How the Cookie Crumbles

Life and scribbles on the far side of SIXTY-FIVE


67 Comments

#BlogBattle Week 45 – Prompt: Dive

To join  and / or meet the wizard behind this challenge click below:

http://rachaelritchey.com/blogbattle/

Rules:  

  1. 1000 wordsmax
  2. fictionaltale (or true if you really want)
  3. PG(no more than PG-13Content – let’s keep this family friendly!
  4. Your story must contain the word(s) from the theme and/or be centered aroundthe theme in a way that shows it is clearly related
  5. Go for the entertainmentvalue!
  6. State the Genre of your storyat the top of your post.
  7. Post your story on Tuesday, by 11:59 PM PST
  8. Use the hashtag #BlogBattle when tweeting your story, put a link back to your #BlogBattle Short Story in the comments section of this page, and/or include a link to this page in your own blog post(it creates a “ping-back” which will alert me and our friends to your #BlogBattle post)
  9. Have fun!

Each winner will receive the awesome #BlogBattle Winner Badge to display with their winning story on their webpage.

***********************************************************

woman-933488_960_720

Goldilocks?

An unusual number of parked cars clogged the street in front of her apartment. Sandy grumbled and turned left twice to the underground garage, at the back of the building. She reached for the remote but it wasn’t on the visor. “Where the…?” An impatient car horn sounded behind her and inched forward closer. She tapped her horn back at him. Wait. The driver laid on the horn again like there was a fire.

Though early spring and breezy, Sandy’s armpits soaked through her light jacket. Blinking in concentration, she pawed the passenger seat, in the crevices, and on the floor. No luck. Her head snapped at the thump on her driver’s window unable to identify the face bent towards her.

“Open the window.” A man’s voice growled the words, and pixel by pixel, she discerned a human face: short clipped beard, mustache, angry brown eyes, nose skimming the glass. “Well?”

She snapped into action and cranked the handle a couple times. “Sorry. I’ve misplaced my remote. Let me in with yours and I’ll be out of your hair.” She wound up the window, forced a smile and set her hands on the steering wheel. Eyes bulging, he threw his hands into the air. Muttering something colorful, he slapped the window again, and stomped off. Heart racing like a thundering locomotive, her focus on the garage door, Sandy gripped the steering wheel. The double-door creaked and yawned open. Without skipping a beat, she lurched forward and around the corner to her designated spot.

Parked, then out in a flash, she noted the remote on the floor on the driver’s side. She dashed towards the trunk, grabbed her parcels and raced to the elevator. She did not intend to share the pleasure of his company in such a cramped space. Before the door slid shut, a hand plunged to the button on the wall outside without success. Muscles tense and rigid, Sandy shrieked and watched the door slip to its final destination. “Yes!”

The elevator stopped on the third floor. Sandy grasped the handles on her shopping bags and backed into a corner. Old Ma Murphy, as the the tenants called her, tapped her way into the elevator, the splitting image of the famous Einstein. “Hello, dear. Don’t you look a fright. Everything okay?”

Sandy raised a clutch of bag handles to her chest and exhaled. “Sure. I’m good. Had a tense moment with a nasty driver.”

“One reason why I never took up driving, especially these days.” The door creaked shut an inch from Ma Murphy’s behind. She poked her cane at the scruffy carpet. “Mrs. Swain is home from hospital. In need of pleasant company, she said. Going to make her tea.”

Sandy glanced at the red floor numbers. Creak. Creak. They stopped on five. Old Ma Murphy pointed the stick at her packages. “Ever wonder if you spend too much money on nonsense?”  She said, “Tsk-tsk,” circled round and shuffled out, shaking her head. “Young people these days.” The door scraped to a close and rocked upward taking its sweet time to the 11th floor.

