Not George Clooney

READ FLASH FICTION SHORT STORY BELOW (about 500 words)

Alfred wasn’t his real name, but it’s how most knew him. He described himself as a cross between George Clooney and Clint Eastwood. However, the comparison required a good imagination to envision. Actually, less imagination and more alcohol. In fact, no matter the magnitude of imagination and/or alcohol, the comparison was not observable by mortals.

But Alfred’s vision was not so limited. Nor did he drink. When he looked in the mirror, he saw potential. Charisma. Greatness.

In truth, Alfred was an affable guy. Albeit a bit heavy. Perhaps 100 pounds over what he preferred. Maybe 150 pounds above healthy.

Also, Alfred had no hair. But he did possess a certain charm.

Today he was getting dressed for a meeting. He put on his best shirt and favorite shorts.

Molly, his case manager, walked him down the hall from the dorm toward the offices. “Alfred, today Dr. Jameson will be discussing your progress.”

Later that day, Alfred was in the break room, flipping through some magazines. Leticia finished vacuuming and started dusting. “How’s it going, Aflie?”

“I had a meeting with a new shrink today.”

“How’d that go?”

“Aw, you know, the usual ‘I’m not facing reality’ stuff.” He gazed at her gently, “He was probably trying to be helpful.”

“Reality ain’t all that it’s cut out to be.”

Alfred put his magazine down, “Have you ever seen anyone after they left this place?”

“What you mean?”

“You know, like out in the streets, out in the world. When their time is up here, do they actually make it out there?”

“I don’t know. I suppose some do and some don’t.” Letecia paused and stood up straight. “I think it’s hard for most everybody. At least those I know.”

“Yea, well at least you’ve got a place to live.”

“Alfie, honey, you may have it better here than I do in my crappy apartment.” She got back to tidying. “Heck, some of my friends ask how they could get in this place for a few months.” She looked around to see who was within earshot. “They don’t even care about all them drugs they give the patients. They think this nuthouse for the homeless is better than anything they gonna get.”

“What do you tell them?”

She straightened the last pillows on the couches, “Alfie, I tell them about you. This place thinks you is crazy just ’cause you think something good’s gonna happen.” Leticia chuckled, “But you don’t fool me.” She gave him her conspiratorial smile and whispered. “Don’t forget you told me your real name – Mr. Clint Clooney.” She emphasized the last as an inside joke. “See ya tomorrow, Alfie!” Leticia paused in the hallway, before continuing her rounds. “Anyone upbeat in this world must be crazy.”

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