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“Getting the Boot!” by Bill Richardson

Posted on July 29, 2015 by writer

Getting the Boot!

Bill Richardson

Uncle Bill

Anchor Point, Alaska

Hi folks,

Here’s hoping all’s well with everyone. I thought I’d share an adventure I had a week ago.

What had started out as a simple shopping trip turned out to be some adventure. As you know from the ex my lists are very short as I don’t like being in crowds. The sooner I can purchase what I need the sooner I can get out of a store.

Well anyway, a discount department store down the street was having a sale on wooden railings and since I’m a building a small stage for that new bar next to Dad’s liquor store, I thought I’d check out what might be available.

Sure enough there was a huge crowd in every aisle. I struggled to stay focused and slowly worked my way directly to the wood area.

My design plans were for a low rail barrier across the front of the main stage to keep the audience from sitting on the edge. I wanted the railing to have a flourish to it, but for it not to be real fancy, and it had to be strong wood. And I wanted to be able to fasten it real well so it could take quite a bit of force if people leaned against it.

So I spotted a balcony rail of oak that was 16 foot long. Can you believe that? A 16 foot oak balcony rail was being sold in a discount department store? For real!

Just as I reached over and grabbed the rail a little old lady stomped right on my foot and yelled, “You can’t have that. I want it.” I’m sure glad she was wearing Xtra Tuff boots or I would have been in some real pain.

Now get this:

I tried to explain that I had it first, but she insisted that since she was much older than me; smaller by two feet and about 100 pounds less weight; and that her retirement income was barely making her life bearable, she deserved to have this particular item!

I almost let her have it verbally, but then something about her demeanor made me stop and ask, “If your income is barely enough to live on, why do you want to buy something like this?”

“Sonny,” she said. “I don’t really need it. I just wanted to talk to someone and you seem like a good choice. Go ahead and take it. What’re you going to do with it?”

“I’m building a sound area for a new bar down the street. This railing will work great to keep people from sitting on the stage edge.”

“Sound stage in a bar? Why?”

“Lots of people like to sing. They think they sound more professional I guess, and maybe karaoke helps them.”

“Well young man you have a very nice voice. You should try singing ‘kerry okee’, or ‘kare okay’, or whatever they call it. I’m going to go stomp on some more toes. You have a nice day.”

She just smiled and walked away. That woman was strange. I don’t like strange.

So anyway I got the railing and had to keep from hitting people with it as I got to the checkout stand.

At the car I really wondered what I was going to do next. As you know my ex left me with that little old Volkswagen Beetle. Ever try to tie a 16 foot board onto an 8 foot long car?

Finally, I got the job done, but the rig looked like a jouster without a horse!

I’ll cut to the chase. The railing job went fine. I tested it several times by banging into it. It held strong.

The first night the bar opened there was a huge crowd. Now I stayed way off to one side to keep an eye on the railing until I was sure it was going to do its job.

Along about midnight I decided to go home when I noticed that the next singer was that little old lady from the discount store. She was dressed to the nines in a long white dress with pearl necklace and earrings.

When she started singing the place went quiet. What a beautiful voice! And can you believe she sang “These boots are made for walking!” Just as she finished she looked directly at me, grinned, and kicked her foot up into the air. She was wearing her Xtra Tuff boots!

Well, time to go. Write when you can and enjoy your journey!

Love ya’,

Uncle Bill

Filed under: 2015 Submissions | Tagged: 36 hours, prompts, Sledgehammer, writing contest | 3 Comments »

“Nameless” by Ashley Ellingson

Posted on July 29, 2015 by writer

Nameless

Ashley Ellingson

She drifted through the aisles, running her fingertips over family-size packages of paper towels and flimsy beach cover-ups. The air held a hint of disinfectant but it was still overpowered by mustiness. Her shoes squeaked on the linoleum. She shifted her heavy tote bag from one shoulder to the other as she gazed at neon sale signs pointing to rows of plastic dishes. Other shoppers ignored her and she wondered if she was real. She didn’t feel human. She was a former human. An ex-human.

In the baby aisle, a yellow onesie caught her eye. Blue elephants were stamped on the cotton. She picked it up and then put it down. She picked it up again and walked quickly to the cash registers. The cashier barely looked at her during the transaction. As she walked outside into the drizzly rain, she shoved the onesie into her tote bag.