Her floor was empty.  Already smells of early suppers cooking reminded her she’d forgotten lunch. Dropping the bags in front of 1105, Sandy fished for keys in her purse. She came up empty. This isn’t happening. It’s not happening. Hairline damp, she stamped her foot and tried again. Teeth clenched, fingers fumbled and clawed. They closed around the key ring. A door slammed in the hall, but she didn’t look up. Instead, she stabbed the lock and pushed the door with more force than intended.

Inside, she leaned against the closed door, eyes and ears on alert. Something odd hung in the air. A sixth sense held her back, wary. There couldn’t be anyone else in the apartment. She’d made enough noise to wake up the dead, hadn’t she?

The kitchen on her right, she tiptoed inside. No one and nothing. Why is it, she wondered, when you think an intruder might be in your house you don’t run for help? Instead, you choke on your heart, crossing fingers no one’s there. She grabbed the meat cleaver off the counter and almost called out, ‘Is someone here?’ Stupid question. Would an intruder answer, ‘Yes, me, the intruder.’ Living- and dining-rooms clear. Nothing worth stealing anyway.

Short of collapsing from tension, Sandy crept down the hallway. Had she shut the bedroom door before going out? She turned the knob with exquisite care, and pushed in the door, not allowing it to slam. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. One door left: the bathroom. She listened. Not a sound. A strong aroma of orange blossom bubble bath enveloped her.

Beyond terror now, Sandy wrenched the door open. A body took a dive beneath the bubbles, red-painted toenails trailed in the air. She’d recognize them anywhere.

“Clarisse. What are you doing here?” Hand thrust in the water, she shoved the head down, panting and collapsed on the floor. “How’d you get in?”

The body popped up, short hair clinging to scalp and face, gasping for air. A pale hand swept across her eyes and over her forehead, teeth gleaming like piano keys. “What a way to greet your little sister. Don’t you check your texts? We’re celebrating your promotion.”

“How’d you get in?”

“You gave me a key, silly.” Clarisse arched ink-black brows and rolled her eyes. “I buzzed and buzzed until a cute guy with a beard and mustache let me in.”

Sandy dropped the cleaver and covered her face. “You almost gave me a stroke.”

“Drama queen. Out—and then it’s your turn. We have a double date tonight.”

“Who? Not…”

Clarisse wiggled wet eyebrows.

The End

© 2015 Tess @ How the Cookie Crumbles

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45 Comments

#BlogBattle Week 32 – Prompt: Mars

To join  and / or meet the wizard behind this challenge click below:

http://rachaelritchey.com/blogbattle/

Rules:

  1. 1000 words max
  2. fictional tale (or true if you really want)
  3. PG (no more than PG-13) Content – let’s keep this family friendly!
  4. Your story must contain the word(s) from the theme and/or be centered around the theme in a way that shows it is clearly related
  5. Go for the entertainment value!
  6. State the Genre of your story at the top of your post.
  7. Post your story on Tuesday, by 11:59 PM PST
  8. Use the hashtag #BlogBattle when tweeting your story, put a linkback to your #BlogBattle Short Story in the comments section of this page, and/orinclude a link to this page in your own blog post(it creates a “ping-back” which will alert me and our friends to your #BlogBattle post)
  9. Have fun!

Each winner will receive this awesome #BlogBattle Winner Badge to display with their winning story on their webpage:

************************************************************

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Choices

Part 4

Sporting a practiced smile, Victoria smoothed Sylvie’s brow. “Sleep.” She straightened like an automaton and headed for the door. Hand on the jamb, she glanced over her shoulder. Good. The girl’s breathing sounded steady and even.

Heart strumming like a Spanish guitar, she sprinted down the hall to the kitchen. A car door slammed. She seized her purse and coat off the chair, but froze when a key slid into the lock and Steve bounded in, but halted with a jerk at the top of the steps, a foot suspended in mid-air. Cocky as a barnyard rooster, he plastered on a smirk.

“To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” He wiggled bristly black brows pantomiming the likes of Groucho Marx of vaudeville and slapstick fame.

