Wednesday, January 31, 2024

A Family Threesome

[After a longer-than-expected hiatus, below is a recent publication.]


“What do you mean you kinda shot Jolene?” 

Franklin – he hated Frank or Frankie – stood leaning against a cracked kitchen counter, arms crossed over his stomach, waiting for a response from his half-brother, Red, short for Redford. A metal stepladder stood, legs spread, under a bulb-less fixture. A replacement bulb, still in its cardboard container, waited on the counter next to a well-used toaster. A cast-iron skillet sat on the gas stove. A center island separated him from Red.

“Well, you see, she surprised me when she came into the kitchen while I was cleaning my Glock.”

“You own a Glock?” Franklin said, pushing away from the counter. 

“Bought it at a flea market.” Red puffed out his chest. “Best part was I didn’t have to do it on that internet thing,” Red said, bouncing on his toes. “Even got a discount on a silencer.”

“Why on Earth would you need a Glock?” 

“We got a rabbit problem.” 

“A rabbit problem,” Franklin said, and stared at Red with unblinking eyes.

“Yeah. They keep eating the vegetables in Jolene’s garden.” 

“It’s winter time,” Franklin said. “There aren’t any vegetables in Jolene’s garden.” He began to wonder, not for the first time, if inviting Red to stay with him and Jolene while searching for a place to live was a good idea. Especially since he’d been mooching off of them for eight months and counting.

Sweat formed on Red’s forehead as his rehearsed story began to fall apart already.

Tired of waiting, Franklin continued. “Wouldn’t a shotgun be better for your needs?”

“Probably,” Red replied, “but a Glock is more fun.” Red took a deep breath and continued. “Anyway, she came into the kitchen and stood across the room looking out the window at a pair of blue jays bickering over something that was a mystery to me.” Red’s shoulders relaxed as he felt more confident in his tale. “When she turned around, I asked if she wanted to see my Glock. A big smile formed on her face, and she said sure. So, I opened the junk drawer, reached way in the back where I hid the gun, waved it around like I was shooting a bunch of bad guys, and . . .”

“And you shot Jolene,” Franklin said. 

 “Well, yeah,” Red said, “but it was an accident. Like what you see all the time on the TV news programs.” Red offered Franklin a weak smile. 

“So, you bought a Glock to kill rabbits and instead shot my wife — your sister-in-law. Have I got that right?”

“Almost. You forgot the part where I said I didn’t mean to.” Red backed away toward the door to the dining room, one hand behind his back. 

“But you did.” Franklin took a step forward, as Red raised the Glock and pointed it at Franklin’s chest.

“So, where’s Jolene?”

“In the garage, in the bed of your truck, wrapped in a painting tarp.” Red’s gun hand began to shake. “You know, she’s kinda heavy for a such a skinny thing.” Given the look on Franklin’s face, Red decided he shouldn’t say anymore. Instead, he straightened his arm, raising the barrel of the gun higher and slipped his forefinger over the trigger. “Sorry, Bro, but you know too much.”

Red hesitated pulling the trigger. That gave Franklin time to lift the cast-iron pan off the stove and hold it in front of him. The gun finally fired knocking Red back a step. The bullet struck the cast-iron pan, ricocheted off the ladder, and ended up diagonally in Red’s chest.

Franklin kneeled down on the opposite side of the blood pool forming near Red’s heart. It was then he saw the second blob of blood. Jolene’s blood, he assumed. “Well, Red, you’ve done it now, haven’t you. I’d tell you how sad I am at your impending passing, but I’m not.”

“Remember that internet thing you bragged about not using? Well, I used it after I saw the way you two ogled each other when you thought I wasn’t looking.” Franklin stood and flexed his knees. “I wondered if you two were doing the dirty, so I put little cameras all around the house to spy on you and Jolene every time I was out of town.” Franklin took his cellphone out of his pocket and dialed 911. “You were much more inventive in bed than I would have guessed, Red.” 

“And, so you know, you made things easy for me. My plan was to come over while the two of you were in bed and kill you both—with that Glock you hid where any idiot could find it. But you did the job for me. Thank goodness. I’m not sure I could have pulled the trigger.” 


This piece first appeared at https://www.arielchart.com/2024/01/a-family-threesome.html.


Sunday, November 11, 2018

Veterans Day, 2018

Karen blew warm air into her hands and looked up at the turret windows. According to survivor accounts, one of them was supposedly the hiding spot of the German sniper who had killed her great grandfather in the “war to end all wars.” She’d planned the trip for over a year, expected it to be overwhelming. It wasn’t. Instead, she felt pride. Her grandfather, in full military regalia, like the picture on her living room mantle, appeared before her. She smiled, put a hand over her heart, stood taller, and whispered, “I’ll never forget, grandpa. I’ll never forget.”

Wednesday, November 7, 2018

Mind Games

First appeared at Fewer Than 500.

Eve wonders if she has a secondhand brain, one transplanted in her head while she slept. That’s the only explanation for her forgetfulness. Either that or the doorways of her house have rays of some kind that wipe pertinent information as she passes through them.

Like now. She’s in the master bath but has no idea why. She walks back to the kitchen and retraces her steps. Still nothing.

She enters the bedroom and stares at the bed—a queen size covered by a winter blanket with green and blue swirlies. She stares at the left side, the side George sleeps on, and wonders if her brain is playing tricks on her. Like George is still alive and simply on an extended trip.

“You silly fool,” she says, with a wave to her reflection in the matching bureau mirrors. Eve remembers the funeral—the honor guard, the rifle volleys, taps played on a fake bugle, the stoic faces. Her thoughts revert to the present. She exhales a sad laugh, returns to the kitchen, and  dries the remaining dishes.

She stares out the window and relives certain times in their past—their elopement two days before George reported to the Army, something her mother never forgave her for. The day they planted a sapling in the backyard of their first, and current, home. The night they almost got caught being naughty in the last row of the movie theater to the soundtrack of the original Star Wars. She feels the tension evaporate from her shoulders and face as she replays other events, only for the tightness to return when she can’t remember what she ate for lunch yesterday.

Eve jumps at the sound of the doorbell. Puts a hand over her heart. She looks at her watch. 3:00. Her brain processes what’s happening. Her daughter. Evelyn. Their weekly together time.

Eve hangs the dish towel on the stove handle, spreads it to dry, smooths her dress, and  totters to the door, the sciatica in her left hip slowing her progress. She opens it with a smile and a hug and stares at the face in front of her, hoping she’ll never forget who it belongs to.

Friday, October 5, 2018

She Must Be Crazy--a 100-word story

He sat on the fence post every Sunday, preaching even when no one was nearby.

She watched him through a rear window. A grimace embraced her face followed by a somber head-shake.

He swiveled his head from side to side, stared at the window, thought he saw a face, tilted his head back, as if his words might carry farther with an upward arch.

She approached, her face menacing, vicious.

He wagged his finger, spewed more vitriol.

She offered her own finger, told him to not return or else.

He slithered off his perch never to be seen again.

Tuesday, August 28, 2018

Stalemate

This first appeared in A Story in 100 Words.

Zach’s eyes followed the dirt path as it blended into the trees. Three couples, the latest newlyweds, disappeared in the last month while strolling the serpentine lane. The townspeople wanted something done, and they expected Zach to do it. He was the sheriff, after all.

Zach glanced from side to side, saw faces—some showing fear, others glaring—waiting less patiently with every second that passed.

He rocked from side to side, his palms sweaty, hoping those standing with him would get bored or hungry and leave. The one thing he knew was he wouldn’t be the first to move.