Works of fiction and poetry by friends of Bamboo Ridge Press.


I am born. . . . If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.

And then there were three: November Year of the Dog Contest rules

Published by BAMBOO BUCKAROO | Saturday, November 03, 2018 5:48 AM

Feel free to add on to any one of the following choices. They've been narrowed to three. Don't forget to include the preceding parts of the story when you post your your addition.

They've been narrowed down to three story strands. Next time they'll be narrowed down to two choices.

This time you can write

EXACTLY 100 words


EXACTLY 200 words


EXACTLY 300 words

* * * * * Story Number One * * * * *

Dat Buggah Ma Fadda

(Part 1)

"So what da buggah said?"
ma madda asked afta
ma fadda dropped me off.

"About what?"

"About what?" she said,
mocking me. "How about
what he promised fo pay
me in child support?

About what?

How about what he owes
me for trowing one brick
tru my windshield?"

She sat at the table looking
out da window, her eyes
neva looking at mine.

I always hated wen she
brought him up.

Even yeas afta, wen
I tot she wen foget him
longtime already, she
go, out of da blue,

"Dat buggah was one
real piece of shit
I tell you."

(Part 2)

I neva saw ma fadda
trow da concrete brick
true da windshield of
ma madda's cah

but was obvious wen
I wen come home from
school an wen see da
brick laying on her dash

dea must have been
plenny angah, plenny
violence fo lodge da brick
halfway true da glass.

Ma madda could do
dat to one man, drag
her finganails true da
chalkboard of his back.

She wen leave da brick
like dat for days an den
wen call all her friends
fo checkom out.

"Imagine driving around
town wit dat!" she would
say, an everyone
would laugh.

(Part 3)

When I was small
ma fadda moved us
to one small town fo
make one new life.

He really moved us
so he could be wit
his new fling.

Ma madda neva knew
til was too late.

Da night she found
out, she came home
smelling like cigarettes
and booze.

I could hear her
sobbing in her room.

I opened da door
and saw her laying
naked in bed, crying.

I wanted fo comfort
her but I neva knew
wat fo do since she
no mo clothes.

All I did was stand dea
quietly as she cried
herself to sleep.

(Part 4)

One story ma madda
could tell ova an ova
again is da one wea ma
fadda wen almost get
run ova by his mistress
in our yard.

"She was da crazy one,
driving around in her cah,
screaming at da top of
her lungs, 'I goin kill you!'

An just like one tru punk
he go diving in da bushes
afta she wen accelerate,
lights blazing in his eyes.

Dat witch used to drive
by our house every
damn night!

I could see her from
our lanai, her head
sticking out da window,
driving back an fort,
back an fort."

* * * * * Story Number Two * * * * *

So What da Buggah Said?

(Part One)

"So what da buggah said?" Rudy the barber asks me.

“Some bullshit about Denise and Chris.”

I’m waiting for a haircut. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Christopher Andaya enter. He’s dark, looks real Hawaiian.

“Chris, whas’up?”

Suddenly he pulls a knife, comes at me. I grab my gun inside my jacket and shoot him three times, but instead of dying, he turns around and staggers outside. I follow.

I say, “Chris, you’re supposed to be dead already,” and boom, he goes down. I flip him over.

His face looks weird, his eyes all glassy, looking up at me like I’m God.

(Part Two):

“Hey, Chris. No ack. We bot’ know dis not no real gun. Don’ go Deadman’s Gulch on me.”

“You mean Old Pali Road?”

“Yeah, wotevahs. Wit’ one trunkload of pork.”

“An’ da cah when stall.”

“An’ no staht.”

“Bumebye dey trow away da pork.”

“Hey, if dey when turn da cah aroun’ an’ head’m back down da mountain . . .?”



“Dey gif da peeg to somebody goin’ da uddah way.”

“To town?”


“K’den, bra. Bra, you doing OK?”

“Yeah, no. Nevah bettah.”

“Den gif back da gun.”

“Dis not no real gun.”

“Gif’m to me, Chris.”