Clearing her throat, Victoria proceeded to throw on her coat. “Maybe you should first ask where your wife is. She’s at the hospital with the baby.”

“What’s wrong with my son?”

“All I know is he has a high fever and won’t stop crying.” She bit her lip. With the little contact she’d had him, she’d never looked at his face. She did now, startled by his puzzled voice. He had that suave dark look about him Latin men exuded, but on him it came off as arrogant. A curl hung down his forehead adding to the Sal Mineo look she’d seen in old movie magazines her mother still hoarded.

“Your wife took a cab to Emerge. I’ll stay with the girls if you want to find her.”

“I wouldn’t mind spending more time with the girls either.” He crossed burly arms across a broad chest, leaned against the door frame, and snorted.

“Keep your tone down.” Fists clenched till her nails cut into her palms, Victoria listened for activity from the bedrooms. “It’s the least I can do as repayment for the other day.”

“Cozy. Already we’re exchanging favors. What’s next? Christmas cards?”

Mouth flapping like a fish out of water, words failed her. Victoria slapped her purse and tried again.” What is wrong with you? Where have you been living? Mars?”

Steve rocked back on his heels squinting down his nose at her. “Little Miss Perfect has all the answers.”

“Wha…?”

“I got a wife needs me.” Nostrils flared, he blew a noisy breath. Color rose in his cheeks as he spun away and down the stairs in a huff.

Victoria fanned trembling fingers against her breastbone. What’s his problem? This has to stop.

Lost in thought, muffled voices dragged her back to the present. Whipping off her coat, she tip-toed towards the sound. Talking, then laughter. Sylvie wasn’t in her bed. Victoria gasped, a fist to her mouth. By the light of the half-opened bathroom door, she made out two forms in Sarah’s bed, her older sister’s head on her shoulder while she mumbled in her sleep. Mesmerized by the sleeping twosome, she remembered three sisters cramped in a bed during her own youth, out of necessity not choice.

She dared peek into the bathroom mirror and shrank back. She might as well be naked: face pale as a ghost without her usual makeup and lips bloodless and grey as a corpse. Instead of crying with humiliation, she hastened to laugh inwardly. This is last minute after all, an emergency.

Back in the kitchen, she paced, looked around for a book, a magazine. Anything. The wall clock above the art-cluttered fridge showed 9:15 p.m. She flicked on the light in the living-room. A stack of movie magazine littered the coffee table. She laughed out loud. Carol and her mother were cut from the same cloth. She grabbed the heap and settled into a kitchen chair. First, tea called to her.

Victoria checked the kettle, plucked a mug from the drain board, and rummaged in her purse for the Ziploc bag of teabags she carried. The kettle shrieked. She poured the water and jumped sky-high at a disruptive jangle. Water spilled all over the counter. Oh great! It buzzed again; the ringing insistent. She threw a tea towel on the flood and followed the noise.

“Hello?” She stretched and twirled the black cord around her fingers. “How’s the baby?” Victoria let go and watched the rubber covered wiring spring back to its original curly shape. “Wonderful news—yes, he left here about ten minutes ago.” The clock on the fridge wall read 9:33 p.m. “See you soon.”

Victoria cleaned up the wet mess on the counter. The tea cooled past her liking, she drank it anyway, rinsed the mug and returned it to its last place. The magazines returned to the coffee table, she dropped into a kitchen chair to wait already checking her cell for missed calls or messages. Nothing. A yawn reminded her how long the day had been.

A distant, but building drone, fragmented the silence. Soon the noise drowned out the steady tick tock of the clock. A car door slammed, and then another. A murmur of voices outside and then inside the kitchen. The baby asleep, Carol smiled wide, eyes shining. Dressed and prepared to flee, Victoria squeezed her arm as she headed to the door.

“Wait. Don’t go yet. Back in a sec.”

Steve gave her a darting gaze and disappeared down the hall.  Victoria shifted her weight and admired the floor.

“Would you like tea and a sweet?”

“Maybe another time. You must be tired. Goodnight.”

