Dreams Do Come True

"Keep me in the loop."  Arthur rang off and went back to studying the recent siesmic report.  He noted with some satisfaction the intensity of the after shocks seemed to be fading  and were fewer and farther between since the last report two hours ago.  Well, that was some good news.  Maybe now he could catch some sleep. The worst was over.

~*~

Mrs Kildane, Arthur's mother, was a seasoned survivor of earthquakes.  She experienced her first as a child living in the San Fernando area in 1961.  She was ready for this one.  The first tremor drove her outside and away from the five story building she and her husband of 40 years were living in.  She made sure to not use the elevator.  Good thing too, she could hear people trapped somewhere near the third floor.   Holding her "Important Box" she hit Sixth Street just as the second and much larger tremor hit the Mission Bay neighborhood in San Francisco.  The shock knocked her off her feet cracking her left hip.  Her husband was still out somewhere running errands.

Rudy - Indie Ink Challenge

Five years in a row Rudy had been voted the best Red Cap on the line from Grand Central Station in New York City right through to the LaSalle Street Station in Chicago.  His behavior like his uniform was always spotless.  His smile was always quick and pleasant.  And his ability to solve baggage problems became mythical tales told in station break rooms from coast to coast.   He remembered all the regulars by name and treated the many travelers just passing through like old friends.

Many times early in his career, the company had offered Rudy the opportunity to leave the baggage to others and step into a management role.  Rudy refused.   More than one train executive had tried to steal him for their own station.  Rudy would not budge.  This station was his home and for the brief moments travelers came thorough his house, they were his family.

The Wing Suit

From Thursday 12/22/11 Thinking Ten Prompt

Jack's stomach knotted hard when he opened the cheap metal wardrobe in the garage.  His wing suit was missing.  He knew immediately who had taken it.............

"Tommy!"  Jack ran back into the house almost taking out his mom who was busy with some kitchen drudgery of one kind or another.

"Jack, slow down. No running in the........"  Jack had already made it up the stairs and was well beyond her voice.  He quickly checked Tommy's room.  He opened his closet and looked under his bed.  No Tommy.  Standing in the middle of the Tommy's room, panic and fear of what might come twirled out of control in his mind.

Till Death Do Us Part - 100 Words

From the Wednesday prompt over at Thinking Ten - 11/21/11

Carla stared at her half empty wine glass.  She had expected another excuse not to be home for the intimate supper she had planned.  Yet here he was cheerfully suggesting she relax on the sofa.  He would clear the table.

“You’re going to divorce me aren’t you?”

“Why would you think that?”

John came in holding a dishrag and a coaster.  “Use this. No rings.  Your rule, remember?”

Carla set her glass on the coaster.  John threw the dish rag around her throat and strangled the life out of her.

“Divorce?  No my dear, I take my marriage vows seriously.”
___________________________________

Wednesday, Words, Inc.: 

table, ring, glass, wine

At 12 minutes I had 143 words - It took another hour to get it to this point. 

I find that no matter what my plan is going in, my stories never finish according to that plan.  This was actually supposed to be a 100 words that would be warm and fuzzy.  Uh, guess I'm just not in a warm and fuzzy mood.

Compatible

Flash Fiction Friday - Cycle #60

Caleb Winters sat in his wheel chair on a dock that crudely interrupted the flat calm of Harpshead Pond.  His presence and the dock the only proof Mankind even knew of this peaceful place.  A loon cried off to his left and dragonflies swarmed in manic flight wolfing down mosquitoes foolish enough to be out and about.  Caleb spotted his bobber begin to bounce.

Caleb's fishing pole was stuck in the rod holder Harold had zip tied to his chair a week earlier.   Learning to fish with one hand had been difficult, but over the last seven days he came up with a system and yesterday he finally caught his limit. One more now and he would reach his limit today also.  He pulled the rod out and yanked hard setting the hook.  He immediately returned the pole in the holder to brace it.  Awkwardly he began to reel the line in.  

Whatever was on Caleb's line was bigger than any fish living in this pond.  His rod tip dipped hard with each crank of the reel.  Caleb stopped.  Could it be one of those lake trout Harold boasted about?  Called them togue or something like that.  He was often not sure what Harold was saying.  His thick Maine accent frequently a foreign language to Caleb’s New York City ears.

Caleb brought the rod back up with a sharp tug.  Nothing.  He moved the pole one way, then another.  Again nothing. 

"Damn!  Another snagged line. ....... Harold!......... HAROLD!..........My damn line's snagged again."

No response.  Caleb sat in his chair fuming.  What was the use of hired help if they were never there when he needed them.  Caleb sighed, tried to calm down using those relaxation techniques that flexible filly at the hospital tried to teach him.  No good.  He continued to rant.

Several minutes later a man stepped out of the camp nestled in the tall pines some 75 feet up from  the dock.  He wore a bloodstained white apron and was wiping his hands on a dishrag.  He looked down towards the dock.  The afternoon sun had dropped far enough he had to raise his hand to his forehead to block out its intensity.   He saw Caleb.

"Caleb!  Did you call?"

Caleb turned in his chair as far as he could.  Over his shoulder, "Yeah, where the Hell have you been?  My line's been snagged for an hour.  Get down here and fix it."  Harold rolled his eyes. Caleb's ranting followed him as he turned and walked back into the cottage to locate the tackle box. 

