July 5, 1939

"Lou? You awake?"

Lou opened his eyes and squinted against the late afternoon sun, Eleanor's silhouette ebon against the azure sky.

"Yeah. Just enjoying the sun on my face."

"We should pack up, don't you think?"

"Let's lie here a bit longer."

"Okay."

Eleanor looked at Lou's face in repose. There were more laugh lines than she remembered, but he still looked so young. It wasn't fair.

"Hey Ellie? What I said yesterday? I was wrong." He squeezed her hand; his grip felt strong as ever. "Today. Today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth."

Angel or Demon?

"This war has gone on far too long."

Kai-ying nodded. "What can I get for you?"

"Angel, please."

Who was the first person to eat an oyster? Was it on a dare?

"You'd think someone would at least pick up the corpses. Getting so you can't walk down the street without tripping over a broken wing or cracked halo."

"At least they don't smell bad."

"Yeah. Kinda like cinnamon. Heh. Should juice 'em. Sell 'em like lattes."

"Yeah, Ben. You let me know how that works."

Kai-ying smiled as she took the woman's money in exchange for the frothing cup.

Nickelback's Biggest Fans

I'm such a prick sometimes.* Monday's prompt at 100 Word Stories was a lyric from a Nickelback song. So...

Pink shirts. Popped collars. Faux hawks. Chad, Rick, and Other Chad looked like page 63 of the Abercrombie catalog strutting through the door. Other Chad surveyed the room over the top of his Revos.

Sidling to the bar, Rick barked, "Three Johnny Walker Blues."

The bartender opened his mouth, then reconsidered. He poured three from the bottom shelf. "That'll be ninety."

Rick floated a hundy to the bar. "Keep it."

Hours later, his brahs collapsed in pools of their own vomit, Other Chad swayed to Nickelback, one hand on the jukebox for balance. The bartender wiped down and muttered, "Douchebags."

---

* For very large values of "sometimes".

Frozen by Memory

Jacob stepped onto the platform into the wall of stifling air and commuters. He knifed through the crush, using his shoulders like wedges, and ran through his mental checklist. Seven months and no nibbles; a lot was resting on this interview. He focused on the exit. Then, as if yanked by a string, Jacob's head spun left.

Mental checklists, rent, medical bills: they all flew from his head, replaced by Erica.

Erica. Months after the breakup, he still clutched her pillow to his face, breathing ghost traces of her perfume as he drifted to sleep. He wouldn't be interviewing today.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

"Whoa, whoa! Where you headed, partner?"

Felix froze on the spot and slowly turned to face the voice. His combover flopped wrongways, grazing his left shoulder instead of covering his shiny, sweaty pate. He was out of breath and out of time, a hundred yards from the gate and freedom.

Black shirt, black jeans, black boots, and mirrored sunglasses towered over him. He could hear the fabric straining to contain the bulging muscles on the guard. His voice boomed like dynamite in the hills.

"Mitzi played; now you gotta pay. There ain't no bonin' and boltin' at the Bunny Ranch."

Why do you wear that mask?

The girl practically skipped inside, her basket cutting huge arcs through the air. "Grandmama? Where are you?"

"Back here, dear."

Grandmama had been sick awhile and the girl made a sort of frowny-smirky face. Then she remembered what her mama had said and put on a big smile and walked to the bedroom.

"Come closer, so I can see you better."

"What's that over your mouth?"

"A mask."

The girl had seen sick people wear masks like that before. She knew it must be bad. She leaned in to kiss her grandmother.

"The better to hide my teeth, my dear!"

Maybe this will work...

Last Words
The El Camino sputtered out in the driveway. Jethro and Tyrone hightailed it to the door.

"You sure ain't nobody home?"

"I'm tellin' you, they left for Disney World Friday and ain't comin' back till weekend."

Tyrone found the Hide-a-Key in a fake rock. "No alarm?" asked Jethro.

"Nope."

Tyrone reached for a switch; Jethro batted his hand away. "Can't risk a neighbor gettin' nosy."

"What's stinks? Rotten eggs?"

"Gas?"

Jethro rolled his eyes. "Gas don't smell. Don't you know nothin'?"

"Well, I don't wanna step in whatever's makin' that reek."

Tyrone pulled out his lighter.

"Maybe this will work..."

100 Word Stories

A Twitter friend writes for a site, 100 Word Stories, where each contributor crafts a 100-word story on daily prompts. Y'all know I like *short*, so here are some pieces I've written in reaction to the prompts from the past two days:

What makes this garden unique?
The roses glisten with morning dew. The old woman tends them diligently, rising each day with the sun to unkink and unbend and fight rigor nocturnis.

Franny watches from her bus stop. Despite her mother's warnings, she is drawn to the roses that throb red and orange and lavender.

The old woman has prepared the rich brown earth, soil spilling gently into the fresh hole. All that waits is the blade, sharp and slender, to cut the beating heart from Franny's chest.

The roses glisten with morning dew. Today a new bush grows, flowers pink like a young girl's lips.

* * *

If I only had a...

Gale opened her eyes and watched the room spin. Since the apocalypse she'd gotten better at mixing pharma and this was her best mashup yet.

Mr. T was jittery. The Akita's muscles bunched as he paced. Gale's aunt still slept, unaware of her technicolor trip.

Strong winds rocked the house on its foundations, threatening to pull it free. The door flew open and a ragged man-shaped creature stumbled in.

"If I only had a BRAIN!"

Gale's gun blazed; the zombie's head splattered.

"Goddamn it, Gale! Lay off the junk before you get us both killed."

Guess Auntie Em was awake.