Trina: Trina Tells a Story

Flash fiction, Humor, Photography and Art, Virtual Photography

This is the last entry in a series of stories that began with three prompts from D. Wallace Peach.

In the first story, Trina meets Anjana, the elephant and his family of white mice.

In the second story Trina meets a shadow boy who is separated from his ‘boy’.

In the third story the shadow boy and Trina find a golden android but lose him.

The May #PhotoPrompt from Myths of the Mirror
The May photo prompt from Myths of the Mirror

After that Diana stopped the prompts for personal reasons but the story continued.

Trina decided she needed more adults in her world so she made an adult doll.

An Illustration staged in virtual reality depicting the character of Trina designing an adult doll
Are you terribly grown up or grown up terribly?

Later, Trina and the shadow boy find the golden android on a display stand in Macy’s.

A photograph staged in VR depicting a little girl and a shadow boy standing in front of three robots
Trina and the Shadow Boy find the Android

Trina takes the android to her workshop, scrubs him up, and makes a new skin.

A digital photograph of a little girl and an android in a workshop for dolls
Trina Takes the Android to Her Workshop

In this episode, Trina brings the android and her doll to life.

The character of Trina is loosely based on the character of the Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.

Caution: The story contains what some might consider ‘adult’ material.

People don’t dress like that in the past.

Trina Tells a Story

Trina pulled a picnic table out of her bag and placed it in front of her bench at the duck pond in Central Park.

She added her tea set and Madison, and her new doll, Felicity.

Madison scowled at Felicity’s outfit. “People don’t dress like that in the past.”

“Why not?”

“I’m a doll! How the Hell would I know? They just don’t.”

Trina sighed, opened her bag, pulled out her sewing machine, and set to work.

A few seconds later Trina had a new outfit for Felicity.

Trina dressed Felicity and asked her to stand. “Do you like it?” She asked.

“Very much.” Felicity replied.

“She looks like a tart.” Madison frowned.

Trina stuck her tongue out at Madison.

The shadow boy emerged from the shadows. ‘I think she’s pretty.”

The shadow boy emerged from the shadows. ‘I think she’s pretty.”

“Thank you,” Trina said to the shadow boy: she opened her bag, pulled out the android, and stood him next to Felicity.

Trina stepped back to admire him.

The little shadow boy tugged on the android’s arm, “How do we turn him on?”

Trina reached into her bag and pulled out a button. “With this,” she replied. She aimed the button at the android and pressed it.

The android whirred to life.

“Do you know the Android’s name?” Trina asked the shadow boy.

The little shadow boy thought for a moment. “His name is Roger.”

Trina turned to Madison, “Do you think he’s handsome?”

“He’s a stud.” Madison cackled.

The android, now named Roger, cocked his head.

Felicity silently agreed.

Trina pulled a desk out of her bag and sat to write their story.

Anjana and his mice appeared and everyone quietly gathered to watch.

Arjunda and his mice appeared and everyone quietly gathered to watch.

Somewhere, wrote Trina, by Marcy Bloomingdale of Queens New York

“Who is Marcy Bloomingdale of Queens New York?” asked Madison.

“It’s my pen name. Do- You- Mind?”

Madison scowled; Trina returned to her story.

Somewhere

by Marcy Bloomingdale of Queens New York

Felicity sits in a big red chair on the murky waters of
the Long Island Sound, she sings a song of seduction.

Roger cavorts on the shore, he is a straw man scattering breadcrumbs.

Tonight the moon rises as if this was some kind of night
in Hawaii.

Roger is transfixed.

The End.

“Somewhere” by Marcy Bloomingdale of Queens, New York

Trina stood for applause.

Anjana watched two of his mice play an intense game of tennis.

Madison scowled harder than ever.

The shadow boy cleared his throat. “I thought you said they were gown ups.”

“They are,” replied Trina.

“I think you should make them do ‘it’?”

Trina was baffled. “Why?

“Isn’t that the only thing grownups do?”

Felicity stifled a smile.

The android raised his hand:  “What is ‘it’ and how is it done?”

Trina was lost.

Anjana raised his trunk to whisper what he knew:  ‘Now, I’m no hominid,’ he
began…

A mortified Trina returned to her desk.

Somewhere

By Marcy Bloomingdale of Queens, New York

Roger and Felicity are doing ‘it’ on a big red bed on the murky
waters of the Long Island Sound.

“God!” Roger sighs , as he fills Felicity’s robust aperture.

“God back,” Felicity grins.

At last, unable to restrain his ghastly lust, Roger trumpets and ejects the squirmy substance of his love.

The End

Anjana stood up on his hind legs and gave Trina a standing ovation. “Bravo!”

The shadow boy did a somersault.

Felicity blushed and glanced at Roger.

“That was mighty fine!” said Roger. “That was mighty fine indeed!”

Trina curtsied and said thank you.

She packed everything except Felicity and Roger into her bag.

“Remember to forget you’re not real.” she said.

Then Trina picked up her bag and vanished.

Roger and Felicity

 

(c) Rob Goldstein 2019

The characters are fictional,  anyone resemblance to anyone other than me is
purely coincidental.

 

43 thoughts on “Trina: Trina Tells a Story”

  1. I’m very late getting around to this, Rob, but I’m so glad I didn’t skip it. I am captivated by: “Remember to forget you’re not real.” – That’s an amazing bit of advice.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you, Jan. I was pleased with how the characters in this story evolved. I think this series is a segue into the book I’m working on. As I began to pull together the material I realized I needed to write a prequel as well as an introduction to the characters. Thank God I follow such excellent professional writers. I would never have figured that out without reading your blogs.

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you, Diana. This is a kind of creation story. This is how the mind of a child with DID might understand adulthood and create alternates to fill roles. Regardless of the age of the body, the core self is always in a child struggling to survive. The alternates go into the world to pretend to be adult enough to survive.

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      1. Fascinating and it makes sense, Robert. It reminds me of childrens’ magical thinking that I often witnessed in grief counseling. A striving to make meaning and order out of situations that are beyond their understanding. Sending love to you. ❤

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Exactly, Diana. My life and writing are a reflection of living with dissociative identity disorder. If I don’t factor DID and the logic of DID into the formatting of my book, the book won’t make sense to the reader. I thought I could use the material I had, but the manuscript is jagged. Then I noticed how other writers use obscure devices called prequels and introductions to provide context and flow to the text. 🙂

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    1. LOL! That was a sudden turn. Elements of this story were drafted in 1984. The poem ‘Somewhere’ was first published in an anthology but it’s significantly different here. Actually, it was a terrible poem and I was horrified when it was published. 🙂

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