| Tricia Ares |
View from the Diner flash fiction In early summer, the weather’s not so bad . . . in the morning . . . in the shade. A subtle breeze flirts with the damp tongue of humidity. The sun is not yet at its zenith where it will smile down with clenched teeth. Tropical birds call to each other, perhaps protesting the dry mudflats that were once the Everglades. Hurricane season has started but there’s no sign of it yet, as the unobstructed sun infuses everything it touches with a neon pop: Caribbean blue, palm green. Yesterday they fished a twelve foot gator out of the canal. Weighing five hundred pounds, they needed a forklift to take him away. I hear gators that big can’t be released into the wild, so they have to put them down. I’m not sure why. I hope they find one of those rabid pit bulls deep in his belly--swallowed after sinking to the bottom of a man made river, locked jaw to locked jaw. Those dogs have been running wild everywhere. Welcome to paradise. They’ll stab you in the back here just like anywhere else. Flashing smiles as fake as their Louis Vuitton hand bags, tossing compliments locked jaw to locked jaw. What is an ethical girl supposed to do in an immoral land? That’s why I shot him in the head. He was a married man, flaunting his affair all over town. So selfish he couldn’t even leave a decent tip. His wife would have done it eventually anyways, but she has two kids to think about. She simply laughed and smiled and handed out her business cards. I felt sorry for her, so I went to get my hair done. She rents a chair at a local shop. We talked about her kids in ballet and karate, about the unbearable heat and the price gouging of gasoline. I left her a good tip. I’m sure they haven’t found his body yet. The gators are desperate this time of year, and this year has been particularly dry. We’re all on water restrictions, so the begonias I planted outside are starting to die. I’m not asking for a hurricane or anything, but we sure could use some rain. |
| Copyright 2007 Red Pulp Underground |
 | |  | |  | |  | |  | |  | |  |
Red Pulp Underground