Fire in the Hole!

First Line Prompt - FB

 Question Prompt for 11/14/20: How did a disagreement over pizza toppings lead to an explosion? 

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Each of the day’s indignities, screw-ups and disappointments ran through Clayton’s mind in a never ending “having a bad day” loop from Hell. He fought back his anger and concentrated on finding #347 Baker.

Finding his professional mode always brought his blood pressure down and eased the chronic migraines he suffered day in, day out.  #347 was halfway down the block.  He turned into the driveway. The beat Fiesta’s power steering pump squealed in pain.

The front door opened.  Standing in front of Clayton was an open bathrobe poorly draped over a very hairy human wearing nothing but a glare.  Clayton barely blinked.

“Pizza for a Mr Jones.”

A furry arm reached out and snatched the large ham and pineapple pizza out of Clayton’s grip and opened it. “This isn’t Bacon and Pineapple. I ordered Bacon and Pineapple.  What the Hell is wrong with you people.”  Hairy Man threw the pizza on the porch.  “I don’t want it.”

Clayton stood immobile.  Not a muscle moved.  He looked at Hairy Man. “No problem sir. Sorry about the mix up.”

Clayton turned to leave. 

“Take the pizza with you.” Clayton swiveled back around.  Hairy Man stood with his feet apart and his hands on his hips.  Clayton could feel his blood pressure rise.  Instead, he smiled and said.  “Of course sir.  My bad.”  He picked up the pizza and returned to his car.

Up the block Clayton stopped.  His hands became knotted veins and tendons strangling the steering wheel.  Clayton fumed a minute or so. He decided what he had to do to bring him peace.

He opened the trunk and pulled out the grenade launcher he had stashed there for moments like this.  Stepping around his car, he shouldered it and aimed at Hairy Man’s front door.

“Fire in the hole!”

Four Eyes

MemoirPrompt for 11/8/20: Flash! Write a true “flash” (100-300 words) story about a flash - literal or metaphorical- from your own life.

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"Four Eyes" - 300 words

My fourth grade teacher finally figured it out. One day she held up two fingers and asked the class how many was she holding up. She skipped past the know it all, perfectly dressed future homecoming queen and past the up and coming nerd who already sported one of his dad's pencil pocket protectors. She continued to scan the room. One by one all the raised hands were bypassed and I saw her turn towards me.

"Michael, how many fingers I am holding up?"

I was mortified. Not because I was singled out. I was embarrassed because I had no clue. My confidence stopped at three or less. But a quick answer was needed as I had learned that drawing out awkward silences in class only drove the humiliation deeper.

Swiftly I answered, "One big one?

Again my routine clownish behavior was rewarded with snickers from my classmates which died immediately as stern teacher eyes behind winged glasses caught them in their cross hairs. She swiveled back to me and gave me her patented grin of pursed red lips whose corners only flirted with the notion of lift off.

“So, you don’t know then?”

Parents were called, eye appointments were kept and in ten days or so I was in the optometrist’s office picking up my first pair of glasses. As the optometrist fitted them, I watched in the mirror. Yeah, I could see better, but would it be worth all the ridicule that would inevitably follow? I was sure it would not.

I was hating Life as we left the doc’s office. Stepping outside, I looked up at the Tampa skyline that surrounded us. In an instant, my world had become a wondrous and beautiful land I never knew existed.

I never again worried about being a “Four Eyes”.

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Daily Flash Writing Prompts - Facebook