A man stood near the curb next to a box of wriggling puppies. “Free puppies,” he said, smiling at her.

“No, thanks.”

“Come on,” he said, picking up a puppy.

Even though she didn’t want to touch it, she reached out. The puppy looked up at her with mournful eyes and licked her chin.

“I can’t,” she mumbled, looking at her feet.

The man took the puppy from her arms and when she raised her eyes, he was staring at her quizzically. She knew he was looking at her disheveled hair or her blotchy complexion.

“I’m Ethan,” he said. He was young, she guessed. Barely twenty-one.

“I have to go.” She walked away, wrapping her scarf around her neck.

“What are you doing tonight?” Ethan called.

She turned around. He was grinning, his smile so bright that it seemed to cut through the mist.

“Why?”

“Let’s go out.”

She nearly grimaced. “Why?”

“C’mon. Meet me at Jasper’s on 15^th. 7:30. We’ll sing karaoke.”

“I don’t sing,” she said, walking away.

“I’ll be there at 7:30,” he called as she retreated.

She was there again the next day, wandering from aisle to aisle, examining plants and birdfeeders. Her shoes were different and they didn’t squeak, but without the noise she felt invisible. The store employees averted their eyes and gave her a wide berth as she passed. She came to the baby aisle, and this time, she picked up a small plastic rattle. Shaking it gently, she listened. It sounded muffled and far away and she wondered if the rattle also wasn’t real. She checked out, the cashier wordlessly taking her crumpled money, and dropped the rattle into her large tote bag.

Ethan was outside again but his box held fewer puppies.

“It’s you,” he said, smiling like she was a friend.

“I don’t want a puppy.”

“Are you sure? There are only a few left. They need homes.”

“They need good homes,” she said, turning away.

“I didn’t see you at Jasper’s.”

“I don’t know you. Why would I go there?”

“Because it seems like you need some fun. I’m fun. And I’m a good listener.”

“I don’t need fun,” she said. “Good bye.”

“I’ll be there if you change your mind!”

Her apartment was dark and empty. She turned on every light and sat in the armchair, her bag on her lap. Sitting there, she barely held a coherent thought as the afternoon passed languorously. As she often did, she pictured molasses oozing from the bottle, a state she feared her mind was approaching. Nonetheless, when she finally stood, it was to shake out a few pills from the bottle near the sink. She took a drink of water and checked her watch. Ethan would be at the bar. She didn’t want to go but she found herself opening the door and locking it behind her.

Jasper’s was quiet but it was also the middle of the week. Christmas lights were strung from the ceiling and the wooden bar was dinged and scratched from years’ worth of drunken patrons. She sat on a stool with a torn vinyl seat. A dank smell permeated every surface.

“It’s you!”

She turned to see Ethan approaching.

“I didn’t think you’d show,” he said, sitting next to her.

“I didn’t think I would either,” she said, hugging her bag to her chest.

“What are we drinking?” he asked.

She shrugged.

“Two vodka tonics, please,” Ethan said to the bartender, sliding money across the bar.

“What are you going to sing?” she asked once they had their drinks.

“Not sure what I’m in the mood for. You?”

“I told you I’m not singing.”

“Your loss. It’s good for the soul,” he said with a wink.

“Is that supposed to be some sort of platitude?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t dream of boring you with such banality,” he said. “Besides, that would be presuming that I know something about you.”

“If you don’t want to bore me, then you’d best start singing.”

“The pressure!” he exclaimed, finishing his drink in one swallow.

Amused despite herself, she watched him on the small stage. He sang a song she recognized but couldn’t name, something upbeat with a Motown feel. Ethan spun around energetically, gesturing at her with the microphone during parts of the song. She nearly smiled, suddenly realizing she couldn’t remember the last time she wanted to do so. Surprised, she finished her drink.

“How was I?” he asked when he returned.

She clapped slowly. “Not bad. Not good, but not bad.”

Ethan laughed. “I’ll take it. You’re up.”

“No.”

“Just go look. See if there’s something that speaks to you.”

