Out of Sight
Challenge #36

A "Home Depot" baseball cap landed on the new toilet seat. I swiped my Visa card across the reader, studiously ignoring the cashier’s cleavage. The electronic pad mangled my signature into a Rorschach blot.

She handed me the receipt. "Have a nice day."

"You too." In the lot, sticky fingers peeled a magnetic placard from a rental truck. The orange square landed on my van. Divorce makes people do crazy things. Some men buy flashy cars to impress jailbait. Some hide. Those are my specialty.

A dirty thumbnail slit "Comfyflush" packaging and wadded in papers. I drove off, trailing blue smoke. My Chevy coughed to death in front of 1234 Elm. Hopping out, I exuded orange-capped megastore helpfulness.

Suspicious eyes peered out in response to my knock.

"Mr. Boogersnapper? You ordered-"

"Boogumschnager!" Bushy brows furrowed. "I ordered no such thing."

Puzzlement. "Here, hold this, so I can check my orders."

He grasped the toilet seat.

Sucker. "In accordance with Illinois law, you have been duly served."

His face darkened.

"Have a nice day."



Peotone Airport
Winner, Challenge #35

Yellow flame curled around glowing logs, toasting a marshmallow golden brown. Tony sandwiched the gooey blob between a Hershey bar and a graham cracker and savored sweet perfection with eyes closed.

Across the field, coyotes yipped at each other. Crackling logs echoed off pine trees, and sent fireflies skyward. Crystalline stars winked overheard in a cloudless sky.

"Grampa?"

The airport intercom squealed an unintelligible string. Johnny had his nose pressed to the window, watching turbines wind down on a 737. "This is awesome."

Tony dropped his stale McMuffin into the garbage. "It was magical, not long ago."



The Keys
Challenge #34

Jimmy Buffet’s homeland beckoned outside, sculpted thighs topped by string bikinis; sweating long neck bottles; tasty late night blues…

Backsplash forced a pucker as another melon plummeted into the toilet. A groan escaped my lips.

"You all right in there?"

“Yeah.” Seismic scales registered an after quake. "Get me another beer."

A hand snaked over the stall, proffering the nectar of the gods. "One step ahead of you."

"Thanks."

"I’m checking out the wet T-shirt contest. Have fun nesting." The bathroom door squeaked open and smacked shut.

Another bomb fell, trailed by noxious fumes. My elbow hit the handle for a courtesy flush as I swore an oath against Margaritaville burger specials.



Buried
Challenge #31

"Vat did I tell ju?"

A Gold filigree ceramic bowl hugged an indulgently rich chocolate fudge brownie. Hazelnut frosting danced a merry design across the top. Glossy red slices of sun ripened strawberry garnished the center. I looked up from Nirvana. "You said chocolate goes good with buried-"

Sputtering with anger, Chef Boogumschnagger stabbed my brownie with a fork. A geyser of sweetened merlot showered us in purple.

Shock, confusion and then enlightenment crossed his face. Pudgy fingers snatched up a bottle and shoved it at me. I focused on a pink flower blossom label – Mistwood Glen Loganberry Dessert.

"Dees is Berry Wine, knothead."

He swatted my monument to haute cuisine off the table. "Dees is monstrosity. Go. Don't come back. Ju are worthless."

Cameras trailed me as I shed my speckled apron and shuffled offstage, head lowered.


The Wrong Way
Challenge #30

Joe caressed the picture. “She's gorgeous.”

I needed to dissuade him from pursuing my sister. “Um, thanks, I think. Say, do you know much about turtles?”

No response. More staring.

“Snappers like to back into submerged logs and wait for fish to swim by. Catfish hoggers occasionally lose hands to them. Jenna is like that – claws sunk into her cozy mud hole; beady eyes scanning her Mississippi backwater; waiting to lash out and eviscerate her next catch. Half chewed carcasses line the silty bottoms outside her abode.”

Joe met my eye. “So, she might be a challenge then, eh?”



Diamonds
Winner, Challenge #29
Winner, March 2008

The Winchester snapped to the coal miner's shoulder. Smoke and flame belched, sending immigrant strike breakers scrambling back into their dark haven. The report flashed past the mine office, disturbing its patina of dust.

MacDowell smudged blackened sweat from his brow and snatched up the phone.

“Herrin operator.”

“For the love of God, send Sheriff Thaxton up here.” Mac didn’t need to say where. Everyone in Williamson County knew. “They're slaughtering-”

Fury reddened his face. “Morning?”

Chet flinched as the receiver banged down. “Thaxton don’t care, Mac. Heck, even the National Guard turned its back. We’re scabs.”

