Dani's Shorts 3 Read online

  Flash in the Pan - Describe a colour without using a colour word

  The tablecloth brought on the smell of freshly cut grass, and a healing calmness came over him.

  Richard’s envy sat like a gooseberry among peas in a pod.

  They rushed through a flock of sheep like smoke up a chimney.

  Weekend Quickie 28 - Big Chief 'He ya ho'

  (image - El Rancho Motel and restaurant sign at night , element - an arrowhead, emotion - serendipity)

  The arrowhead sticking out above the number 16 announced trouble. Detective Brad Shaw eased the motel room door open and crept into the darkness, carpet wet underfoot. No movement but the bathroom light flickering, door closed. He made out two bodies, one splayed out on the floor, the other hanging over the bed, motionless.

  "We n'de ya ho, We n'de ya ho, We n'de ya, We n'de ya ho ho ho ho…"

  Brad moved closer to the light, taking up a position behind a chair, gun pointing towards what he recognised as singing.

  "Police! Come on out with your hands up!" Where was his backup, Lance?

  "He ya ho, He ya ho, Ya ya ya!"

  Brad's lumbering partner walked in with a burrito from the El Rancho's restaurant in one hand and his gun limp in the other.

  "Whatta we got, partner?"

  The bathroom door flew open, hinges splintering, light filling the room to reveal a large Native American, war paint and all, string taut and bow loaded.

  "You gotta heap big angry chief!"

  An arrow cut through Lance like butter and he fell, the burrito rolling over to the chair where Brad hid.

  "Oh, what serendipity!" he exclaimed. "Chorizo!"

  58 (TIW Spring Open) - Lost

  (A Bridge on the edge of a cliff, a kitchen apron, fruit scented lotion, your favorite karaoke song.)

  "Are you sure it’s this way?" The wind blew Tom’s kitchen apron into his face, saving him from the sight of a three hundred foot drop.

  "Positive! Well, that’s what that short slanty eyed bloke said back there at the crossing!"

  "I didn’t understand a word he said!"

  "Me, neither." Brian inspected the bottle of fruit scented hand lotion he bought off the little dude. Three hundred rupees,that was about 3 dollars. Nice bottle, shame about the scent. "Though considering his choice in fruit…"

  "What?" Tom’s apron wrapped itself around his head and his footing slipped on the bridge hanging on the edge of a cliff.

  "Nothing! Oh, when I woke up this morning, I didn’t think we’d be on such an adventure!"

  "What?"

  "Nothing!"

  "Look, I really think we should turn around and get back to the crossing. I’m sure we must’ve gone the wrong way, maybe even before that, too!"

  "Nah, my GPS says this is the way!"

  "You and your GPS! I remember you once put ’scenic route’ in and we drove through streets littered with prostitutes!"

  "It was fun!"

  "With my wife and three children in the back?"

  "There was that…" Brian poured some of the fruit scented lotion onto his hands. "Mmm, creamy. Smelly, but creamy. "But hey, if it wasn’t for my GPS, we wouldn’t’ve seen…"

  "Don’t bring that up! I was cleaning bird shit off my car for weeks! And that’s another thing! I’m not happy where we parked!"

  "What, between the yak and the small group of mountain goats?"

  "Yes, and now come to think of it, I’m not sure whether I put the alarm on! Maybe I should go back!" Tom made a swing to turn around and both himself and Brian lost their balance and held onto the handrope for dear life. ’Maybe I won’t go back just yet."

  "Don’t worry about it! I’m sure you did!"

  Two planks creaked under the strain and broke off the bridge, tumbling down the side of the cliff to the ground. Brian started to sing.

  "Do you have to?"

  "What? Oh, now I’ve lost my place!" Brian restarted singing.

  "Oh, hell, if it’s not one thing, it’s another…" Tom fought with the apron but the wind blew it straight back up over his head. "Brian!"

  "What? Oh, I’ll start again!" And so he did. Brian’s singing didn’t help Tom’s concentration, as he held onto the rock, tentatively stepping ahead on a few loose wooden planks.

