Time's a Wasting

Ellis drove at a sedate twenty-five miles an hour down Rt. 45. Beside him, Arnold watched as cars passed them like they were standing still, which, essentially, they were. When an eighty-year-old grandma honked and whizzed past, Arnold had to say something. 

“Do you know where the gas pedal is?” he asked. “Even this pathetic piece of Ford junk can go faster than this.”

“Can’t speed up just yet,” Ellis replied. 

Arnold withstood another thirty minutes of slow torture before he broke down. “We need to get this over with, Ellis. Speed up!”

“In just a minute,” Ellis said and checked his watch.

“What are you waiting for?” Arnold asked. “Christmas?” 

“Nope,” Ellis answered. “Waitin’ on him to die.”

“What!” Arnold shouted and turned all the way around in the seat. “He was supposed to be dead two hours ago!”

“You didn’t hit him quite hard enough,” Ellis said. “He was still breathing when I rolled him up and put him in the back.”

“Why didn’t you hit him again then?”

“You kill, I drive. That’s the deal.”

“I can’t believe you! I should hit you over the head too. Nobody would blame me. It’d be a righteous kill,” Arnold stated. 

 

“No need to be that way,” Ellis said.

“Stop the car and let’s get this over with!” Arnold snapped.

“No need,” Ellis replied. “He’s dead by now. We’ve been driving for two hours and it’s a hundred and twenty in the shade. Why do you think I’ve been driving so slow?”

Pot Smoking

The noxious odor was getting more unbearable by the minute. Travis hoped Kyle got back with help soon. Judging by his labored breathing he wouldn’t last much longer. He couldn’t believe how stupid he had been. If he lived through the ordeal, he would never listen to Kyle again. Just sneak in and steal a couple bales, Kyle had said. No one will notice. But notice they did, and in a big way.

Travis had just picked up the first fat bale when the barn doors flew open and a guy the size of a truck ran straight at him. If he hadn’t held the bale in front of himself, Travis believed the guy would have killed him when he knocked him to the ground. As it was, his chest felt like it was caved in and he was sure a couple ribs were broken. 

If the human truck had had his way Travis would already be dead. He had already doused Travis in gasoline by the time his friend arrived. Thankfully, his friend had other plans for Travis. Not that Travis was sure that was any better. He could just imagine what these guys did to people who stole from them. Actually, he was tired of imagining what they would do to him. He had already scared himself half to death thinking about it. 

He would rather spend his time trying to hold his breath to avoid the fumes and thinking about Kyle rescuing him. At least he hoped Kyle was coming back. After the two guys had left, Kyle whispered through the door that he was going for help. Travis had no idea where he was going. They were miles from the nearest town. Pot farmers didn’t plant their crops in the city limits. Maybe Kyle was going to try and get to cell range and call the cops. He hoped Kyle found someone, whoever it was, and made it back before morning. That’s when the guy in charge had said he’d be back.

He had almost given up hope when he heard a loud crash. He turned as much as his bindings would allow and saw the whole barn door fly off its hinges. The next thing he knew, Kyle was running in and grabbing him up. Kyle half carried, half dragged Travis out of the barn. 

“You could help you know!” Kyle shouted as he haphazardly heaved Travis head first into the truck.

By the time Kyle got around the truck and in the driver’s seat, Travis had rolled off the seat and was lying face down on the floor. “What the hell?” Kyle mumbled as he lifted Travis back onto the seat.

“It would help if you’d untie me. I might be able to keep my balance if I wasn’t hog tied,” Travis said. 

“No time,” Kyle said and floored the truck. 

“Aren’t the cops arresting those guys?” Travis asked. “Why the hurry?”

“What cops?” Kyle asked. 

Travis was fixing to reply when he noticed flames raging on both sides of the truck. “What the hell?” 

“I burned it, Man!” Kyle yelled. “I couldn’t find anyone back at the main road so I improvised. I figured they wouldn’t be too worried about you if their merchandise was burning to the ground.”

The Goose and the Egg

I decided to get back into Three Word Wednesday. I like the words he chose today. This is a poem that features my take on old nursery rhyme characters. I hope y'all like it.

Mother Goose was very loose,
or so the story goes,
but one thing Mother couldn’t abide
was an offense to her nose.

When Humpty Dumpty came to call,
Mother Goose her nose did pinch.
She told him to be gone,
for he bore and awful stench.

Humpty was indignant,
he blustered and he huffed,
but it looked quite ridiculous
because of his girth.

Humpty had let himself go.
His shell was flabby and soft.
Mother Goose just pushed him out,
and told him to get lost. 

Mother felt a pang of regret
when she heard of Humpty’s fall the next day.
Not a big pang, mind you
because Humpty sure smelled better on her plate.

If you like this poem, you can find more like it in my new book, Scared Sleepy, which is available on Amazon in print and Kindle form.

Chance Encounter

Here is my story for this week's Three Word Wednesday prompt.

A chance encounter changed my life.

I was walking along, minding my own business, when the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen in my life ran right smack into me. I mumbled an apology even though it was clearly his fault because he came crashing around the corner without even looking. Still, it was only polite to say you’re sorry when you collide with someone.

He lowered his head and said, “So sorry, how clumsy of me.”

I assured him that it was no problem. I knew I’d get the feeling back in my arm soon, and it was worth it just to get to talk with him. 

I almost fell over when he grabbed my hand, kissed the knuckles and said, “You are much too forgiving, fair lady.”

