*submitting for tipsylit's prompted - week of March 14, 2014. Click the image to check out the fantastic people behind tipsylit, and the other entrants.
BAM BAM BAM
“Unlock the door! Unlock the goddamned door! I swear to GOD, if you don’t …”
The neighbors were fighting again.
He took the stairs two at a time to get away from her. The girl was quick – almost had her hand slammed in the driver’s side door before he slipped in. She spent a good hour pounding those angry Irish fists on the hood and the windows. The whole time her squeaky, high-pitched voice was demanding, “Unlock the door!” then, “Don’t leave!”
Shouting was returned from the inside the aging blue Jetta. One word: liar. The beating of his hands against the steering wheel matched the cadence of his defense. Other neighbors were out on their decks speaking in low voices. “Maybe someone should go down there” said the Italian. “Calm her down so he can escape” said the elderly Czec downstairs. By the time we all got to the parking pad, she was lying behind the rear wheels.
“I know you see me!” she shouted up at the sky. In the moonlight, she appeared almost ghoulish. Her doughy skin was host to an excessive amount of freckles that joined together like snakeskin. Attached to her scalp was a wild mess of ruddy curls that reminded me of pubic hair. We looked over at the kid sitting in the car. He had stopped shouting. A swath of blonde covered his face. He was defeated.
“I’ll stay here all night!” she screamed.
The rear lights flicked off. She smiled. “You can go now” she called. When we didn’t budge, she threw handfuls of gravel and asphalt back at us. No wonder they were constantly fighting. The girl was weapons-grade crazy.
The Italian was already on the payphone across the street. I stared at my neighbors, realizing I didn’t really know them. All I knew was the shouting. Turning away, I walked towards the Italian acting out obscene gestures towards the town police, still on the line. Let the cops sort it out.
SCREEEECH THWOMP THWOMP
I whipped around in disbelief as the Jetta advanced over the ragdoll body, then again in reverse. Just when I thought it was over, oh dear God, he’s slammed the accelerator again. His baritone “Aaarrrghhh!” nearly drowned out the crunching of gravel, asphalt and bones.
The blue sedan stopped inches away from me and purged its lone passenger. Buzzing street lights illuminated the Italian frozen in fear, payphone receiver still in hand. The blonde kid lit up a cigarette. He smoked it down to the filter before stamping it out into the gravel. We met each other’s gaze for a moment.
“She lied “he said soberly. “There was no baby”. He shook his head as tears broke free to slide down his cheeks. He rubbed his eyes with his fists, unfussed by the sirens wailing down the road.
“What kind of sick, twisted fuck buys an urn and fills it with cigarette ashes?”