Nerves dancing a rumba, Victoria hastened down the drive. She blew out a breath unaware she’d been holding it. She slipped her key into the lock.

Nothing turned. Nothing touched. Nothing moved.

She stomped on the rubber door mat and flapped her hands.

“Problems?” The nasal voice dripped with sarcasm over the low privet fence, separating their properties.

To be continued

 

© 2015 Tess @ How the Cookie Crumbles. All Rights Reserved.


58 Comments

#BlogBattle Week 31- Prompt: Scar

To join  and / or meet the wizard behind this challenge click below:

http://rachaelritchey.com/blogbattle/

Rules:

  1. 1000 words max
  2. fictional tale (or true if you really want)
  3. PG (no more than PG-13) Content – let’s keep this family friendly!
  4. Your story must contain the word(s) from the theme and/or be centered around the theme in a way that shows it is clearly related
  5. Go for the entertainment value!
  6. State the Genre of your story at the top of your post.
  7. Post your story on Tuesday, by 11:59 PM PST
  8. Use the hashtag #BlogBattle when tweeting your story, put a linkback to your #BlogBattle Short Story in the comments section of this page, and/orinclude a link to this page in your own blog post(it creates a “ping-back” which will alert me and our friends to your #BlogBattle post)
  9. Have fun!

Each winner will receive this awesome #BlogBattle Winner Badge to display with their winning story on their webpage:

************************************************************

Part 1

Part 2

Choices – Part 3

Victoria shut off the hallway light at the top of the stairs, and hesitated. She tiptoed to the bedroom window, the way illuminated by the streetlight across the road. Nerves tighter than a cat’s, she giggled and slapped a hand over her mouth. She crept to the window, but couldn’t see a living being through lazy rivulets of dark rain. No matter how she smooshed her face against the glass, it wasn’t possible to see straight down.

She drew the curtains and felt around for the bedside light switch. Except for the tick-tock of her wind-up clock, no other sounds came within hearing range. Heartbeat slowed to match the clock, she collapsed on the bed. Victoria stared at the ceiling oblivious of its existence.

A small displacement on the mattress beside her shoulder interrupted her reverie. Time had stood still for only a couple minutes. It was 7:37 p.m. “Marmaduke. See anything out there?” The tom settled on all fours as if ready to pounce, blinked and wiggled his ears. His head moved back and forth not unlike someone searching for the right words to announce bad news. “Guess I’m the only ‘fraidy cat here.” The cat stretched a hind leg and groomed himself.

“I might as well get into bed and catch up on my reading. Be right back.” Victoria rolled off the bed with the cat at her heels.

While brushing her teeth, the day’s latter events crossed her mind. She’d called a taxi to deliver her key to the auto club. By day’s end, two young studs, driving in tandem, delivered the car to the office after closing. Gold Membership had its merits. At last she smiled into the mirror, toothpaste trailing down her chin. Marmaduke turned tail and sashayed away, tail high in the air.

An insistent pounding on the side door erased the smile. Now what? She grabbed a towel, stumbled down the stairs, and stopped. The cat already waited below the stairs by the side door. She peered around the corner though a yellow cotton curtain covered the door’s upper window.

“Please help me.” A voice muffled and sobbing pleaded.

Victoria sprang into action, seized the cat,  and wrenched open the door. “What’s wrong? Come in. Come in. I thought you were at the school. I didn’t hear your car return.”

The wind carried the baby’s bawling from next door. “We didn’t go. Steve’s not home. My baby’s sick and a cab’s coming… to the hospital. Can you please watch my girls? They’re already in bed…”

“Sure, sure. Here’s the cab. I’ll hurry.” Victoria charged upstairs for her cell and purse. She yanked her coat out of the hall closet. Tenting it over her head against the fine mist, she slammed the door. What was the clunk when the door banged shut?

