“Glad you’re better today, Michelle–or were you just hungover, wink, wink, nudge , nudge.” “I swapped,” Michelle replies tartly. “Came in on the Fourth, got a lot done with no one else here. Stayed home yesterday, slept in after everyone in a hundred-mile radius finally stopped setting off mortars at 3 a.m.” “So you worked on the Fourth of July.” “Independence Day is too exhausting for a school night.”
Every week Girlie on the Edge hosts the Six Sentence Stories flash fiction linkup and blog hop. This week’s cue was “exhaust.” Fun sixes from other writers are at the link. Join us! It’s fun!
“You’re awful cocky, considering it’s only luck we’re in a no-fault state and I didn’t hang you out to dry instead of the other way around,” Allan says sweetly, handing her this month’s check. “Luck and ancient housing design.”
Torrey narrows her eyes at him.
“Oh, Torrey, baby, I knew you were screwing around from the the day it started. Your obsession with that old dump of a house, I’da thought you’d know not to have private phone conversations sitting next to the heater vent.”
Torrey feels her eyes widen before she can stop them, turns her face to try to hide the flush flaming up to her hairline, but Allan’s already walking back to his car, laughing and slapping his knee theatrically.
Becca finishes her lunch, reluctant to go back to the office and forsake the cool, green quiet of the cemetery, when movement stops her short.
Workmen are returning to the scene of the funeral, the mourners long gone to someone’s house, gone to vegetarian quiche and cake and punch and discreet nips of whiskey. Becca peers through the trees as the workmen load stands and vases of flowers into a van, followed by the slender podium they surrounded, then return to the graveside, a small, right-orange earth-mover waiting behind them.
She hears the squawk of machinery, sees one of the men operating a lever, the casket moving lower, then stopping, the man gathering straps that had been hidden under the casket, misstepping at one point to sacrilegiously stand on the coffin, flowers sliding off as he wobbles for balance.
Well, no wonder they rush everyone off before they actually lower the casket into the ground–how very industrial burial has become, with its cranes and backhoes! Definitely cremation when her time comes.
The Six Sentence Stories flash fiction linkup and blog hop has been handed off to Girlie on the Edge. Many thanks to Ivy for the work she’s done hosting SSS, and I’m hoping she’ll now have time to write some sixes! I’ve had a blast with Ivy and I’m looking forward to Girlie. Feel free to join us; we have a lot of fun. (This week’s cue was “crane.” I know my take on it is a little weird but that’s what happens when you have a weird dream after trying to write something all evening. Go where the Muse takes you.)
Jane feels her heart plummet to the soles of her feet at the thought of it, of him, this good-looking and funny and warm guy, this young guy, his eyes smiling at her, waiting for her to say yes, I’d love to have dinner with you. And then her stomach roils at what his reaction must surely be when he finds out — and he will find out, because how do you keep it a secret, that you are such a loser who’s squatting in the basement of an abandoned house?
So very many things are already almost unnavigable when you’re homeless, and now this too. Romance is, indeed, smoke from a distant fire.
Jane makes her way through the neighborhood, feeling for the vibe and feeling the stares — you’re new here — wondering if she could make a home here.
Too many kids are playing in front of that place; a raucous group of young men drinks tall cans of generic beer in front of another; this next place is awash in garbage. Jane shudders and moves on.
Then she spots a quieter residence, one that is neatly kept, a tiny, wizened elderly man reading in a camp chair, small dog at his feet, even a small pot of flowers. And hallelujah, there’s some open space next to him.
No applications or deposits required to move into the homeless camp, provided you can find a decent place to pitch a tent.
Every week at Uncharted, Ivy hosts the Six Sentence Stories flash fiction linkup and blog hop. This week’s cue was PITCH. Fun sixes from other writers are at the link. Come join us!