By: Anime Blob
A/N: As promised to the members of the fellow forum, here is my Home Movies fan fiction. You'll have to forgive the language in this story. Also, this was my first time writing a Home Movies fix, so please be nice with the reveiws.
Disclaimer: Home Movies isn't mine.
The chilly November air whistled throughout the air. It was days like these where few, select people were outdoors, doing things like apple picking, or going shopping for their child molester of a cousin.
Ripley might not of believed it, but it was days like these where 18 year-old Brendon Small went to certain places. It had been over a year ago since he and his friend, Jason, had moved to the city, and had become roommates. Granted, this little factor had gotten interesting on weekend nights, but the young director needed a break from his now boarder-line now and again.
With a black coat draped around his body, the young adult made his way down the bland sidewalk. Small shops were all lined up along the left side. Most of these shops were drug and coffee stores, but, once in a blue moon, something different will open up.
Stopping at the end corner, Brendon eyed up at a small, yellow building. He smiled at the sign that read "Memory Diner" at the top as he entered.
A small bell rung as the door swung open. Upon entering, anyone's eyes could see that this diner was nothing special. All there was were red booths, a menu, a trashcan or two, and a counter.
Brendon causally strolled up to the wooden counter. An old, wrinkled woman sat there, with a cigarette in her right hand. She took a puff before asking, "What do you want?"
The redhead coughed from the foul smoke. To this, he injected his opinion on the small matter. "Um, excuse me, but I really don't think you should smo-"
However, he was quickly cut off. "Listen, bitch," started the women, narrowing her eyes. "I can do whatever the hell I want here. Now, tell me, what do you want?"
With his eyes wide at this rude reply, Brendon quickly replied, "All I wanted was a burger and fries!"
The old chain-smoker went into the back. About sixty seconds later, she returned with a red tray, which she quickly disposed of by shoving it into the customer's arms. "$2.50."
"Yeah, sure." Even with the tray in the way, Mr. Small somehow was able to get into his coat pocket. Digging around in the big holder, his hand had stumbled upon something smooth. It felt like… a video case.
"Hurry up!" screeched the woman. She had officially lost her patience with this boy.
Brendon had finally found his credit card after rubbing the mysterious item, He pulled it out, and the woman swiped it. "Good day, bitch. Enjoy your goddamn meal."
The redhead turned around and swiftly made his way to an empty booth. He sat his meal down, and removed his black jacket, exposing his normal, blue attire. Ignoring the aroma of the greasy food awaiting him, the 18 year-old began searching through the cotton pockets. An object slipped into his hand.
Retrieving the object of wonder from his jacket, Brendon realized that the item was, in fact, a video case. When he, Jason, and Melissa, his other friend, had made a 400-movie career as children, this was one of the many films they had made together. If his memory was correct, this specific motion picture centered around friends drifting apart…Friends drifting apart…
Then, it hit him. Brendon hadn't gotten together with his two friends in over 10 years. Melissa had to move away, due to her father's job. Jason was still here, but he had changed. All his lovely roommate cared to do was spend "quality time" with him. He no longer cared about making features.
Breaking his trance of thought, Brendon looked ahead of him. Across from his seat sat a little boy, with an extremely high-pitched voice. "May I have your fries before my dads come back?" he asked, smiling.
A sigh escaped his lips. He had never been able to finish his own damn fries, anyway. The young adult pushed whole tray over to the little kid. Swinging his jacket around his waist, he stood up, slowly. Trudging over, he pushed the door open on his way out, the silent bell ringing.
The November aired swirled around the city. It was days like these where people thought about memories, vivid and dim, inside themselves. For Brendon Small, these memories leaked out through hot tears, stinging his eyes, from the immortal longing in his heart.