“Firs’, da shiv.”

(Part Three)

I feel the warmth disappear, see the light. Where –

“You talk plenny kine when you asleep,” Rudy says.

I feel my face. Clean. This guy can handle a straight razor. “I fell asleep?”

“Yeah. You was talking all kine. Had someting about a Chris somebody. Someting about Denise. What’s wit all da guns an knives an shooting? Whas wit God? Tell me you not born again.”

“I . . . Rudy, I haven’t seen Denise for days. I don’t know where she is. You haven’t heard of Chris Andaya?”

“Oh, Chris Andaya. Scary. He get someting to do wit Denise?”

(Part 4)

“She nevah go your mom’s?” Rudy asks.

I tell him no, it’s my mom who said she couldn’t get ahold of Denise.

“Rudy, you know Andaya. Like I said, Kuroda been talking shit about Chris and Denise.”

“Not good. Yeah, no, I nevah hear nuttin’”

Rudy knows people. But you gotta pay up front. Like a haircut and a shave is a good start, but maybe just a down-payment depending. Maybe you gotta tip heavy kine.

Rudy knows people as tough as Chris. Maybe tougher. People who come from dark spaces, do their job, disappear. You’d never see them strolling the mall at Ala Moana. The only time you see these guys is when they materialize on your doorstep. And the only thing they bring is bad news. Sometimes a warning, sometimes a little hurt, and sometimes, well, you know. They’re like ghosts.

“Rudy, who can I talk to? I need to know if she’s gone back to work. If she really is mixed up with Chris again.”

Rudy rubs his chin. “You mean someone you can talk to, or someone who only goin’ talk to me?”

“Whoever, Rudy. Whatever you can do to help my sister. You tell me.”

* * * * * Story Number Three * * * * *

Wishing Well

(Part 1)

When you wish for something hard enough, you just might get it. Then
comes the part about how hard you thought about what happens next, as
in being careful what you wish for. Jiminy Cricket says nothing about
which star you should wish upon, nor about possible evil consequences
of choosing poorly. How about the venerable first star I see tonight?
Does that imply a filter, a guarantee against bad choices and evil
consequences? Suppose you say you're bored stiff and wish something
interesting would happen? By interesting you mean? Who cares? Nothing
could be worse than this. Let's give it a shot: I really wish
something interesting would happen. Oh-oh.

(Part 2)

Wisharama in Wishitopia in G-flat minor

How old were you when you realized “I wish I knew” does not
necessarily mean you want to know?

What it more likely means is that you don’t want to take the time to
find out. Or it’s not worth knowing. Or you’re too lazy. Or . . .

Or maybe you do know but telling would take too dang long. Or you
don’t want us to know. Or . . .

How old are you, anyway? What makes any of this the least bit scary? (Isn’t it?)

I wish I knew. I wish, really wish, you’d think hard about it, then
let us all know.

(Part 3)

The list of things people wish for is endless. Ever try to visualize
“endless”? What’d you see?

I see a long, long adding-machine tape with individual handwritten
entry after entry after entry, curling and unfurling slowly out into
dark and endless space, destination infinity, wherever it can be

I wish I could see what Carl Sagan and Stephen Hawking saw. Or what
Neil Degrasse Tyson sees.

Elon Musk. Does he really wish to spawn the movement that puts humans
everywhere? Literally everywhere? Would that be wishing well? I wish I

Wait. I know.

Only look at planet Earth. Clever humanstuff everywhere. Everywhere!
Purely natural stuff nowhere. Nowhere! (Hippie stuff, we smugly

Will we learn better over time? Or will we remain too clever by half
until the too-rapidly-nearing end? When the cows come home? When what
goes around comes around?

What do you wish to be when you grow up? An NFL star? Rock star? Movie
star? Media star? Multijillionaire on-line entrepreneur? Maybe a
pussygrabbing USA President? (Or, you know, grab whatever.)

How about alive and well in a shared natural setting? Are we wishing
well? Wish you knew?

You know you know.


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