

“Why do men need to be destroyed to be in a relationship?”

“Things move too quickly. You must clip a man’s wings so he can’t leave you.”

“Why not help a man become more than he ever could be without you? That might make a woman indispensible.”

“Don’t be silly, Alexander. That doesn’t work anymore. Plus, it’s not all about him, these days—”

“I have already told you we don’t have such a dish on the menu,” their waiter could be heard saying.

“Sqwaaah! Sqwaaah!”

“Why do you torment me so? Have I not suffered enough? There’s no birdseed for you here! Shooo! Shooo, I say!”

“Sqwaaah! Sqwaaah!”

“Where do you hide it? Where do you hide the Golden C, bird brain?”


“No I am not an existentialist. No I have never read ‘No Exit’.”


“What are you doing? What are you pulling out from beneath those tail feathers? Where did you get that?”

“Sqwaaah **shrugging shoulders; tilting head** sqwa-ah?”

“Yes monsieur, I believe we can make change for that denomination of bill.”

About davidwallacefleming

David Wallace Fleming is a U.S. writer, living in Austin, Texas. He is the author of the coming-of-age, social media novel GROWING UP WIRED, and the satirical science fiction audiobook, NOT FROM CONCENTRATE.
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2 Responses to The Golden C

  1. Teena Lovern says:

    lol @ “no, i am not an existentialist! no, i have never read ‘no exit’.”!

    what is this magic?! tell us more!

  2. I’ve been trying to keep the posts below 1500 words. Maybe I’ll have to write a Golden C part two at some point. But you remember the first rule of vaudeville, right?

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