  "Why the song, Brian? Like we haven’t got enough…"

  "I’m scared of heights! Singing soothes my nerves!"

  Tom succeeded in unwrapping the apron from his head, only to catch a faceful of the crescendo in the chorus.

  "What? ’Bohemian Rhapsody’?"

  "It’s my favourite karaoke song! Aren’t you scared of heights?"

  "No!"

  His foot slipped once again and he held on for a moment to consider the next few metres.

  "You’re not scared of falling?"

  "No! I’m scared of landing! Now, where the hell is this Tesco Express?"

  Weekend Quickie 29 - Quickie in a Quickie

  (image - plane docked on a pier on a beach, element - 5 Iron Writers, emotion - wanderlust)

  "Where's Brian? He's got the keys to the plane," asked Jordan.

  "He's probably busy with his grandchildren on Skype, he really misses them," replied Mamie.

  "Yeah, I think it was a good idea we all banded together on this Gung-ho world trip, seeing as we're now all famous writers, but I sure do miss my family," said Michael.

  They all agreed and drank their cocktails, watching the plane bob up and down.

  "Are we in 'Castaway' or what?" laughed Jordan.

  "More like 'Lost'," said DaVur. "Watch out for fast-moving invisible monsters…oh. No Equinox winners here."

  "So, what do we do now?" asked Michael.

  "Well, what are we?" questioned Mamie.

  "Hot?"

  "No, look, we're Iron Writers and it's Saturday, isn't it?"

  "Hey, a Quickie!" screamed Jordan.

  "You'll be lucky," remarked DaVur.

  "We can write a Quickie! We need elements."

  "A beach?"

  "Good, now, what's here?"

  "Other than that plane, us," said Jordan.

  "5 Iron Writers, including Brian," stated DaVur.

  "And now an emotion?"

  "Boredom?"

  "Terrible."

  "How about 'the desire to travel about', like what we'd like to do now?" mentioned Michael.

  "I think that's called 'wanderlust'."

  "Perfect! Let's write!"

  They sat drinking their cocktails, watching the plane bob up and down.

  59 - Slaughter

  (Whack a Mole Game, bag of Body Bags, theologian, atheist)

  The shot rang out across the street.

  "Another for the bag. How many is that?" asked Spike.

  "Fifty seven. Only forty three more to fill." Headshot. "Forty two."

  "Listen, Phillips?" Spike paused in his shooting. "Don’t you think our orders were a bit strange?"

  "Nope. The boss said, ’Here’s a bag of body bags. Go fill ’em.’ So that’s what we’re doing, right?"

  "Don’t you think this is all a bit…meaningless?"

  "Meaningless? Dunno, but I’m sure getting a kick out of it, myself." Another shot, another bag filled.

  "I’m an atheist, but even I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this."

  "Atheist? I don’t believe you. You’re American, right?"

  "Yeah, as much as an American can be American, I guess, yeah. Slovak on my mother’s side, Pollak on my dad’s."

  "And you’re an atheist?"

  "Yep. There is no God. Baptised Roman Catholic, of course, but I ain’t never been to church and never will. I mean, look at all this lot. If there was a God, don’t you think He’d be trying to save them or something?" A shot to a leg. The poor woman dragged herself along in the sand. "Shit." Spike aimed and shot his latest victim through the head.

  "Maybe they deserve this, who knows?"

  "Yeah." A head popped out from behind a building and disappeared ag
ain. Spike aimed up the shot and fired through what was left of the wall. They heard the sound of a body slumping to the ground.

  "Did you know that 95% of Americans are religious?"

  "Why, thank you Einstein, I did not know that. Next you’ll be telling me you’re a priest." Spike’s gun clicked empty as a boy dressed only in rags ran past their sights. Phillips caught him one in the chest while Spike reloaded.

  "Funny you should say that, but my major in college was Theology."

  "You went to college?"

  "Didn’t you?" Two in one shot. "Bingo!"

  "Nah, I went straight into the army, me."

  "Figures."

  "What’s that supposed to mean?"