"What the Hell have you been doing Harold?  You got blood all over your apron."

Kneeling down next to Caleb rifling around the tackle box looking for another hook and leader Harold spoke. "Been cleaning all them damn fish you been catching.  You ever gonna eat any?  If not, I know a family that would appreciate the fresh fish."

"I don't eat seafood, you know that.  Just toss it out."

Harold found the leader and hook and stood up.

"Toss perfectly good filets?  No sir I won't do it.  I'll drop em off for  Millie and her brood on my way to town."   Harold bent over and reached for the last bobber in the top tray of the tackle box.  "You keep snagging something in the same spot.  Ferchrisakes, try casting somewhere else.  Think all I have to do is babysit you?"

Caleb opened his mouth and quickly closed it.  He opened it again.  "Just fix the line dammit, It's almost sundown.  One more fish and I hit my limit again.  Never thought I'd enjoy wrestling fish out of the water.  You know I hate seafood dontcha?"

"Yeah Caleb, you just told me.  You hate eatin fish, but you love catchin them.  I'll sleep in comfort tonight knowin that.  Thanks."

Caleb looked at Harold again.  His eyes became slits.  "What bug crawled up your ass?" 

Harold straightened up.  His back complained, his knees screamed.  He was getting too old for this nursing shit. 

"Well, I'll tell ya Caleb.  It was you.  You crawled up my ass.  You’ve done nothing but piss and moan since the day I rolled you out of the van.  First it was the mosquitoes.  They were eatin you alive.  Then you didn't like how the bug spray made your skin all greasy and shit.  We get past that and after the first night all you did was complain about how noisy it was here.  Trees rustling, loons crying, ....Ferchrisakes Caleb we just come up from Manhattan.  You think this place is noisy after living there that last 50 years....And while I'm at it, what the Hell were you thinkin when you bought this place? .......  Spent five million dollars and for what?  I know, I know, you wanted your own retreat, your quiet place to escape Humanity.  Well goddammit, then retreat and shut the fuck up."

"Caleb's eyes were no longer slits, they were bug eyed open.  Oddly speechless, he took a moment to gather himself.  Finally, "Well now, I guess you can pack up your things and we'll be done with each other.  No employee of mine shows me disrespect."

Harold did not say anything.  He reached out and grabbed the snagged line.  He cut it loose and attached the new bobber, leader and hook.   When he was done he threaded the hook through the fattest worm left in the small bowl next to Caleb's wheel chair.  He handed the rod to Caleb. 

 “Here you contrary ole fart, fixed.  Now fish and leave me the Hell alone."  Harold walked back up the dock and headed for the camp.

Caleb spun his chair around and watched Harold's back disappear into the cottage. He smiled.  The two of them had been together for 20 years now ever since the plane crash and the round the clock care Caleb needed from then on.  He loved that old Mainer, he really did.  But what he loved the most was pissin him off.
______________________

The challenge was created at "Flash Fiction Friday"  - "Write a story using the weather, a town, something to eat, and a song.".

I did not hit the prompts very well, but I did finish it inside the word limit.  My first draft was over 1300 words.  I kept nibbling and condensing until I had 1000 words exactly.

Not hitting the prompts cleanly bothers me some, but finally punching out some fiction again, well, that more than makes up for it.

I'll be back.

Decisive Action

I have decided that this blog will become the repository, the depository, the toilet I place most fiction I come up with from now on.  In that this decision is not one of Life or Death, I reserve the right to undecide my decision if I at some point in the future decide to.  The decision is up to me, not you.  You can only decide to either read it or not read it. 

Not sure why I am doing this.  The reasons I came up with not 24 hours ago escape me now.  But the urge to do it still insists on me following through.  So to anyone out there who happens to be interested, "Lost in the BoZone - Dimension Two" is now back online and hopefully going to be getting fatter.

As there is nothing on here yet,  I promise nothing but more words.

We'll see..............................................

The Mugging

Flash! Friday – Vol 3-9  -- 209 words – written prompt – “A Fleeting Moment” – Image prompt – man w/ umbrella on a bare square

___________________________________

Mark slid his hand truck under the stack of burger buns.  Tipping the stack, he walked it down the ramp of the trailer.  At the backdoor of the restaurant, the previous two stacks were still waiting to be taken inside by his co-driver.  There was no room for this one.

“Division of labor …… Right,” he said to himself.  “George is probably munching on a Whopper.  What a Loser.”

There was nothing he could do.  George was lead driver.  Mark tipped his stack back up and lit a cigarette.  He considered this new driving gig.  A full weeks pay for a 36 hour run delivering buns to Burger Kings in New York City and Long Island.  Leave Thursday night, back in Lewiston, Maine dark thirty AM, Saturday.

He noticed a man with an umbrella walking in his direction.  The back door opened and the first stack disappeared inside.  Mark tipped his stack.  Something poked him in the back.

“Give me your wallet.”  Mark turned to face umbrella man.

Oddly, Mark felt no panic.  “No wallet. I have ten dollars in my front pocket though.”

“Ten dollars?  That’s all?”

“We eat for free.  I don’t need money.”

The mugger snatched the ten spot.  “Cheap ass truck drivers.”   He walked away.

_____________________________________

Back story – This incident actually happened to me.  However, the guy was not carrying an umbrella.

_______________________________________

Image courtesy of NannyDaddy