Skip to main content

Short Story: Nobody Likes A Gossip


You want to know what happened?

One moment I was sitting in front of my trailer in my lawn chair.  The next Freddy Blanchard’s roof had lifted off and it was raining fire.

Megan opened her slider, only to get hit by a roof vent.  “Pigs-in-a-blanket,” she cursed.

“Watch your mouth,” I stood, the plastic slats of my chair sticking to my behind.

Megan’s nineteen-year-old daughter, Lila poked her head out, and boy did her eyes get wide.  Then she did the last thing I expected her to do, running barefoot through the fire, her sundress swirling around her in a manner that would get her branded as the devil incarnate.

Freddy was not in a good way.  He lay next to his wife’s garden gnome, only inches away from his wooden porch.  It was on fire, and boy was it heating up good.

But what really got the squirrels in my britches was the two rescuers taking turns at chest compressions and breathing: big old Vernon Jones with his jailhouse tattoos and fallen angel Lila.  She paused between breaths, “Are you tiring?  Let’s switch.”  And Vernon nodded, just like a little lamb.  He didn’t even stop to wipe the red lipstick from Freddy’s mouth, just tipped his head back and blew into him like he was one of those inflatable rafts.

I asked him later what it tasted like and he cursed at me.  Freddy was an infernal smoker and Lila couldn’t afford much more than a tube of Wet ‘N Wild, so I can only imagine how much he suffered.  The thing that puzzles me is that he did it in the first place.  He got nothing in return, not even a day subtracted from his probation.

So now you know what happened.  Just don’t run around telling no one.  Nobody likes a gossip.
-----------------------------------------
Cross-Posted to Deadlines For Writers
-----------------------------------------

Most of the time I don't even notice when I have to cut things to get down to a word count.  This time, I had to cut the phrase "fear painting a rainbow in his hazel eyes" and I'm still sore about that.  Actually, I had to cut the character who that described in the first place.   

Save Desdemona is still available for free with the coupon SS100.  The sale runs through the end of July.  

Labels:

Popular posts from this blog

Short Story: Distraction

It was an office, not unlike any of the other offices around the city. There were windows, visible to the lucky few cubes on the ends of the rows. Then there was Vera's cube, situated next to the row of manager's offices. Today she was lucky, someone had left their door open and precious slant of sunlight escaped, warming her back and washing out half of her computer screen. "I never realized your hair was red," Tracy dumped a large stack of paper on her desk, "The florescent lights make everything look so soupy." "What is that?" she pointed at the stack of paper. Tracy only offered compliments when he wanted a favor. "I need this entered," he smiled, a dimple appearing in his cheek. "You have a secretary," Vera waved a freckled hand to her left, "Ask him." "He's sick," Tracy gave her puppy-dog eyes, batting his long dark eyelashes. Vera sighed and fought back a smile. Tracy was such a s...
Read more

Perfect Quote(s) for Valentine's Day

"Lovers in the first stages of attraction speak in harmonic dissonance-echoing and remarking on things that make no sense to anyone but their intended." -George Hagen, Tom Bedlam ********************************************************** Evira: "Yup, the lyrics really are 'Your sex is on fire.'" Agnes: "If my sex was on fire, I would hope that you would call 911." 
Read more

Poem: Calling

I keep sifting sand through my fingers, not feeling the grit of you in my palms. Did you skip out to sea like a stone, each kiss of the water a nix pulling you under, or are you always stretching out beside me, your shadow lapping against mine? The tide nestles up close to the shore, its corners tucked and turned under, in the shush and pulse of the waves, your voice is calling, me   to   you. __________________ We took our first trip of the Spring to Carkeek Park yesterday.  Even though it was cloudy, it was still overwhelmingly pretty. One of my favorite poets always starts each of his books with a poem written to the reader.  I guess that's my hope, too.  That you (yes, YOU) will feel that I've been reading your diary and wrote this poem to spill your secrets.  Or maybe you really are the "you" in my poem. Meanwhile, in prose land, I have just posted the next chapter of The Culling, and it involves . . . an octopus...
Read more