She noted the driver had parked too close to the house. The neighbor’s side door wide open, she raced inside and up the stairs. The layout different here, she stepped into the kitchen. Mother and howling baby careened towards her. “Careful. You don’t want to trip.”

“ThankyouI’mCarol. You’re a life-savor. Can’t reach my mother either.” The women held on to each other, one cradling her baby, the other supporting his mother. The cab driver didn’t exit the car to help the struggling women. Or open the back door. “Get in on the driver’s side.” Victoria rushed back to the house. The taxi reversed down the drive.

I’m in a stranger’s house whose husband gives me the creeps. What if he comes back before she does? The thought stuck like a scar.

She’d kicked off her wet shoes at the door. Barefoot in the center of the kitchen, she surveyed her surroundings. The furnishing was neat, but in need of serious updating. The kitchen cabinets begged sanding and repainting or complete replacement. Chipped paint and cracked doors frowned in embarrassment. Countertops showed wear past their due date and the floor tiles were of the old asbestos type. The sense of someone watching jolted her heartbeat. No-one else in the house but the girls, right?

A glance over her shoulder triggered an involuntary gasp. “Sylvie. I thought you were asleep.” Except for worried hands clutching and unclutching each other, the girl stood rooted to the spot, eyes glazed and unblinking.

“You remember me, right? You and Sarah came to visit the day I moved in?”

Her nod, though slight, proved she understood.

“You wonder why the baby stopped crying and why I’m in your house?”

Another slight nod. Eyes blinked shut for an instant and flicked open. The hands slowed their twisting. “Your momma took a taxi to the hospital with your brother. He’s sick. Want me to tuck you in?”

The girl gaped about as if looking for something. Or someone.

“Your daddy isn’t home either. That’s why I’m here.”

The girl tilted her head, brow furled in thought. Victoria held her breath and waited. I don’t know a thing about kids. Hope I don’t spook her.

Sylvie loosened her hands, smoothed her long pink princess nightie, with tiny steps approached her and grabbed her hand. With a shy smile to break many hearts to come, she tugged till Victoria followed. In the bedroom’s doorway, a long forgotten question popped into her head. “Do you need the bathroom before bed?

The girl shook her head.

“No school Saturday but a girl needs her beauty sleep.” Victoria smiled and pulled back the covers. The girl slipped in, eyes wide and searching. “Don’t worry. I’ll be here till someone comes home. Sleep tight. Maybe you and sister Sarah will visit again soon.”

Sylvie smiled. Sarah twitched and sighed in her sleep in the other bed.

The long-suffering roar of a mutilated tailpipe shredded the quiet night.

To be continued

© 2015 Tess @ How the Cookie Crumbles. All Rights Reserved.


73 Comments

100-Word Challenge for Grownups – Week #168

To join in, click below:

https://jfb57.wordpress.com/2015/02/16/100-word-challenge-for-grown-ups-week168/

 This week’s prompt is …the blue was sapphire… + 100 words

100wcgu-72

THE RECEPTION

Drink in hand, I skimmed the room. Lights blazed, children squealed, and the discordant orchestra tuned up. Receptions are boring without a date.

A commotion caught my attention. Upswept copper curls bobbed through the crowd. A pale cerulean gown, delicate as angels’ breath, floated towards me. The exquisite creature peered up brows raised, her eyes—the blue was sapphire—like the gem… “Can I help you?” My voice cracked.

“Get me out of here, please?” She drifted forward. Like a puppy after a treat, I loped behind her. The night might not be a complete waste.

“Where to?”

“A drive maybe?”

“Husband problems?”

“Girlfriend.”

 

© 2015 All Rights Reserved Tess and How the Cookie Crumbles


50 Comments

100-Word Challenge for Grownups – Week #143

To join the fun, check out

http://jfb57.wordpress.com/2014/08/05/100-word-challenge-for-grown-ups-week143/

This week’s prompt:  …the parched ground crumbled…+ 100 words

100wcgu-72

HOME AT LAST

Ivy wrenched the wheel as hard as she could; the car swerved. Angry gravel scattered and pelted the hubcaps. She panted and wheezed, and coasted to a stop. The old red house of her youth had endured. Home at last. Relieved tears obscured her view.

