Home » Flash Fiction » 52 Flashes of Fiction: Week 23 – The Burden of Proof

52 Flashes of Fiction: Week 23 – The Burden of Proof

Tim is this little weaselly friend of mine who is good for taking to the car dealership with you when you want to get a deal but he’s generally not impressive otherwise. I guess you could say I was having a bad day but he was telling me about a date he’d supposedly had with Judy last weekend and I did not believe him.

Judy is this stacked girl who plays tennis in those little skirts and sometimes when she goes to get a stray ball there is a drop of sweat that runs ALL the way down the back of her thigh to her ankle. There is NO way Tim had a date with her.

I tried to cut him some slack for being a desperate liar but he wouldn’t shut up about it so I said, “Prove it.”

He said, “We went mini-golfing at the Putt-Putt Castle on Friday night and she beat me.”

And I said, “Big deal, you’re telling me that story, sure, but that doesn’t mean it’s true.”

So he said, “I have the receipt for the cheeseburgers we ate, probably somewhere I could find it.”

And I said, “You could’ve eaten cheeseburgers that night with anyone.”

So he said, “Oh, well, we did one of those booths where you make the little photo strips. I let her keep it but I’m sure I could ask for it to show you.”

But I just said, “That doesn’t mean she thought it was a date. And anyways Photoshop.”

And he was getting annoyed and was just like “Well, whatever” but I pushed it because I really was having a bad day and I said, “How could you possibly prove something like that to me? How could you possibly prove anything? Even if Judy herself came and told me it was true, how do I know you didn’t pay her to say that? Or even if I saw you there with my own two eyes because maybe I was taking out Helen who has that birthmark and we both saw you guys there, how does that prove that you actually were?”

And I hawked up a frustrated loogie and I continued, “You ever heard of solipsism, TIM? Ever heard of the concept that all of this could be made up in your head? Not YOUR head, TIM, because certainly you wouldn’t have imagined yourself to be such a scrawny weasel of a guy but made up in MY head, did you ever think of that, TIM? You can’t even prove you exist and so you certainly can’t prove you took JUDY JACOBSON out to mini-golf this weekend or that she blew you in the parking lot for fixing her taxes after she lost her tennis scholarship and couldn’t pay the money back that she already spent on ecstasy in Daytona Beach with me last spring. You can’t prove that any of that happened at all, Tim. You can’t.”

But enough of this story has been about Tim already so I won’t tell you his response. It doesn’t matter. Tim is just a fragment of my imagination, a part of me that needs to be annoyed and needs something to beat up on. Tim and Judy and Helen and everyone. And because I’m the only one whose argument ever matters, suffice it to say I won.

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