I wanted to savor the sensation of his lips on my skin, but all too quickly, he pulled away. I’m sure it was because he finally got a good look at me. You see, I’m not all that much to look at. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not butt ugly, but I’m no super model either. I’m just me, plain ole Caroline. And he was definitely not the kind of man who usually paid attention to me.

What happened next blew me away. When he said, ‘May I entice you to go out to dinner with me?’ I knew I must have been hearing things.

  

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“I’m sorry. I’m much too forward. I just don’t want to miss the chance to get to know you better. Please forgive me.”

“No, no,” I replied. “It’s perfectly fine.” 

And it was. More than perfectly fine, it was totally out of this world. He was asking me out. I couldn’t believe it. 

Turns out, if something is too good to be true, you should know it’s not going to work out. Hopefully, when it happens to you, it won’t turn out quite as badly as it did for me.

Oh, we went on our date. The evening was wonderful. He took me to a fancy downtown restaurant that I’d always wanted to go to, ordered a hundred year old champagne, and danced my socks off. It was afterward that things went downhill.

We were walking along the boardwalk, the full moon casting everything in a mellow glow, when all of a sudden a chill wind seemed to blow across our path. I know it sounds melodramatic, but that’s what it felt like. Anyway, the next instant, Raymond, that’s the gorgeous stranger’s name, pounced.

Before I knew what was happening, he had me in a vise-like grip and his mouth was at my neck. I thought he was just getting fresh, and truth be told, I would have welcomed the advance, but when his teeth sank into my flesh, I knew something more scandalous was at work.

As bad as it sounds, something good did come out of the encounter. It seems that when you become the undead, you also become beautiful. I guess it’s so you can snare others easier. I’m not sure. All I do know is that men sure pay more attention to me now, even though I’m pale as a ghost. 

It’s nice getting all the attention. I just hate that they have to die so soon…

Lovesick

My story for the Three Word Wednesday prompt this week.

Tara could still feel tingles racing down her back at the thought of Jason’s touch. Just remembering his deep blue eyes was enough to send her running for the shade tree in the back yard to cool off. 

Tare still couldn’t believe Jason was hers. After the months of watching him from afar, to actually be able to touch him was almost more than she could bear. Almost. 

She was learning to bear it very well, and often. So often that she was worn out, not that she was going to complain. Tara figured she could rest when she was dead, but for now, she was going to enjoy herself.

Tara was so caught up in memories of Jason that she failed to notice the real thing crossing the street. When she finally saw him, she started to rush into his arms, but the reality didn’t quite match the scene Tara pictured in her mind. 

Mainly, because she tripped over a tree root and got tangled in the garden hose. Instead of jumping into her lover’s arms, Tara found herself knocking him to the ground. 

Not that Jason minded. He just laughed and hugged her close. Tara knew it was true love then. After all, any man who could handle her clumsiness with a laugh was a keeper.

Dysfunctional

Here's my story for the Three Word Wednesday prompt. I managed to not kill anybody in this one.

My whole childhood was a struggle. A struggle to find something interesting going on, some mischief to get into or some way to torture my parents who were too lenient and thought I could do no wrong. Little did they know, I hardly ever did any right. 

I acted up in school, but the teachers did nothing about it because my father was the principal. Of course, that gave me license to try to find the one thing they couldn’t ignore. Ours was an old school establishment in which all twelve grades were in the same building. I tried for twelve long years and never managed to be sent to the Principal’s Office once. I think the teachers were more scared of what my father would do to them than to me.

As for my father, he was too busy sleeping with the school secretary to care what I did during school hours. He only cared whether I told Mother about Mrs. Johnson, which I never did. I thought if my mother was too stupid to figure it out on her own, she didn’t deserve to know. 

My mother, now she was a piece of work and a half. She spent her days reading fashion magazines and going to the beauty parlor and her nights with cucumbers over her eyes and some stinky green goop smeared all over her face, trying to be beautiful for a man who was screwing a woman twice her size, but who baked killer chocolate chip cookies and called him sir. 

And my brother, well, he was a spoiled rotten brat from the time he could walk. I plotted his death numerous times while growing up, but my plans always were foiled at the last minute. I swear that boy lived under a lucky cloud, while I lived in a fog of misery.

I couldn’t wait to leave the town of Rockchester when I grew up. You see, we never went on vacation. We never went anywhere. My father wouldn’t leave Mrs. Johnson for any length of time, and my mother wouldn’t leave her sewing circle, aka gossip group. I begged them to go to the beach, which was only twenty miles away, every summer to no avail. 

I didn’t even make it to the beach as a teenager like most kids in town did because my parents refused to buy me a car and I had no friends to hitch a ride with. I had no friends period.

The suck ups who tried to be my friend because of my father I ridiculed until they cried, and the outcasts were scared to be my friend because of my father, so I was left alone, which suited me just fine. Most of the time.

Sometimes, I wished I had a friend, you know, because misery loves company. 

Despite it all, I managed to grow to adulthood. I never did leave town though. I went to Rockchester Community College after high school where I met my husband, James. We have been married for ten years. 

My mother and father are still together. Mrs. Johnson has lived with them for the last five years since my mother had a stroke and can’t kick her out. My brother spends more time in the county jail than at home with his wife and six kids. 

As for me, well, I’m the principal of the new Rockchester High School, and the assistant principal makes the best cookies in town.