“Okay, fine.” She didn’t know why she was humoring him. Rising to her feet, she placed her tote bag on the seat and went to the stage. Quickly, she flipped through the karaoke book even though she had no intention of singing. As she returned to her seat, she was shocked to see Ethan rummaging through her bag.

She rushed over and pulled the bag from his hands. “What are you doing?” Anger flashed through her, nearly cutting through the deep fog. “That’s mine.”

Ethan looked stricken. “I’m sorry. I was just curious. Why…why do you have that with you?”

“What?” She took a step away from him.

“You know. That club. Or bat. Whatever it is.”

“It’s not a bat. It’s a rail. A rail from a balcony.”

He frowned. “Why? And what’s with all the baby stuff?”

His face wavered before her eyes and she blinked slowly until her vision cleared. She clutched at her drink with a shaking hand but there was nothing left but melted ice.

“The rail is from my husband.”

“Your husband.”

“Yes. I used to have a husband. He killed himself last year.”

There was a long pause.

“He tied a rope around this railing and jumped off our balcony.”

“I see,” Ethan said. “And the baby clothes?”

“We used to have a baby.”

Ethan nodded.

There was another pause.

“I have something for you,” Ethan said. “Follow me.”

She did follow, not knowing what else to do.

A puppy sat outside the bar next to a bowl of water. Ethan untied the puppy. “This is the puppy you held yesterday. Take him, please. You’ll give him a good home.”

“What’s his name?” she asked.

“Whatever you want. But how about you give me your bag? I’ll keep it safe.”

Her brain was slow and fuzzy but it seemed like it might be a good idea. “Ok.” She held it out to him. Ethan took the bag and gave her the puppy in return. His fur was impossibly soft.

“See you tomorrow at the store?” Ethan asked.

“Ok.” She turned, feeling the puppy’s heart beat lightning-fast against her chest.

“Hey, what’s your name?” he shouted.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

Filed under: 2015 Submissions | Tagged: 36 hours, Ashley Ellingson, prompts, Sledgehammer, writing contest | Leave a comment »

“Between the Whiskers” by Nikki Hyson

Posted on July 29, 2015 by writer

Between the Whiskers

Nikki Hyson

“Attention Wal-Mart shoppers. The time is now—”

I sighed, breath ruffling my whiskers. Everything was a joke with this one.

Cass, manager of Bailey’s Discount Emporium, didn’t take it as lightly. “Matt!”

The redhead brayed loudly, hand not quite covering the phone he held. Echoes of his amusement rolled over the sales floor, penetrating my hidey hole. I couldn’t help it. My lip curled, tail twitching.

Not that he’d notice. Matt seemed to only focus on the ridiculous and the sublime. The later often secured me a bite of sardines on crackers, so I was willing to forgive the audible intrusion.

“Sorry.” Patting a hand to the air separating him from my frustrated girl. “Sorry.”

Cassandra. Cass. Never Cassie. My girl. She sucked in what should have been fuel for a long suffering sigh, swallowed it, and shook her head. “Just make the announcement. Correctly.”

Turning his back to her, presumably to stem the possibility of further laughter, Matt lifted the receiver back to his mouth.

Curious, I raised my head from two immaculate, white-tipped paws. Would he be able to resist a repeat performance? Even though Cass only brought me to work one night a week, I paid attention. I listened. Statistically, the odds weren’t in his favor.

Before a word could be uttered, Cass snatched me from the bookshelf behind the cash register. Cuddling me close, she dropped a kiss to the velvet between my ears. Her fingers reaching the spot only she could find, my engine fired. I purred. She swayed slowly from side to side.

“Attention shoppers. The time is now 7pm and we are closed for the evening. At this time—”

Jen neared, “Cass, where do you want me to set up the scanners and such?”

I nearly hissed at the intrusion, but the younger woman was an ally. Against Him. They all were. I made sure of it the day Cass tried to hide her bruises with a too baggy sweater. One perfectly timed rub to lift the sleeve cuff and—

Cass, blessedly, didn’t stop her ministrations. “Let’s clear off that table. Stack the dishes with the rest of the china. And did you order enough food?”

Jen, a quiet girl who petted me only when she thought no one was watching, nodded. “One cheese, one veggie, and a supreme. They said we could be the last order.”

“Good. We’ll just take home the leftovers.”

“—and thank you for shopping Bailey’s Discount Emporium.” The intercom clicked off.

