Turn of Fortune
Flash fiction
Twelve-year-old Vinny Chambers was always in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Life continually dealt the kid an unlucky hand. It didn’t matter where Vinny was or what he was doing. He could be walking down the street, and he’d twist his ankle in the lone crater of a pothole, or a once-friendly neighborhood dog would turn demonic, get loose, and chase him all the way home, nipping at his calves, his ankles.
Vinny’s family once went on a beach vacation. While everyone was swimming in the Atlantic, he built sandcastles. Every fiber of his being wanted to be in the water, but in his heart, he knew a vicious riptide would pull him deep under, or a shark would suddenly appear and dismember him bit by bit. (As it was, deer flies ate him alive on the beach, but he tried not to complain too much.)
One red August morning, Vinny pedaled his bicycle down the street. His mother had sent him for bread and milk, so away he went. Within a minute or two of leaving home, a strange scene played out before him.
He pulled up near a group of boys who were huddled around Tommy Pratt, a kid in his grade who everyone knew was on the spectrum. Tommy was brilliant when it came to school, but he struggled socially, making him a bit of an outcast. He even talked a little funny.
All the kids around Tommy were laughing, mocking him. Some had their phones out, recording the spectacle—whatever it happened to be.
Vinny pushed through. When he saw Tommy get forced down onto his hands and knees, his stomach lurched. And when he saw Morgan Rinehart there beside him, trying to force-feed him something—moldy food, a bit of gardening compost, dog shit, he couldn’t tell from his vantage point—he blew up like an M-80.
“Hey,” Vinny yelled, grabbing Morgan by the arm and yanking him to the ground. “Leave him alone!”
“What the hell,” Morgan said, taken aback. Then he laughed. “Oh, it’s just skinny Vinny. Haven’t seen you around. How’s your summer going, asshole?”
The other boys kept recording—laughed harder.
Before Morgan got up—and before Vinny had a second to consider his next course of action— he slammed his palm into the bully’s nose.
CRACK!
Morgan howled, rolled over, and gripped his face, cupping the blood that had already started to gush.
The other boys—four of them, in total—tackled Vinny to the ground. He tried to fight back, at first, but it was pointless. They threw fists, elbows, and knees from every angle. Vinny curled up into the fetal position and protected his head. There wasn’t much he could do to defend the kicks, the blows, that landed time and time again.
“Let’s get out of here,” Morgan eventually said, blood all over his shirt and pants. His friends stopped. “And Vinny…you better watch your back. You freak.” One of his friends hauled him away in the opposite direction, careful not to get any blood on his new white Nikes.
The other boys trailed after them, hurling more insults toward Vinny and Tommy.
At long last, Tommy spoke: “They’re gone.”
Vinny looked up from his protective shell, then pushed himself into a sitting position. His body ached all over, but there was no blood—just lots of bumps and bruises to deal with. And a swollen eye for safe measure. How in the world would he explain this to his mother?
Neither boy said anything for a while. Both tried to steady their breathing.
“What was he trying to make you eat?” Vinny asked.
“He said it was Frosted Mini Wheats, but I’m pretty sure it’s goose poop.”
Vinny glanced at it on the ground. “Yeah. It is.”
“Those guys are dicks.”
To this Vinny didn’t say anything. He simply nodded. When he took in a deep breath, something hurt—a sharp pain. Hopefully, they hadn’t cracked one of his ribs.
“By the way…thanks,” Tommy said. “You didn’t have to step in…you didn’t have to do that.”
“Well, neither did they.”
Tommy stared at the ground, brows furrowed, thinking about what he would say next. “I’m happy you showed up. It felt like you were in the right place at the right time.”
Vinny cracked a smile. “Oh yeah? Doesn’t feel that way to me.”
Tommy caught his humor, snorted, and moved Vinny’s bike out of the road. Tommy helped him to his feet and gingerly guided him to the sidewalk. The two boys sat cross-legged in the shade of an old oak tree, trying to process what the hell had happened. Conversation flowed.
The slow morning traffic paid them no heed.
Thank you so much for reading “Turn of Fortune” today. I hope you enjoyed it. If you liked it, please consider clicking the heart icon or sharing my story with a fellow reader.
For most of July, I ended up taking a break from both reading and writing on Substack. I unplugged from technology in general. I’m happy to report that I feel energized and recharged! This is the first story I’ve written in over a month. Another one’s already in the hopper, and it feels like the ideas are pouring in at this rate. Needless to say, it feels wonderful to be back creating and sharing stories again.
Please see below if you are interested in participating in this week’s Fifties by the Fire.
Take care. And thanks for being here with me!
- Justin
I’m thrilled to host another Fifties by the Fire event this Friday. For those of you who are new subscribers, welcome!
Here’s how it works: I share a prompt word or idea, we write fifty-word story responses to it (these stories can fall under the genres of fiction, poetry, or creative nonfiction), and then we share our creations at a fun little gathering on Friday.
The thread will be sent out and go live on Friday, August 9th at 3:00 PM EST. Keep an eye out for it in your inbox!
Please feel free to check out our previous get-together here.
Prompt: Write a fifty-word story (fiction, poetry, or CNF) that uses the word broken, or suggests/hints at something being broken.
Special thanks as always to
for inspiring us.
Great story, Justin! I was that awkward kid, and I sure wish I had had a Vinny back then. Reading this gave me a sense of satisfaction. You created justice in an unjust world. Good for you, and welcome back!
A day in the life of a kid. We all dealt with bullies, I imagine. But it was good that a friendship resulted.
Welcome back.