Mac spied the dark outlines of former friends lurking in the forest. “Yeah, and Mister Lester cowers up in Chicago, issuing high sounding proclamations and pissing away the quarter million he screwed us for. I told that sumbitch strike breaking was suicide.”

Chet winced. “One of them Polish fellers just took a ball in the brisket.”

A young man writhed in agony near an empty train car. Rifle fire shattered the air.

Stillness followed.

Mac looked away. “Welcome to Illinois. Make good money mining black diamonds.”

Chet sighed, hopeful; fearful. “Tomorrow.”

“Maybe for Thaxton, my friend. Not us.”



Shohet
Winner, Challenge #28

The shadows merged and coalesced behind Brian. He swaggered onward, oblivious until a needle sharp blade tickled his nape.

That brought him up short.

“Almost got away, didn’t you?”

Brian's 9mm rested on a bed of cash in his cargo pants pocket. All it would take–

Pain sparked as the knife released a scarlet drop to wick into Brian’s collar. “Dumb idea.”

His mind raced through myriad conclusions to this midnight confrontation. The ones where he pushed his luck ended badly. “The money is-”

The knife prodded. “Keep walking.”

Cold water coursed through Brian’s veins. "It was a harmless stickup. Wind blew her down; she lived, whining drama queen."

Another prod brought silence.

Quietly they walked; bipedal shadows followed by formless brethren dancing in the moonlight.

Brian stopped after two blocks, suddenly exhausted. “What do you want?”

A warm rivulet dribbled off his fingers before Brian realized. Moments later, weakness pulled him to the ground. His world faded to gray; exsanguinated.

The blade splashed into the crimson puddle. “An example.”



Finishing Touch
Challenge #27

Karen scooped out a handful of peanut butter and slathered it all over the sack.

"Hey bloke!" meowed the flashist cat within. "Don't have a stroke. Sorry about that canned air joke."

She grasped the sack and gave it a hard swing. Sailing over the fence and past the moat, it landed in front of mama grizzly.

"That was not nice, you should think twice- AHHHHHHHHH!!!"


Fistful of Change
Challenge #26

Old guard Karl made one last appearance in surgery. The doctor asked if I could handle being there. I could have vocally placed faith in the wonders of modern medicine; or relayed the heartfelt trust I placed in his talents to safely deliver my child and keep my dear wife safe.

Could have.

Instead, Karl-the-Cable-Guy responded. “I cleaned a deer last week. This is nothing.”

Shocked silence reigned until my wife let out a weak laugh. That wiped away several horrified expressions.

Without anesthesia, she would have throttled my neck.

Our daughter emerged by C-section, cuter than deer guts. Cleaned up, and wrapped warmly, she looked content. I took in her cherubic face, framed by wispy brown hair and felt an upwelling of happiness.

I needed to change – to be a good father; more polished.

Tiny fingers curled in a fist around my pinkie. I looked forward to change.


Never Knew
Challenge #26

I can’t avoid thinking about the guy centered in my lense. What subtle nudge caused Joe Normal to yaw off course and pull a Britney Spears? Job loss? Drugs?

Except for the enraged expression, he looks so damned blah. He could be my neighbor, with 2.5 kids, ski-bunny spouse and hamster-wheel job.

We live in different worlds. I hate it when they touch in this fashion.

The tempo spikes chaotic across the street. Sunlight reflects off a car door. I see a little hand jerk back inside as the door slams shut. Screams reach my hideout. A loud smack brings the noise to a stop.

I exhale slowly, remaining focused.

"Green light," my earbud murmurs.

I do what needs to be done, then look down – knowing what to expect with depressing certainty.

“Subject 10-7, weapon secured.”

The poor bastard never knew what hit him.


The Gathering
Challenge #25

Lights off, I drifted to a stop on Ridgeland Avenue. I left the car idling and hopped out.

Someone cracked a soda. “Want any action?”

I considered the lineup – a Z28 spotting a Torino five lengths. “Yeah, ten on the Camaro.”

The guy nodded. “Deal.”

A raven haired cutie standing before the staging area clicked her Maglight.

Exhaust thundered.

Burning rubber fogged the air.

Adrenaline rushing, we watched the Chevy trounce the Ford.

The guy cursed, handing over two fives.

My radar detector went nuts.

“Cops!” I yelled.

Everyone scattered like spotlighted roaches.

We’ll be back in an hour.



Twisted
Challenge #25

Saturday morning, bond court. I'm picking up my idiot brother. He got pinched stealing tools last night. I count fifteen others awaiting their black sheep.