Cass surveyed the sales floor from her vantage point. I loved that about her. If there had been a mouse, she’d have found it. But there wasn’t. I already checked.

On a rainy Tuesday night there weren’t any customers either. Satisfied, she found Matt’s eye. “Lock up. Check the bathrooms to be sure.”

She set me down reluctantly, fingers still ruffling my fur as she pulled away. “Okay, Pyewacket. We’ve inventory to do. Behave.”

I couldn’t help a smirk. I loved her, but did she really think I could behave? Clearly she needed to watch more of those videos scrolling down her social media page. Cats leaping from the shadows to scare the daylights out of dogs and humans alike. Hilarious.

“Tick tock, folks. Huddle up!” Cass rifled through the pages Jen had laid out. Nodding to herself, she shuffled them into separate groups.

Wood fibers scratching together, my ears instantly twitched. It was noted. A swift crumple crunch of loose leaf and my back arched, tail curling. Just before a different paper ball thwacked me in the back of the head. Spinning, I glared death to the one who’d dared. Matt. Of course. Hissing curses unknown to mortal man, I snatched the offending projectile and fled to my lair.

Some time later the aroma of food penetrated the depths of my favorite area in the store. Furniture. My sofa was still here. And I was sooo comfortable. But, I knew that delicious siren song of smells. Pizza.

They’d taken a break near the karaoke machines and musical instruments; a section of the store I little understood.

“Come on, Cass. Can we?” Matt asked, setting his paper plate on the floor and nudging it my way. I knew from past inventories he never left that much cheese on his crust. Penance? Glorious cheese. Crouching low, I stalked my prey.

Cass laughed. A real laugh. The first since Him. I couldn’t help but look her way. “Alright,” she said. “But only three songs, and then we get back to work.”

Matt moved. To clear the plates? Panicking, I pounced. And ran. But not far. There would be more. Five minutes later, when the karaoke machine hummed loudly to life, I doubted my decision.

Matt slipped the mic from its stand. Oh. He meant business. Would this be a new declaration later? He seemed to change his mind almost weekly. I want to be a writer. I want to be a pilot. Backing up under the folding chair, I dragged my kill a few feet into the shadows.

Music started, not too loudly, but that was a lie. It grew in volume. Quickly. Still, the guy had some moves and his singing didn’t raise a hair. Must be on key. I scooted a little forward to make sure no one was moving to pick up the plates yet.

The other two only watched. Cheering, laughing, but neither girl moved to join him at the machine.

In the silence after the fourth song, Cass’ phone made one of those weird chimes that always makes me want to push it in the swirling water bowl while she’s in the bath. Chirping in her hand, I can do little.

Cass tilted it to read the message, smile vanishing before she finished. From here I can see the bruises on her wrist, even after all these days, and a growl rises up my throat. Him.

Whether she can hear my growl or feel my gaze, our eyes meet. Her other hand falls to cover the green smudges on too pale skin.

Jen, chair scooted close, glanced from the phone to my girl. It was Jen I made sure saw the bruises. And it was Matt I sought out when Jen hid in the stock room to cry over it.

Jen understands. She knows. “Greg?” She flinches. “Still?”

Yes. Greg. Him. Still. So many of Cass’ girlfriends talk about “the one that got away”. I don’t understand the tears. Be glad. This one. This Ex, as her mom calls him, won’t stay gone.

Chewing my crust I pretend it’s Him. My whiskers twitch. Yes. My girl has bruises from that night. That night she cried out for help and I was there. He had her; back pressed against the balcony rail.

But I was there.

And his face isn’t so pretty anymore.

A knock on the glass door.

Matt slid the mic back in the stand. Leaving the girls to tidy up, he stepped away from us and towards the front door.

Cass interceded. “I’ve got it, Matt,” she said, moving towards the darkened storefront. The first time she’s slipped into shadows since—.

Matt lets her, but keeps walking towards the door, pausing only at the register. Jen, flanking the other side, waits for Cass to get the keys. Neither friend says a word. They wait and watch. Just like I follow her up to the door, one shoulder nudging her shin. It won’t happen again.

Tall, dark in the shadows, a white smile reveals the intruder’s identity. James. I feel my girl relax. She unlocked the door.

