See it here! Short stories, flash fiction, and other material that I was challenged to write. Enjoy your reading.
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As a fan of Chuck Wendig, I enjoy his challenges and label them as such. If you wish to visit his site, go to Terribleminds.com
Thank you for reading!
The challenges often have word-count, time constraints, and writing out of my comfort-zone. Simply put, they are fun.
Thursday, May 21, 2015
The Chuck Wendig Flash Fiction Challenge
The greasy asshole winked from behind the cash register. His
foul breath made Zazzy recoil a little, which is no easy feat.
“These here tires are just as good as any you might find in
one them faint-cy downtown she-ow roooms.”
Her contemptuous smile fading, Zazzy pursed her red lips.
“It’s like you’re reading my mind, honey.”
Zazzy rolled her eyes. “I can read. let’s keep it at that.”
He stepped out from behind the plywood counter. Her eyes
grew wild and furious as the man slid his hand over her long red hair then down
her ass cheek. She pulled back, smiled, and snatched the wallet from his pocket
as he tried to kiss her.
After slipping his wallet into her purse, she grabbed his
wrist firmly.She stared into the man’s
shiny blue eyes. She pointed toward a stack of black Dunderflop Radials in the
corner. “Are those the best tires you have?” After a short silence, She
constricted her hand tighter onto the man’s wrist.
The man turned his face toward the stack of tires and
“Ma’am, I can assure you, those tires come standard on every
sport car that comes out of…”
With his long stringy blond hair balled in one hand and the
ass of his denim pants in the other, she carried him to the old wire-reinforced
glass door of the “Turn ‘N’ Burn Tire Center”.
“Those shit-spinning rubbers might cut it on your farm
truck, but they aren’t going near my car. That is my red Exotisport Gorgon
9900N. It came standard with 2000 horsepower and it now has more. It has MORE
cubic liters than a crate of your granddaddy’s corn licky’ and MORE
cubic-inches than your momma’s fat ass. The only thing standard about that
machine is the custom built X-90 transmission.”
The short wiry tire man quivered, his face mashed against
the glass. “Yes, ma’am. Can you please…”
Zazzy closed her eyes and shook her head. “Not until you
answer one question.” She hissed and punctuated each syllable with a firm shake
of her man-filled hands, “What, the, fuck, a-bout, that, ma-chine, is,
“Nawt’n. Ma’am.” The words seemed to come straight from his
male-camel toe that Zazzy had a firm hold on. The subsequent noise he made
sounded like the stretched out nipple of a balloon squeaking out it’s breath.
Not the voice of the man dubbed Skeet county’s ‘Hog Wrestling Champion”.
The side door to the shop opened as the asshole thudded onto
the dingy concrete floor. “Michelle Stephan Eakers, what in the devil are you
doing on the floor?”
Zazzy glared at the tall man who interrupted her. “My name
is Zazzy, not Michelle. Completely wrong.”
The man lying on the floor wheezed and raised his shaking
The tall man stepped back behind the shabby plywood counter
where the asshole had stood. His eyes met her dead-lit gaze. With a shaking
bony finger pointed down, the tall man’s gaunt face twisted out the words.
“That’s his na-na-name”.
“That’s his nay-nan-nay-nay-name.” The subtly of her mocking
was not lost on the tall man. Her sarcastic words were accentuated by the
raising of a recently waxed eyebrow. “His name is Michelle?” Poking her finger
toward her feet.
“It’s French ma’am an’ momma don’t much spell good.” The man
behind the counter swallowed as he snaked his shaky hand below the cash
register feeling for the .357 revolver that was usually there.
She smiled. “And Stephanie, is French also? She laughed.
“Michelle…Steff-fawn…Eakers.” He enunciated.
"Whatever." Zazzy tugged her purse strap as she
spun her feet. Her Italian stilettos groaned. She swung the door open. The gray
aluminum frame thumped on Michelle’s head as it swung shut.
She grabbed the door handle of the Gorgon as her heel sunk
into the gravel. “They can make a street-legal car that goes half the speed of
sound but not heels that can withstand a gravel lot. Geniuses.”. She jumped in
and pushed the starter button. The mufflers roared.
Michelle accepted a greasy, yet helpful, hand from the tall
man. “Why’d you let her treat you like that?” Michelle shaking, brushed the
residual humiliation off his jeans. His hand grazed his back pocket. No wallet.
“Burt you prick, I didn’t let her! That woman is bad-wrong.
Just ain’t right. She didn’t just take my pride, she took my damned wallet.
Fifty bucks says she’s heading for the city.”
“Well what’re you gonna do Michelle? What makes a woman go
wrong like that?” Burt looked out the window as a hailstorm of gravel flew out
from the back end of the Gorgon. The crushed stones pelted the plywood siding
of the only “tire center” in three counties.
The bell inside the old black desk-phone jangled when
Michelle slammed it down on the counter. Burt jumped. “Imma tell you what I’m
gonna do. I’m gonna go after that bitch while you call Johny Stump and have him
stop her. I ain’t lettin’ her take my drinking money! 1500 bucks she don’t
deserve!” The door slammed. Plywood shuttered.
The gray cloud of burnt rubber was swirling around the edge
of the road when Michelle’s Trans Prix rolled through it at 50 miles per hour.
The 30 year old muscle car was not only the fastest car in
Skeet county, it was the only car with a plastic Pirouette Racing slick mounted
on the roof.
The thought struck him, if Johnny Stump couldn’t stop her,
there would be no way the Trans Prix could catch up with her Gorgon. After
finding5th gear Michelle took his hand
off the shift knob. He reached between the bucket-seats and flopped out the
revolver. The same one his brother, “Burt Josephine Eakers”, had been looking
for under the counter at the Tire Center. Michelle caressed the steel .357 as
the Trans Prix hit 90 Miles per hour.