Hands shaking, she heaved her age-worn bones out of the car, grasped her cane and hobbled to the backyard. The parched ground crumbled beneath her feet. Ancient and useless as me, I see.

Cr-r-ruck. A raven carped. Ugly birds endured too.

I’d much rather die here alone than in that stinking nursing home. No-one will think to look here.


73 Comments

100-Word Challenge for Grown-ups – Week #140

To join, check out:

http://jfb57.wordpress.com/2014/07/02/100-word-challenge-for-grown-ups-week140/

This week’s prompt: The photo below + 100 words

100wcgu-72

PALERMO

wpid-photo-20140702084425

“Reenie, come back.”

“One minute.” She rummaged inside her shoulder bag and whipped out a digital camera.

“Come on. We’ll miss the train.” His hot breath prickled her neck.

Hands unsteady, she fidgeted with the strap and buttons. “Give me a sec.”  The purse slid down her arm and she fought for balance struggling to take the picture. “Incredible sunset!”

“Please. The train?”

“Hold this?” She checked her shots and grinned.

Face pinched and distressed, he caught her arm and tugged. They dashed to the car.

“Tomorrow, a Palermo sunset. I’ll take my bag now.”

“What?”

A train whistle shrieked.


92 Comments

Day 1: Getting to the Airport

A huge thank you to all my blogging pals for the incredible welcome home I’ve received, and which still continues. I imagined I’d sneak back and slide into my old spot little noticed, but it’s been like a party around here. It’s been heartening to be back in the fold. Hi all. Muah. Glad to be back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Our journey hadn’t started on a high note. The limo driver called. Change in plans.  Sue, my traveling companion would be picked up first. Call her please?

“Why the heck is he coming here first? I’m not ready.” I heard her pawing the carpet like a bull offered the crimson cape.

“Stop wasting time. Get dressed.” I slammed down the phone. Already I was a little high strung because I’d been up since 7:00 a.m. Thursday and it was 3:00 on Friday morning. Afraid to nap in case I slept through and missed my ride, I held off. I’d sleep after Chicago I thought.

The limo driver turned out to be a handsome, hunky older gent with abundant silver hair not unlike Jeff Chandler’s and he had a thick and attractive accent. There was one teeny-tiny problem. His driving almost gave us heart failure. Rain obscured the road and he didn’t put on the windshield wipers often enough. When we came to a crossroad he asked which way to turn. Sue and I almost jumped out of the car, but we had a plane to catch. We gripped and clutched the leather upholstery instead.  The GPS came on and Mr. Handsome made a decision, which turned out to be the appropriate one. It put us on the highway to the airport.

Wiki commons. Credit Alex Proimos

Wiki commons. Credit Alex Proimos

The driver wanted to chat. We preferred he put on the wipers and watch his driving. We watched for him to be sure we made it in one piece. At one point, a transport truck passed and drowned our Towne Car with its spray and impeded visibility to zero. I closed my eyes and figured we’re going to China by way of heaven.

By some miracle we made it to the airport. Mr. Hubba-Hubba couldn’t find the United Airlines exit. Sue pointed it out to him with a long-nailed finger and an assertive voice. Twice. The limo company had already been paid by credit card so we rushed into the airport with our luggage as soon as the driver lifted our bags from the trunk.

What a melee. The sane side of my brain knew all these people hadn’t turned up to bid us farewell but my brain wasn’t firing on all pistons. The easy answer was I don’t know that many people; Sue doesn’t either.

Tickets. Done. Luggage weighed, tagged and ready to drop off. U.S. Custom card filled out. Carrots and celery confiscated. Oops. I forgot two apples in my bag as well. Sue had grapes. Snack preparation all for naught. What had we been thinking? The customs guys rolled their eyes. Glad to be of service fellas. We know your job is boring. X-rayed, scanned and processed, we trudged miles and miles to gate F90. Toronto is an unsympathetic and sprawling airport. No walkalators anywhere.