Water sluicing from him, he stepped onto the welcome mat. Too wet for my taste, I leapt back hissing. He only smiles; indulgent with me and sheepish with her. He’s been hanging about almost as long as I have. Since before Greg. I know him. He’ll walk us home. Stay until her door lock clicks.

Maybe. One day.

If he be worthy.

He’ll remember I like barley grass.

Shedding the bulky raincoat, James lets Cass claim it. Only to stop her, “Wait.” Fishing in one pocket, “Don’t want to crush it.” And then the other. “I got that stuff Pye likes. Barley grass?”

Filed under: 2015 Submissions | Tagged: 36 hours, Nikki Hyson, prompts, Sledgehammer, writing contest | Leave a comment »

“Alone” by Shijia Zheng

Posted on July 29, 2015 by writer

Alone

Shijia Zheng

Her voice made me happy.

That was her first thought when she heard that person sing, saw her open her mouth for the first time. Sarah didn’t think much about her when she first met her. Actually, no, she never really acknowledged her existence before that moment; she was just a relative of a friend before that. Sarah didn’t so much as look up when she stood in front of the screen and selected the song. She had been gloomy over her mother’s illness, and her friends’ attempt at cheering her up seemed to be failing miserably.

Then, everything seemed to disappear when Sarah heard her voice. It was powerful, yet gentle. Its sound seemed to blow everything away. It beckoned to her, as if telling her that everything will be okay, and that her prayers would be answered.

There was another feeling, a feeling that seemed to make her hyperventilate while her heart beat so fast it felt like it might burst. When Sarah looked up at her, at her long, black hair that grew past her eyes, covering a pale, oval-shaped face, she became a different person from the nonentity an hour ago, yet she didn’t need to change anything about her. Sarah watched in awe as that person took the lyrics as her own and released them as doves that fluttered out to newfound freedom. That feeling that Sarah had as she watched her, she wasn’t sure what she was feeling that time. And she wasn’t sure if that was good or not.

Five years later, approaching 18, she wished she hadn’t felt this feeling.

Sarah wondered if she should have never asked her (former) friend about that person that day. Maybe she shouldn’t have approached that person after her performance. Unsure of the feelings she had, Sarah let them dictate her actions that day, and soon enough they had become two peas in a pod, doing everything with each other. She took all of Sarah’s worries away from her just by being at her side, and her voice was a like a remedy to her depression. But…

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

Sarah snapped out of her thoughts. An irritated customer was standing in front of her, waiting for her to ring up his items. She hastily rang them up, not even paying attention to what he bought, tossing them into the shopping bag. The man looked up at her in disgust at her mistreatment of his newly bought junk. Nonetheless, he pulled out his wallet and slammed the bills in front of her, not even bothering to pick up his change as he stormed off towards the exit.

Sarah watched him leave with a tinge of amusement, then pulled out her phone from her pocket and looked at the time, trying not to look at the missed call alerts that lined her screen. Her shift was going to be done in a few minutes.

She wished it didn’t.

In the past few months, she considered the Wal-mart she worked at more of a home than her own apartment. She didn’t want to come home to her dead-eyed, unmoving father. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she was tired of taking care of him. A growing part of her wished he would just wither and die already, for the sake of both of them. She’s already sacrificed her friends, her education, and yet he didn’t so much as speak.

But in the end, Sarah still dragged her feet back home. She felt horrible for wanting him to die. How could she treat her only remaining family like that? Her father was just grieving as much as she was.

As she was walking home, Sarah gazed up at the night sky. That person was always saddened about how the light pollution had wiped away the stars. When she had time, she would travel to the countryside to see the night sky in its entirety, stars and all. Sarah wondered where she is now. She had declared that after she graduated, she’d take a year off, rent a small house in the nearby rural neighborhood, and just enjoy life for a bit. She should have graduated by now, and Sarah wondered if that person followed through with her desire, even with the recent events.

Sarah felt her cell phone vibrate in her pocket, bringing her back to reality. She didn’t take out the phone, and waited for the vibrating to stop. She didn’t even want to look at the name that would be written on the caller I.D.; there was only one person who would call her. The calls had become easier to ignore, but right now, the timing of the call with her thoughts had left Sarah annoyed and self-loathing.

