Trick or treat

“What sort of costume is that?”  Lucy scowled under her green makeup.

Charlie stood motionless as Lucy stomped around, inspecting him.

“There’s no chains!”  She pointed.  “There’s no scars. No bones, no skull, no grey rotting flesh.”

Making another circle, Lucy continued her verbal assault.  “Where are the ragged edges? Where are the tatters and tears? All I see are all these holes.”

Raising her arms in disgust, Lucy proclaimed, “Charlie Brown you are the worst ghost ever!”

Charlie simmered silently under his holey sheet.

“Well?”  Lucy challenged.   “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Charlie Brown leaned squarely into her face.  “Boo.”

For the Trifecta Challenge where the word of the day is Boo:  (verb) to show dislike or disapproval of someone or something by shouting “Boo” slowly

Bar Fight

“Disgusting.” Tom said as looked his drink sweating on the bar.

“Oh no.”  Groaned Mike as he shook his head.  “Here we go.”

Tom gestured emphatically with his hands.  “Look at it!  It’s all wrong!  Warm, glowing body color; cherries, lime, or cinnamon at the top; and garnished with festive colors.  Festive!  What the hell sort of drink is that?”

Mike rested his pale palm on his grey head before answering.  “You’re not getting the point, Tom.  It’s not called a Zombie for the way it looks.  It’s called a Zombie because the way it makes you feel the next day!”

Tom just stared at the happy drink before him with contempt.  “It’s still not right.”

Mike threw up his hands and spin in his seat with exasperation.

At that moment a bloody bartender set two small glasses on the bar. Inside wiggled moist pink chunks covered in maraschino cherry juice.  “Jello shot?”

“Brains!”  Cried out Tom and Mike with joy.

Brought to you for the Trifecta Challenge where the word of the day is “Zombie”.

Trifecta Challenge: Intention.

Tile dried slowly in the bathroom shower as the door was closed for protection from the curious.

A clear, plastic sheeting runner lay over the carpet roughly six feet long.  It was left there purposely by the contractor for future use.  A lone piece of blue painters tape pretended to hold the runner secure to the rug.

Late that night, in the darkness, a pair of green eyes stared mischievously at this wondrous material.  The lady sleeping restlessly was soon roused by the rustling and romping of little pads on plastic.

Bleary eyed, the lady grabbed a spare sheet from the closet and threw it over the plastic in zombie like fashion.

It was to no avail.

For once she was in bed, the playful creature of the night pulled the soft, muffling fabric away and continued his playful pounding of the plastic.

The lady sat up and looked over in a mix of annoyance and anger.  The cat had made his intention perfectly clear.  There would be no sleep for her tonight.

 

For the Trifecta Challenge.

Daydreams of: Anticipation

A walk around the house.

“Is it here?”

She sniffs the air for a familiar scent.

“Where did it go?”

A door opens, she scoots outside to the porch.

“There it is!”

Her chin rests on the edge of a hard, plastic chair as her eyes stare longingly at the worn nylon strap.  Breathing deep, she drinks in the scent.  Her mind runs.

Out of the house.  Out from the walls.  Onto the grass. Down the road.  Smell the new smells.  Hear the new sounds.

She turns to look at me.

“Can we go?”

My entry for the Trifecta challenge where the word is Anticipation.

3 a: visualization of a future event or state
 b: an object or form that anticipates a later type

Daydreams of: Hollow

A couple stood in the middle of a magnificent room.  Statues and tapestries surrounded them, each telling their tale of courage and valor.  The woman, dressed in regal splendor, leaned towards the man and beseeched him.

“You don’t have to worry. Everything’s going to be ok.  I’ve sent my personal guard to protect your family. They will be safe.”

Arms crossed, the man stood stone.  He words entered his ears as tinny and hollow as the false promise they formed.  Gently he thumbed the ring on his finger until a poisoned barb pulled free.

“Aye Milady, I understand.”  He said in politeness while extending his hand.  “Shake on your word.”

For the Trifecta Challenge.

Daydreams of: Survivors and Relics

The old man walked through the aisles of the gun show.  His steps were slowed from the assault of old age and old wounds.  People behind him would grunt their displeasure before rushing through an opening when it presented itself.  Ignoring the low protests, the old man grimly continued forward.

He limped past the pistols and revolvers; found an easier path by the shotguns; and struggled his way through the crowd gathered around the modern sporting rifles.  The old man finally stopped when he came upon a row of old rifles leaning in a soiled wooden display rack.  His slim, weathered hand pulled out one of the rifles.  It felt heavier than he remembered.  His right hand instinctively went to pull back on the bolt-action, but was stopped by the unyielding cable tie wrapped tight just behind the safety and woven through the trigger guard.

Thoughts flashed back to Stalingrad in ’42.  How at the age of eighteen he fought against the Nazis in their assault of the city.  Memories of shelling, screaming, explosions, and the low moaning of injured soldiers and civilians flooded his mind bringing along with it the phantom smells of sweat, sulfur, fire, and copper.

A hand stretching out in front of him snapped him back to awareness.

“Ninety bucks?”  Cried out a young man wearing a digital camo tank top and buzz cut.  “Why so little?”

“Because they’re cheap!”  Spat the young man’s friend.  “They are ancient, heavy, bolt-action pieces of junk that can only hold five rounds.  They’re no match for a modern AR.  Forget them.”

The young man looked at them with disdain.  “Yeah.   Cheap pieces of crap.  Let’s go.”

The old man raised his hand as the boys left.

“Can I help you?”  The middle-aged vendor asked.

“I’d like to buy this Mosin-Nagant.”  The old man replied.

The vendor glanced over at the young men ogling the ARs and said, “For you,  Sixty.”

Painfully created for the Trifecta Challenge.

Daydreams of: Vision

“There’s nothing cute about it,” he said. The register of his voice indicated decision more so than discussion.

She disagreed heartily and privately, staring past his head and out the window behind him.

Outside the idling car, a decrepit house leaned dangerously off kilter.  Windowless and rotten, it silently awaited the wrecking ball.

“I think it would make a great project,” she replied.  Let’s buy it!”

 

 

This based on a real moment brought to you for the Trifecta Challenge.