The two biker behemoths rolled around on the floor, punching and gouging, while the waitress cowered.
What I found under the bar decided which team to back.
On the cell phone, I dialed 911 and [send]. I tossed the shotgun to her.
Category Archives: Fiction Addiction
Shaking and twitching.
Amber Alert
“All of our hard work. The ungrateful brats don’t care how much blood and tears goes into it.”
“That’s right, but today we’re finally gonna make ‘em pay.”
“Are you sure this will work, Mabel?”
“‘Course it will. School lets out every day at three, there’s always a bunch of kids headed this way.”
“Time to show those little monsters who runs this town!”
“Is this what organized crime is like? I’m so excited!”
“Shhh, quiet Bessy. Here comes one now.”
—Photo courtesy of Waushara County Police Department. Dated July 17, 1997. First recorded meeting of the Central Wisconsin Moofia.
In response to this month’s 100WordStory photo prompt:
Party on, Puck
Following the sounds of drum and fiddle, I tiptoed down the stairs, unobtrusive as a shadow into my back yard.
They cavorted and capered in the moonbeam, flickers of color and movement. Tiny people, translucent dresses and just the hint of rapidly beating wings on the females and the jolly little men in verdant square-cut coats and jauntily cocked hats. Passing hand to hand in a ring to a joyous and unearthly reel.
Some noise alerted them. The music ceased abruptly. The last of them vanished through a gap in the fence.
Only the circle of toadstools was left.
In response to this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt:
Calaveras Concessions
When it came to a challenge, Jim Smiley just had to jump right in! But as his world-famous trained jumping frog lost contest after contest, Smilin’ Jim’s gambling debts slowly accumulated.
Moose and Rocko did everything they could to discourage Jim from entering the next contest. But Jim, ever the optimist, kept believing his fortune was waiting at the end of the next challenge. Gamblin’ Jim reached the point when Moose and Rocko had to violently encourage his perpetual retirement from the frog-jumping game, one night in a dark alley. Several months later, Jim Smiley could walk again.
But Jim did find his fortune in frogs, eventually.
You can enjoy it yourself, he’s now nationally franchised. Highrollin’ Diamond Jim’s Delicious Deep Fat Fried Frog Legs, bring home a finger-lickin’ bucket for your family today.
Inspired by this week’s Monday’s Finish the Story prompt and (of course) by Twain.
Intrigue River
Three days, two nights. Five hundred dollars per person, explore the wonders and beauty of Pine Creek!
I admit it, my business partner sold me on the idea. I was skeptical—this whole trip sounded much too “expert” for my minor river experience. I’d have plenty of time to learn as we traveled, he said. And the first two days went well, my confidence grew.
While stretching in preparation for the third day on the river, he warned that the extreme rapids were around the next bend.
Now I’m floating face down, and the rocks ahead seem like a problem.
Inspired by this week’s Picture It & Write prompt:
Not Captained by Morgan
Being stranded annoyed the crew of the Purulent Carbuncle.
“Mister Muttonhead! Where has our longboat, and our rum, gone?”
“Out to sea, sir,” the designated scapegoat stammered while scrutinizing the horizon.
“Why?”
“Sir, I’ve deduced three causes; poorly secured, tide, and current.”
Poor Spirit
The old typewriter had a mind of its own. But not an educated one.
It came from the estate of Madam Petulengro. According to the local press, she was once a noted psychic and medium. She earned a living channeling voices from the great beyond, the spirit world, so I theorized the typewriter must be haunted by one of her spirits.
It didn’t write with spirit. I had estimated it typed at a second grade level; including misspellings, typos, grammar and punctuation.
So I guessed it wouldn’t be making me rich and famous by ghost-writing great literature, after all.
Prompt: Monday’s Finish the Story for this week.
Swimming in the Desert
Coyote and the Skyfather are the oldest of friends. They’ve always enjoyed competition, contests, and riddle games.
One warm summer day, Coyote remarked to Skyfather, “It is such a hot day, I shall die if I don’t find a cool bath.”
“Let us see which of us can find the most refreshing bath,” said Skyfather, eyes already twinkling with the thought of a good trick he might play.
“Very well,” Coyote barked, “I accept your challenge.”
So Coyote was to go first and bathe in the Skyfather’s selected pool. Skyfather directed Coyote to a raised promontory, and told him to leap into the pool below.
Coyote leapt as instructed, and landed with a “fooph” in a pool of fine, gray dust.
Skyfather rolled on the ground, laughing, as Coyote jumped free of the dust-pool, hotter and more parched than ever.
(And that children, is why the Coyote is gray.)
But Coyote was undeterred and prepared his own pool carefully. He gathered hundreds of blueberries and added their juices to his favorite watering pool.
When Skyfather saw the pool he was to bathe in, he was delighted. He’d rained on this pool many times, and knew it to be cool and inviting. And so in he eagerly dove and swam for many refreshing hours.
When he climbed again from the pool, it was Coyote’s turn to laugh; for the Skyfather’s skin was now (of course) dyed a lovely shade of cerulean.
(And that, children, is why the Sky is blue.)
(250 words)
Inspired by this month’s Storybook Corner prompt:
Railroaded
Why do I like it?
Well, sure, I know it’s a hotel room painting, not worth anything. But I don’t buy Art for Investment.
Staring down the railroad tracks, I realize it is a metaphor for my life.
See there, tiny in the background, those two figures? My parents, young , from when I was just a child myself.
In the middle, the little girl? That’s my daughter, walking home from a long day in grade school.
The dog in the foreground is Rex, my last and best friend.
The pile of dirt the tracks run down represents… Oh, of course.
In response to this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt:
Nightfall
I am a subtle and silent harbinger of Death. You wouldn’t suspect it, meeting me. A meek and academic little man in a standard issue lab coat, shuffling down the hospital corridors completely unnoticed. Hand delivering oncology lab reports that extinguish lives.
ParkInkSpot 