Why can’t Sarah just forget about her? Why did she have to concern herself with what that person is doing without her?

She had hurt Sarah, even though that person tried hard not to. Then again, it was Sarah’s fault in the first place. She had been selfish and childish, and she knew it, but Sarah still wanted to do away with her. In the midst of her grief, she had become vulnerable enough for her heart to take over and spill her true feelings in front of that person. They were already close, but Sarah wanted to be closer, thinking that that person could take away all of her burden if they became more than just best friends.

Looking back, she should have known that there was an underlying motive to her response. She had taken her agreement at face value, without even realizing that that person had deceived her.

It was only after she called off the relationship, and slapped her with the truth, did Sarah realize that she didn’t reciprocate her love. That person claimed that she did it because she was scared at what Sarah might do to herself if she rejected her, but then realized that lying about her feelings only created more complications. It was too late, though, the damage had been done.

Even though she had only put on the act for a week, that person had given Sarah hope, only to rip it away in the cruelest way possible. Even though she genuinely seemed guilty about it, and was beating herself up with the act, Sarah couldn’t find it in her to feel remorse. She wanted so much to forgive her, but she just couldn’t, and so just erasing her from her mind seemed like the second best option to go.

Sarah didn’t even realize that she had reached her apartment already until she had already walked through the door and saw her father sitting still in his wheelchair, facing the glass door to the balcony.

She had read that sunlight can improve a person’s mental state, but she didn’t see any improvements. Still, the only thing she could do was keep trying.

She walked past her father and slid open the door. She walked out, leaning against the balcony railing. The landlord had been complaining about the late payments, and Sarah was already running out of money fast. They weren’t going to stay here for much longer. A disappointment, really.

Sarah felt her cell phone vibrate in her pocket again, and she felt the urge to toss it over the railing. She had already isolated herself enough, there was no one else she could talk to anyway. Before she could do anything, though, the vibrating eventually stopped, and her irritation subsided.

She looked down from the balcony. They lived on the upper floors, and a small thought had recently seeded itself into her mind and had grown alarmingly. She laughed internally at how easily she could do it. She could even bring her father along with her if she so pleased.

Sarah ended up walking back inside. Maybe she’ll do it one day, because it is much quicker than forgetting and waking her someone up. But for now, she’ll bear with it.

Filed under: 2015 Submissions | Tagged: 36 hours, prompts, Shijia Zheng, Sledgehammer, writing contest | Leave a comment »

“A Plethora of Exes” by Anne MacLeod

Posted on July 29, 2015 by writer

A Plethora of Exes

Anne MacLeod

“This looks interesting. Let’s try it.” I am standing in front of a gaudily painted door, all peace symbols and psychedelic colors. It resembles something left over from the 60’s.

Janice leaves off her window-shopping and comes over to see what I am talking about. Janice is my best friend, the one who’s been there for me no matter what.

“The Bargain Bin. Isn’t that the discount store that was supposed to have closed?’ Hey. There’s a sign in the window. Let’s check it out.” Janice marches to the window. Janice always marches. Never walks. Maybe I do too. It must be a result of the training. After all, we’re both ex-military.

Janice reads the sign and looks at me. “I guess it’s reopened, but with a twist. They are still a bargain store but they’ve added a new dimension. They have a coffee shop- how trendy- and have karaoke every afternoon from two to four.”

I look at my watch. “It’s almost three. But let’s not go in.”

“I know what’s bothering you. It’s the karaoke. But you can’t avoid it the rest of your life. I’ve managed to accept it.”

I knew what she is talking about. We are exes, she and I. Our ex-husbands were the best of friends. It wasn’t such a surprising friendship. They both drank a lot. They were both womanizers. And they were both musicians although, in my opinion, not very good ones. When they tried to make it big, they fell on their faces and they took it out on us. John, Janice’s husband, wasn’t quite as bad as George, George being my ex-husband and the ex-love of my life. John was a bit of a follower and George had no difficulty leading him wrong.

So, why is karaoke a dirty word in my book? Well, when George and John couldn’t play professionally, they decided to go from one drinking establishment to another, imbibing a little too willingly and singing karaoke. How many nights had Janice and I watched those two idiots trying to sing, getting drunker and drunker and knowing what was going to happen later. George would turn on the charm for other people but, when he got me alone, he was anything but charming.

