The sun shines bright. The day is warm. The breeze comforting and filled with the flavors of late summer. Maybe noon at a table in the middle of a grassy yard sounds harsh, but summer was ending and its a perfect place to collect a little sun, spend time with new friends, listening to kids play and lawn mowers churn angry.
Sara and Dan did not know the MacLeans well, but when invited they accepted happily.
Deanna was dark and willowy and Sara knew Dan found that attractive, which was fine it proved he was still alive, which after twenty five years of marriage feeling alive is a good thing.
Mark was dark also, but in a mysterious, dangerous way. When he was around Sara could taste his presence like salt on the air.
Awaiting final orders.
The two couples sit and drink cheap Merlot and talk about the weather.
Small meaningless talk really and Sara begins wondering what that buzzing sound is before never wondering anything again.
With maniacal laughter, George Talbert slices through another tree. His fat arms quiver exhausted and the chainsaw buzzes mad, as if on the verge of breaking down. Talbert has felled about fifty trees so far. A whole livelihood of maples in fact. The air is pungent with revenge, sweet-sweet mapley revenge.
The tall tree begins to fall with a crack. He releases his finger from the chainsaws trigger and screams a sarcastic, “Timber!”
He wipes cold sweat from his bald scalp with shaky fingers and turns.
He smiles, jaw aching, at the wide fierce eyes of farmer Brown.
Talbert stares back, black splotches forming at the corners of his vision. This man’s reaction, trussed up, ball-gagged and fuming, is his reward.
“Didn’t have to come to this,’ Talbert wheezes. “You could have dammed the river elsewhere.”
The ache in his chest grows into an inferno of pain. He collapses to one knee, mouth working around a suddenly fat useless tongue. He is desperate to gloat more, but can’t, and dies.
The hum of industrial strength air-conditioning keeps the insane summer heat at bay.
Tristram sweats anyway. He needs this sale and has been nervous all morning for a meeting that seems to be over before it really got started.
“These cups are 100% biodegradable, fossil-footprint responsible.”
“Can you beat a thousand for seventy-eight,” The fat-manager with a shiny pink scalp, dressed in an over starched white oxford-button down, asks with a smirk. His little name badge, hanging from the tip of a monstrous left tit, says assistant-manager.
It might as well say gatekeeper.
Tristram dips his chin and shakes his head no.
The fat-man laughs derisively, turns from the table he did not even sit down at and walks away with his pants riding up into his buttcrack.
Tristam curses, wishing his brother-in-law had never convinced him to invest in his paper-cup business.
He stands to make his next appointment across town, his thoughts returning to the idea of an insurance scam.
A slip and fall.
A nice little warehouse fire.
Suicide by cop.
FFfAW Challenge-Week of April 25, 2017