An old lady sits alone, barely composed.

Bailiffs lead in a spidery drunkard.

"Charge?" asks Judge Shortstraw.

"DUI," the State's Attorney intones.

The judge yawns. "Recognizance bond."

Next.

A cuffed teenager enters and the old lady perks up.

"Charge?"

"Unlawful possession of a firearm. Aggravated homicide."

The judge sighs. "2 million."

Despairing her darling angel's twisted fate, the lady sobs.

Next.




Never Forget
Winner, Wee Challenge #24

John held his breath as he opened the box car. The stench made him gag.

Inside, a couple dozen forms huddled together, using their combined body heat to stay warm. Tattered grey, blue and black clothing served as insulation. Five lifeless bodies lay on the floor. Well past the need for clothing, their frosted skin had a pale, bluish tint.

Two women.

Three children.

A stalagmite of human waste stood in a frozen lake of urine.

John closed his eyes, ill. The awful image scarred his memory.

“Sarge,” he croaked. “There’s people.”

“Huh, what are you talking about?” Sarge stomped over from the engine. Behind him, a dead German lay in the snow. The weathered soldier peered inside the box car and went pale. “Mother of God.”

“American?” a man asked in broken English.

John barely focused on the speaker – not the bodies; the depravity. Gaunt from starvation and sickly pale, the man bore a yellow Star of David on his breast like a badge of honor.

“Yes sir… We’re American.” John whispered. “You’re free.”





Speed Dreemon
Wee Challenge #22

The glossy black Spyder tailgates a mud encrusted Jeep, while its teen pilot sniffs impatiently. His megawatt stereo thumps a bass counterbeat to his megabuck muffler.

The Jeep plods onward, uncaring.

He edges closer, aggressively. His mini-skirted passenger giggles nervously.

“Stud,” he thinks.

“Dork,” the Jeep driver thinks, watching the car crush a garbage can he just rolled over.

=========================

Driving While Stupid
4H Challenge

The lights came on and my stomach sank. I tried to keep blind panic and horror under control as I signaled and changed lanes.

As my Yugo and the squad car drifted to a stop, I mulled where I screwed up.

The speed limit was 35. My fine steed hadn't ever seen the high side of 25. I used my signals religiously and never turned on red. My plates were current. Safety-matic seat belts kept me firmly planted.

Perhaps he wanted to poke fun at my 22" Donks, carbon fiber spoiler or 5" exhaust. If so, I was prepared to set my heels and not be humiliated. Some people have no taste.

The picture of "protect and serve with honor" recruiting materialized at my door. He had mirrored glasses and an unreadable expression. A powerful build stretched the limits of his pressed black uniform. His hand hovered near a stainless steel pistol. A vein pulsed on his neck - the only indication of his mood.

Officer Neckvein would twist me into a pretzel if he had half a chance. He peered into my rear seat as I struggled to roll down my window.

"License and registration," he stated.

I complied. "What's the problem, sir?"

He looked at my license. "I noted the presence of a 'Baby on Board' on your vehicle, Mr. Boogumshnagger.”

I nodded. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“Depends.” Two neck pulses later, he asked. “Where’s the required baby?”

My dumfounded expression spoke volumes.

“Okay, sir. You are being cited for driving while stupid. Please remove that sign at your earliest convenience.” He stepped back to his car with my drivers license.


========================

Muther
Wee Challenge #23

Paint dried in haphazard splotches on the backdrop. Barely recognizable “buildings” dripped gooey on the floor. Behind schedule, and now doomed to mediocrity, I was not happy.

This was a small town and I knew I should be happy with whatever help I could muster. But…

Damn.

“Who did this?” I asked quietly.

“Mother,” sneered James. Silver spoon rich, he was the one person in the group I couldn’t stand. The coal miner sons and daughters in this backwater were at least tolerable.

My anger found focus. “Why the hell would you let your mother do this? You know what’s at stake. An epileptic five year old could have done better.”

His beady eyes looked past my shoulder as a sly smile came to his face. “Perhaps, sir, you could explain that to mother directly. I am certain your input would be taken to heart.”

Patrician son of a bitch. I got the picture. He couldn’t care less what I thought. The idea of me berating the town dowager over poor painting skills must have been quite entertaining.

I wasn’t willing to be the brunt of his sick entertainment, so I turned on my heels to walk away.

Someone six-six, and 300 muscular pounds blocked my way. Blackened teeth and numerous facial scars told of a rough life. On his arm, a self-carved tattoo said “Muther.”

I gulped.

Hard eyes pinned me in place and an earthquake deep voice inquired. “You got a problem?”

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