We were relieved to board finally, but the rain still drizzled and no entry bridge had been setup. This was a toy plane for only about 60 passengers. It was frigid inside and then too hot. Sue asked the steward might he turn down the heat a smidge. He turned it off. No-one complained. They must have been frozen or asleep. Maybe both.

United_787_800_RR

We taxied, and taxied some more. Was the pilot lost or couldn’t he make up his mind? Then, surprise. The plane sped up, and like the Road Runner, took a long running leap into the air. Flight time: one hour and 40 minutes and a noisy, bumpy and chilly ride. Touchdown was a blessing. More rain awaited in the windy city.

One wrinkle of our journey ironed out.

Five hours and 25 minutes to fritter away.

~ * ~

Next time: 25 ways to kill five hours and 45 minutes at Chicago airport.


51 Comments

100-Word Challenge for Grown-ups Week #130

‘What is 100WCGU?

This week’s prompt: … but it has nuts in…

100wcgu-72

Used.

Charlie leaned beneath the rusted hood again. What genius unloaded this useless wreck on my son?

“Where’d you get this old rattletrap, LeRoy?”

“It was free, Pop.”

“Not worth anything, that’s sure.”

“I want to fix and drive it.”

Charlie jerked his head out too fast and banged his head. “Ow!” Dead cigar clamped hard between his yellowed teeth, he shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, do you?”

“Won’t cost nothing neither. I found this box of…”

“Doesn’t matter.”

But it has nuts in here, bolts and screws.”

“What you need is an engine, boy. Got one in there, do you?”


40 Comments

Flash in the Pan – Models

Tiny led the way, cupping his hand at shoulder height in a come-hither fashion.

Creak.

“Ahh.” His friend, Sammy, whimpered and bit a knuckle as he crashed into the hallway wall.

“Don’t be such a girl. Do you want to see or not?” Tiny turned the glass doorknob to the last room.

“W-oo-w! How come you never showed me before?” Sammy shoved up his thick glasses.

Tiny pushed out his chest and rocked on his heels. “Didn’t think you’d be interested?”

“Awesome. How many models are here?”

“About a hundred, different years and makes. Don’t touch.”

Microsoft Clipart

Microsoft Clipart

“Took your brother a long time, huh? You ever help?”

“Nah. The glue smell makes me puke.”

This black car—oops.”

“I said…”

Sammy’s mouth dropped. Eyes enormous, he let out a squeal.

Creak.

On his knees, ears on fire, Tiny’s chin whipped over his shoulder.

“What are you boys doing in here?”

“Becca.”

~ * ~

The Winter Quarter of Flash in the Pan is here. The theme: Boys and Their Toys. For rules and how to join, click: http://mommasmoneymatters.com/flash-fiction/

The word limit for Models is 150 words. I used them all.


43 Comments

Flash in the Pan – Car

Every second Friday T.C. banked his paycheck, withdrawing the barest minimum for smokes, pool and beer. Afterwards, he hoofed home for supper before meeting the guys at the pool hall.

The door slammed hard with a thump. “That you, T.C?” His father’s voice cracked.

“Yes, sir? Everything okay?”

His father jumped up and paced. “Sit.” Humph. “Old Murph’s ready to let go of the ‘71 Mustang.”

morgueFile free photos

morgueFile free photos

T.C. stared, jaw flapping like plastic in the wind.

“Want to pay a visit after supper?”

The teenager nodded, luminous eyes enormous. “I’ve loved that car—geez—no kidding?”

“None.”

“What shape’s it in?”

~ * ~

The Winter Quarter of Flash in the Pan is here. The theme: Boys and Their Toys. For the rules and how to join, click: http://mommasmoneymatters.com/flash-fiction/

The word limit for Car is 100 words. I used them all.