Zazzy cranked-up the car stereo after finding a station that
played something other than that “Country and Bumpkin” music.
An ear-piercing riff of heavy metal guitar blasted through
the speakers. She smiled and jabbed the accelerator with her toe.
The monstrous oak trees lining the sides of the old paved
country road blocked out most of the light. A little sunshine was coming
through the snarled leafy branches and dripping tendrils of Spanish Moss . It
was casting millions of little sun rays over the road. At 110 miles an hour the
vertiginous tree filtered strobes of sunbeams irritated her. She grabbed the
sun visor and flipped it down before glancing up to check her face. Her eyes
smiled at the sight of Michelle’s Trans Prix. It grew larger in her rear view
mirror. She pushed her toe harder. The speedometer read 140.
Michelle saw two small puffs of smoke roll off each of her
tires. His heart was thumping to the rhythm of Blondie’s “ One Way or Another”.
He kicked the gas pedal to the floor.'
Zazzy sighed. A Tractor trailer. “Fucking Bumpkins!” She
felt the ass end of the Gorgon swaying. She struggled. Counter-steering and
jabbing quickly at the brakes. The nearly bald tires left long skid marks and a
dense cloud of black smoke. The massive truck parked across the road blocked
both lanes from one rocky ditch to the other. She had three seconds to decide.
Take the dirt road on the right that trailed through the woods or turn around.
“I should just stop. Asshole!” She giggled. “Nope. This is too much fun."
He saw the black rubber cloudbefore he saw where the Gorgon had left the
pavement. He braked. He wasn’t sure how much time he had to react after he
punched through the dense smoke.
Zazzy’s Gorgon skidded a hundred meters or more to a near
halt. Her suspension rocked slightly from side to side. She was facing the dirt
road. The smell of hot rubber and asphalt filled her nostrils. She mashed the
accelerator. The hot black tires slithered wildly as they flailed for traction
before throwing Zazzy back in her seat. She winced as the gravel started
blasting down the length of the Gorgon's undercarriage. “Fucking Bumpkins!” She
tipped her head as the loud metallic thundering of the quarter-sized stones
rumbled her nerves.
The tires of the Trans Prix shrieked as Michelle followed
the skid marks pointing the way toward his prey. “Dead end BITCH!” The clouds
of dry dust billowing from the tires of the Gorgon kept his speed and his visibility
The Gorgon drifted chaotically through a wide corner. She
stomped the gas pedal. Zazzy’s eyes grew wide as her car seemed to defy
gravity. She wrinkled her face as she felt her ass sink back into the seat. She
hadn’t seen the small rise in the road.
The dust was getting thicker and he knew that the trip to
the Laxahatchie River was about to end. He also knew that there was a fuck of a
bump ahead. Like a dog chasing the mail-truck, he wasn’t quite sure what he was
going to do when he caught up with her. He glanced at the .357 and shifted.
Vroom! Boom! Zazzy blinked hard as the shock of the impact
traveled up her spine. The seat-belt punched into her sternum. “Ooof!” Her
pulse quickened. Her heart squeezing faster and harder than it had in years.
The fiberglass chunks from her front end crunched under the chassis of the
Gorgon. “Hope I didn’t need that! Bwaahahaha!” She gunned the engine.
Michelle heard the fiberglass smash under his tires. He
slowed down to 25 miles per hour and looked in the rear-view. Nothing could be
seen in the dust cloud. He shrugged and sped up.
Zazzy saw the sign. The orange one. “Bridge Out Ahead.” Her
tires ground to a dead stop near the edge of the old bridge ruins. The hood of
the Gorgon was hot when she slid on it to wait for him. She could hear the
pings and pangs of Michelle’s car racing on gravel.
Michelle’s shaking hand reached down and grabbed the .357.
As he jammed on the brakes he heard a loud popping noise coming from above,
then a thump next to the car. The door opened. A chime sounded. Bing, bing,
Zazzy was laughing so hard she pissed herself a little as
the black plastic Pirouette Racing slick rolled off the roof of the Trans Prix,
circled three times, and keeled over on its side. She was still pointing and
laughing when Michelle leveled his handgun at her.
“Give me my fucking wallet! Think this is funny bitch?”
Zazzy was holding her stomach and lying on the sloping hood
of the Gorgon. “Yeah!” She tried to get the words out.
“You, oh my fuck, you are like a character from that show
about the Bumpkins with talking pigs. Put down your little toy, before you get
From ten feet away, Michelle squeezed the trigger. Click.
His face flashed to white as he stared into her eyes, inhuman swirling pools of
black and gray. He was frozen in place from the neck down.
“Now that we have established that your tires are shit, your
car sucks, and your little pea-shooter isn’t going to save your soul, let’s
talk about you.”
Michelle was standing, unmoving. He reflected on his earlier
words, ‘That woman is bad-wrong, bad-wrong, bad wrong’. Again he tried to step
toward her. His limbs refused to obey his mind.
“Nope. I ain’t talkin’.”
Zazzy’s face wrinkled. The corners of her mouth turned up.
“You see this wallet? Michelle Stephanie? Let’s call it… your soul. If you want
it back you will have to do two things. One requirement is you asking nicely
after you fulfill the first requirement.”
“I ain’t playin’.” Michelle’s eyes shut.
“Oh? I could leave you here and when you die of starvation,
well, let’s just say we’ll be good buds, drinking buds... Forever…”
"WHAT DO YOU WANT!”
“It’s simple Michelle Stephanie.” She gazed into his eyes.
Zazzy slid her ass into her Gorgon and drove away.