Milton didn’t like Milton, and he wouldn’t or couldn’t explain to anyone why he didn’t. And Milton wondered why Milton didn’t like him. One day Milton confronted Milton, “Why do you dislike me, Milton? I’ve treated you decently, haven’t I?” Milton was visibly upset that Milton had chosen to confront him. “You’re not real. You shouldn’t use the name Milton.” Milton’s eyes widened with shock, “My name is Milton. It has always been Milton, the same as yours.” “If that’s so, why did your car leak oil all over my driveway? It took months to clean the mess.” “You’ve never said anything about this to me before. Why didn’t you speak up earlier?” “And you’ve never complimented me for my barbecued chicken. If you were authentically named Milton you would have complimented me for my barbecued chicken.”
Milton was stymied. “This is frustrating me. The last time I was this frustrated was after I accidentally shot myself in the leg with my sawed-off shotgun.” Milton’s eyes widened with shock. “You shot yourself in the leg with a sawed-off shotgun?” Milton nodded his head and said, “Yes.” “Had you replaced the handle with a pistol grip? And were you trying to pull it out of a holster belted at your hip?” Again Milton nodded and said, “Yes.” “Were you practicing your quick draw like Marshall Dillon on tv?” A third time Milton nodded and said, “Yes.”
Milton’s eyes welled up with tears and he gave Milton a hug, saying, “Hot damn, you are a real Milton.”
Bio: offbeatjim wittenberg is a writer from California, and frequent contributor of fiction and poetry to Full Of Crow, MUST, Fashion For Collapse, and more. He is also active at the Outsider Writers Collective and The Sphere.