Third Time, Not the Charm!

The word of the week is STRIKE for the six-sentence story prompt by girlontheedge.  This week we will see the story of Conrad, an ex-con with really bad luck, who agreed to take his cousin to the corner store, and has come to seriously regret this decision.  It’s one of those, people see what they want kind of situations, and while I believe most of the “I was just there” defences are crap, some of them  are probably on the level…

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Conrad was standing in line at a seven-eleven, trying desperately not to break down in tears as his cousin held a gun to the cashier’s head, demanding all the money in the till.

He had no idea that this was what Joey had in mind when asking him for a ride, and since Joey had been the only one in his family to give him a shot after his second stint in prison, he hadn’t really been in a place to say no.

He wouldn’t have said no if he could though, his cousin was a good guy, clean cut, working class, and he was letting Conrad sleep on his couch until he got a job that paid enough to get a place on his own.

Of all the people in Conrad’s family, Joey was the last person he would have suspected to pull this kind of shit, but now he was here and there was a gun, and the sounds of sirens in the distance.

If it had been after his first arrest he would have been trying to talk Joey down, after all, murder in the commission of felony fell on all participants, and while he was not participating, Conrad had been around the block a few times now, he knew there wasn’t a snowballs chance in hell people would believe that he was just an innocent bystander.

It didn’t matter if Joey got away, or if he killed everyone here, this would be counted at Conrad’s third strike, he would be in for life, so he stood clutching a bag of chips and a chocolate bar, closed his eyes, and waited for it all to be over.

Over in a Flash

Hello, this week on The Writer’s Mess Weekly Friday Picture Prompt Challenge, I decided to take a stunningly lovely picture of a canyon and twist it into something dark and sad.  Follow Evan, an inexperienced hiker who took a weekend trip without knowing all the fact, and learns that water in the dessert is both a blessing and a curse.


Evan looked up at the smooth rock walls of the canyon, the blue gray of the storm building above, and thought it was a pretty nice place to die.

He didn’t want to die, but he was practical and knew he chances of getting rescued were low at this point.  He had been trapped in this canyon for four days, after being flushed in during a flash flood.  At the time he had considered himself lucky for not having drowned, after all, he had found the bodies of the three of other guys he went hiking with already.

The food and water from their packs had kept him going, and he thought that he could make it to a spot where he could climb out before his rations were gone, or he would be found.

Hope ran out about three hours after the water had, but he knew he still had at least another day before he died of dehydration.

Then the thunder started.

At first he thought it was a chopper, but as it grew louder, and the sky grew darker, he realized it wouldn’t be the dehydration that killed him.

He had barely managed to stay afloat the first time, in the best shape of his life.  Now, four days later he was tired, starving, and thirsty.  He wouldn’t have the strength to keep his head above water, and as the first drop of rain hit his cracked tongue, he knew that this was God being merciful.

The Reaping

This is a just desserts type of response to the six-sentence story prompt of the week, which is ERUPTION. This follows an unnamed first person narrator, and her ongoing interactions with that jerk, Clay.


My mother always told me to be nice to people, that sometimes they might be going through something you can’t see, and while I agreed with her most of the time, I knew deep down that Clay was just a jerk.

He had friends, a good family, played sports, did okay in school, but he was one of those guys that if you were just the least bit better than him in something, you would live to regret it.

He never hurt anyone, not really, but he played jokes, spread rumors, and just picked at you until you started to think that getting the top grade on the math test wasn’t actually worth it.

I tried to rise above it, help him out here and there, and I even spent the better part of a term trying to become his friend in 5th grade, but it was pretty much hopeless.

So 6 years later, when Clay was assigned to be my lab partner for chemistry, it became the class I dreaded going to, until he went to far, until the day of the magnificent eruption.

I tried to tell Clay that he was making a mistake, that those were the ingredients to two different experiments, but I gave up, taking cover when he dropped the sodium cube into the sulfuric acid, and I felt a little guilty for the rest of the year at the relief I felt from never having to see that guy again.

Wreckage

There was recently a rather large storm in my area, which took out a lot of trees, and a few houses, which is what inspired this weeks response to the Friday Picture Prompt Challenge on the Writer’s Mess. That and apparently a preoccupation about getting what you deserve, that will return again later in the week. This is the story of a woman whose life has fallen apart, but in the end things might not be quite so bad as she thought.


She sat in the car, in the pouring rain, looked out at the remains of her house and started to laugh. Wasn’t just the perfect representation of her life right now?

Her husband of 15 years had left her, having knocked up the secretary, and he had the gall to blame her for it.

He had tried to claim infidelity on her part, and that was what had hit her the hardest. She had always thought that he understood what he was signing up for when he married an openly ace woman, but it turned out he was just waiting for her to change her mind.

When she hadn’t, he assumed that she she was seeing someone else, and that it was only fair that he get his own action. He said he wanted kids that were actually his, and not her lover, and the blows kept raining down.

He said he knew that she would want kids eventually, and had completely ignored her warnings that she had no intention of reproducing. She had finished out the day staring across the room at a stranger, and let him win.

She signed away the house, she got her stuff, some money, and her dahlia’s from the front garden. As she sat there staring at the wreckage from the storm, that used to be their house, she couldn’t help but laugh.

The only thing untouched, her front garden, where a single red dahlia bloomed. It seemed she had won after all.