But it had been three years, after all. I have already chalked up a list of ex-boyfriends. I had to make them exes for their safety. George still keeps tabs on me and will threaten anyone who dates me. And his threats aren’t anything to take lightly. George is a big brute of a man. He doesn’t want me but he doesn’t want anyone else to want me either.

“Hey, stop your wool gathering. Are we going it or not? We need some fun in our lives.” Janice has that pleading look that is hard to resist.

“Okay’ Okay. Maybe we’ll be lucky and no one will be singing. Usually the singing is atrocious.”

“Yah. Let’s try our luck.” Laughing, Janice leads the way to the door.

But our luck doesn’t hold.

As we enter, we are assaulted by the smell of stale food, musty clothes and the miasma of sweat emanating from the crowd of people fighting their way to get to the bargain bins and, like kamikazes, destroy them. But, worst of all is the noise filling the entire space, echoing and re-echoing throughout the whole building-the noise of the shoppers, backed up by some of the most appalling music imaginable.

“Where is that music – or that poor excuse for music- coming from?” I look around but am unable to find the source of the din.

“Look up,” says Janice.

I follow her gaze and, there, on the balcony of this warehouse- like space, is a man, standing with a microphone in his hand, belting out a song in his off-key voice. I guess he thinks that the louder he sings, the better he will sound. He is wrong.

Janice grabs my arm and we push our way farther into the store, trying to avoid being crushed or having our eyes poked out by the frantic shoppers who look as if they have never seen a bargain before. Janice drags me, literally, toward the coffee shop but, when we get there, we find a long line of impatient people trying to keep their places against the push and pull of the serious, and seriously disturbed, shoppers.

“Can we get out of here?” I ask but my words are drowned in the rising and falling tide of noise, which has become almost overwhelming.

“Let’s wait a bit,” says Janice. “There are seats here. I don’t think I’m up to fighting my way through that mob again so soon.”

I sit down with relief. I am doubly relieved that the music has stopped and the noise is not nearly as exasperating.

Too soon, a new voice takes up the hideous music. I recognize the tune, one by The Ex, a punk-rock band from the Netherlands and a favourite of my ex’s. I recognize that voice too. It is the aging, but still easily identifiable, voice of no other than George, my long-gone but not missed, ex.

We are just below the balcony rail and I try to cover my face with my hair so that George won’t recognize me. “Quick! Hide!” I lean over and whisper to Janice, “It’s George. Don’t let him see you.”

“Yah, I noticed. But you can’t hide from him forever.”

“ I can try.”

But my attempt fails. Just at that moment, George looks down and stops singing. “Hey, is that you, Marsha? Sure, it’s you. I’d recognize that hair anywhere.” I might hide my face but my flaming red hair is hard to disguise. George turns again to the microphone and takes it off its stand, tangling himself up in serpentine array of wires that connect it to the music equipment. “I’d like to dedicate this song to my wife, Marsha, who’s here with us today.”

I am angry at last. I yell as loud as I can. “I am not your wife. We’ve been divorced for three years.”

I can see, even from this distance, the vein throbbing in his forehead, the throbbing that means big trouble for me. He moves to the balcony rail and leans over it, the better to have me hear him. “You are my wife as long as I want you to be. You won’t be free as long as we both are alive.

Everyone has become embarrassingly silent, whether from shock or enjoyment of the scene George and I are creating. Janice is trying to talk to me but I tune her out. She is pulling at my arm but I shrug her off. There are only two people in the world, George and I.

CRACK. The heavy weight of George and his anger has broken the railing. George tries to jump back but too late. The railing falls with a bang right in front of me, spilling George, still holding the mike, onto the floor. The music equipment quickly follows. It lands with a powerful force on top of him.

Someone in the crowd rushes to help him but, alas, it is too late. George is dead, buried beneath his beloved music. I just sit there stunned. Then the realization comes to me and I have to hide my face so no one can see my smile. My ex- husband has become an ex-person and I, at long last, am free, an ex in every sense of the word.

Filed under: 2015 Submissions | Tagged: 36 hours, Anne MacLeod, prompts, Sledgehammer, writing contest | Leave a comment »

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