  "Nothing." A dog ran down the street and Phillips sighed. Spike shot it.

  "Fill the bags, he didn’t say with what."

  "True. Anyway, so I guess that makes me a theologist."

  "Like I’m a dentist." Spike showed his gaping smile. Phillips was disgusted.

  "Guy, get that seen to before I will."

  "Ha!"

  "So, as I was saying, I guess I’m a theologist, or theologian."

  "And as a 'theologian', what do you say to this situation we, or shall we say, they, find themselves in?" Three shots in a row took out a group trying to make a break for it down the street.

  "Well, I guess…how the hell do I know? It was a long time ago, college!" Phillips shot the same girl four times to rid himself of his anger. "And besides, I paid someone to write my thesis."

  "Uh-huh. Right." Deserted, silence once again. "You know, this is kinda like a ’whack a mole’ game, this." Spike took out another runner with one shot.

  Weekend Quickie 30 - Carlos is dead

  (image - Highway 2 sign, towards Tijuana, element - yellow scorpion, emotion - indecision)

  A yellow scorpion scurried across the bonnet of the pink Mazda2, embarrassed as I was to find itself within 100 miles of its presence. Trust me to borrow my wife's car on a day like this. I'd seen the shiny topped bearded man in glasses smoking in his convertible at the 2 mile mark into Tijuana on Highway 2 a moment ago and I parked in the nearest layby. Was that the dead body of Carlos I'd seen in the back seat? Adjusting the fluffy pink framed rearview mirror, I saw the car some way back at the junction. It sat there like some big beige monster ready to change my life. But for good or bad? I knew what Carlos had been up to and how he felt such a bigshot since getting connected, and I knew what he'd carried out of the trailer this morning. I'd warned him but now it was all too late. Should I do something? If I were in my Ford truck, there'd be a shotgun under the seat. In this car, the most lethal thing I'd find would be haircurlers. What now? A Toyota Tundra drove by with speed back towards the vehicle.

  60 - (TIW Spring Open Final) - That 'punk' camera

  (Steampunk Camera, A dried, pressed rose, A glass house, A conveyor Belt)

  "This just can't be right," whispered Tracer to Amelie, his beloved sharp-shooting rifle. Lying in the immaculately-kept grass, he watched as yet another gardener moved from the main building to a glass house in the centre of the lawn.

  "It's just a garden?" Tracer took out his orders and read them again to make sure he was in the right place. He was. Looking through Amelie's sights, he watched as this latest gardener opened the glass door and disappeared. This place was a simple garden of a rich man. There was, however, something not quite right.

  "How many does that make, Amelie?" In the past hour, more than a dozen gardeners had gone into the large garden feature. Another started the journey.

  "Okay, pay attention, something ain't right here, not right at all." Tracer concentrated his focus in Amelie's sights, noting every detail possible. Then he saw it. Without a sound, he took out the camera, already steamed up and ready to go, zoomed in for a closer view of the door and clicked. The camera lost some steam and its gears whirred as the film was moved onto the next shot. He hadn't seen it before, as it was a mere flick of the wrist, but now he recognised that each 'gardener', if they were at all, had a special security card they waved at a control panel next to the door. Too much security. Tracer put the camera away and readied Amelie with a sleeper round. The next 'gardener' dropped to the ground as the door opened, and Tracer made a run for it, with the door closing as he dragged the sleeping body into the glass house. He made sure the body was well hidden before moving on.

  "Well, well, well." After traversing a few floors underground on a labyrinth of stairs, he stopped to wonder at the mass of conveyor belts below. This place was a factory, and not any old factory. This place was building weapons, such as the like Tracer had never seen before but had only heard about. He took out the camera once again and took a few shots. On the third picture, some people came into view below. They looked like they were inspecting the production. One of them, the man in front had a…metal hand…Frintz! Tracer had seen this man and his hand at work before, crushing a man's throat for the sin of dropping one of his precious albums of dried, pressed roses! The man was a paradox, a killer, a schizophrenic! One moment calm, quiet and restful, the next manic, crazy, a complete psycho. Tracer chanced another picture of the Frintz but had forgotten that this 'punk' camera was already steamed out. It whistled and whirred, rolling the film to the end.

  "Shit." He looked down and all eyes were on him. Frintz pointed a metal finger towards him and half a dozen armed guards began running for the stairs. Tracer had only a few seconds to escape.

  Weekend Quickie 31 - Tracer

 

  (image - steampunk Zepplin, element - bacon, emotion - optimism)

  Tracer aimed Amelie's sights on the nearest Zepplin's rope, one of three keeping the airship steady in the night sky. The dozen or so Zepplins lit up the area around the British camp, making any assault impossible without major losses.

  "Tracer, y'er gonna bring d'em British pigs on us, y'are."

  "Irish, you haven't got much confidence in my abilities."

  "Nah, but optimism, yeah. If yer don' mind, I'll skedaddle back t'lines an' watch the fireworks back there. Gunnin' fer yer!"

  Irish ran back, leaving Tracer alone. A slight breeze blew across no man's land and Tracer turned Amelie to the furthest left of the Zepplins. He aimed at a rope and fired. It cut and the airship rose almost imperceptibly at first. A few of the troops in the camp looked into the darkness. Tracer opened Amelie's breech and out popped the empty case. He placed in another bullet and fired, cutting through a second rope. The Zepplin slowly floated over the British camp. The troops were now in a panic, some due to the shoots, others due to the impending danger. Tracer's third bullet brought a lethal fireball down on the camp.

  "There'll be some bacon tonight!", he laughed.

  61 - No one's perfect

  (lace shawl, revolving doors, image of a fire-eater on a beach at night, duct tape)

  "So, what happened to Stanley?"

  "Who?" Tracy pouted her lips in the mirror, making sure the lipstick was perfect.

  Her eyeliner, however, needed touching up.

  "Stanley, Stanley Kundricks, you know, last time I saw you, when was it…?"

  "Almost a year ago, Brigitte, almost a year, right after my last birthday."

  Brigitte and herself were going out on the town, have a few drinks, do a little

  dancing, maybe get lucky. With those eyebrows, Brigitte would have to be very

  lucky…the lift up bra helped.

  "Yeah, then." There was no regret in her voice that she’d ignored Tracy for so long,

  but that was Brigitte, here today, gone tomorrow. "So?"

  "Oh, that Stanley…no, it didn’t work out, really."

  "But he was fantastic, a great catch!"

  "Yeah, well…"

  "We double dated, I remember now. Ugh, I was with that Dave bloke, yuck."

  "Ha! Yeah, I remember him. Those jeans…"

  "We went to a restaurant together, and then…" Brigitte lay on the bed looking in

  her pocket mirror m
aking silent kisses in the air.

  "…and then the beach." Tracy was almost done, she only had to sort her hair out.

  And choose an outfit.

  "Oh, yeah! There were a few performances, weren’t there? A juggler, a fire-eater, he

  was cute. I tried to get his attention but that Dave said we should walk the Quay

  ’in the moonligh’."

  "Yes, but…"

  "And that was so romantic, when Stanley bought you a lace shawl from that old

  gypsy woman and you wore it as you guys strolled along the river. Dave tried to

  get the better of me in one of the alleys but I gave him a kick in the balls. Stopped

  him for a few minutes. Stanley just held your hand, so nice. I wish I could find

  someone like that, so gentleman like, and not these tossers I always get."

  "Yes, well…"

  "So? What ever happened? Last time I saw you guys that night, after Dave tried it

  on again, was when you disappeared through those revolving doors of that posh

  hotel on the corner."

  "Yes…"

  "That Dave, had some money but no idea. Left him a few weeks later for a truck

  driver. Ha, he was funny. Smelly but funny, and there was always the chance of

  travel…and bacon."

  "Yes…"

  "So what happened? What happened with Stanley, Tracy? Any fireworks? Any

  plans? Why aren’t you guys married or something?"

  "Well…"

  "C’mon, what was it? Not enough money? Car not fast or flashy enough? Not so