I just returned from a trip and found Lit had posted all my submissions except this one. Okay, so I don't read instructions about then word count being 750. But I really like this "flash", at 725 words. So I'm posting it here. Probably breaking some other rule by doing this but as I said, I don't read instructions.
Also some months ago I posted a query to "The How To" board about opening a web site. Many of you who mostly inhabit this board were kind enough to lend a hand. Thank you. My site is up and running and if you it the "www" thingey you might get there, if I didn't screw that one up to.
Meanwhile enjoy the read is you so choose.
"The Pink Bottle"
“I’m leav’en. Go’en to the hardware store.”
“Hardware store? I declare, you go to that place every day.”
“Need some stuff to finish paint’en them closets. You said to do them.”
“Always complaining, I ask so little. You and your nose stuck in those books of yours. If it weren’t for me that’s all you’d do.”
“Their classics, Louis Lamoure. The one I’m read’en now is about injun’s and buffalo hunters on the plains. Almost can see them people hunt’en them animals when I read them.”
“Indians! Buffalo! I declare! Look in the mirror you’re beginning to look like one of those animals. Been ages since you got a haircut and you never shave. Before you go I’ve got a few things you need to pick up at the grocery store.”
“Okay.”
“Now ... shampoo. Here’s the coupon. It’s the pink jar, and it says right on the front for dry and damaged hair. We need milk too, skim milk, not the two-percent kind. Get me some prunes, the pitted ones.”
“Okay.”
“And get something for dinner. You decide. If you weren’t so preoccupied you’d pulled something out of the freezer for dinner.”
“Okay, I’ll get a pizza. I’m leav’en.”
“Wait a minute, take a check. Don’t use the VISA, they charge a dollar for each transaction. You’d know that if you cared about the money instead of spending your time in those books of yours. Buffalos, I declare.”
“They’re a fine animal that’s not appreciated.”
“Stop. You and your trivia. Who cares about buffalos? Now don’t forget it’s the pink bottle shampoo. And make sure you write the correct amount for the check. I declare last time it took me two hours to get the bank statement balanced because you were a penny off on the check you wrote.”
“Okay, I’m leav’en.”
“Get going, you’ve already wasted enough time.”
* * *
“I’m sorry what’d ya ask?”
“I asked”, said the law enforcement officer. “Tell me what you remember.”
“Okay. I remember stand’en in the women’s section of the grocery store look’en for that pink shampoo. A man shouldn’t do that ya know. Makes ya feel wrong. Like look’en up a woman’s dress or something. But she made me.”
“Then what”, the middle aged policeman asked the confused man sitting in the back of his car while he in the driver’s seat was taking notes.
“Then I went to the hardware store. Now that’s a place a man belongs. All them tools, nuts and bolts and the help is all men. Not like the grocery store with all them fat, women who kept reminding me what a lucky man I was being married forty years. Anyways, they had a sale and I needed a new ax. Hell, just sixteen-ninety-nine, for a triple folded steel blade with a five-foot clean grain hickory handle. I couldn’t pass it up, even if I had to use the VISA card and get charged that extra dollar. figured she understand. I needed a new one. She’s always complain’en I never have enough split firewood and winter’s coming on. Then I went home.”
“Then what?” The law enforcement officer asked, turning around in the front seat of the cruiser, glaring at the man.
“She started in on me. I told her I’d return it but she wouldn’t stop. Kept screaming how could I and how stupid I was. All I wanted was for her to me alone. I bought the stuff for her and I came directly home. Was going to finish paint’en them closets before eat’en our pizza. After that I don’t remember much. I do remember it was hard to pull the ax out, it kept stick’en and I remember the blood. Lot’s of blood. Then I called you.”
“So your saying you did it.”
“Guess so.”
“You hit her twenty times with that ax you know.”
“I don’t remember twenty. I’m sorry, maybe I’ve asked before, but is there some where’s I can clean up? This blood’s beginning to smell, afraid I’ve ruined my cloths.”
“Tell me”, invited the curious law enforcement man. “Was she screaming about the ax you bought?”
“No”, responded the blood covered, seventy-two year old, unshaven, Ford assembly plant retired man. “She was scream’en I got the wrong shampoo. Not the one in the pink bottle.”
Also some months ago I posted a query to "The How To" board about opening a web site. Many of you who mostly inhabit this board were kind enough to lend a hand. Thank you. My site is up and running and if you it the "www" thingey you might get there, if I didn't screw that one up to.
Meanwhile enjoy the read is you so choose.
"The Pink Bottle"
“I’m leav’en. Go’en to the hardware store.”
“Hardware store? I declare, you go to that place every day.”
“Need some stuff to finish paint’en them closets. You said to do them.”
“Always complaining, I ask so little. You and your nose stuck in those books of yours. If it weren’t for me that’s all you’d do.”
“Their classics, Louis Lamoure. The one I’m read’en now is about injun’s and buffalo hunters on the plains. Almost can see them people hunt’en them animals when I read them.”
“Indians! Buffalo! I declare! Look in the mirror you’re beginning to look like one of those animals. Been ages since you got a haircut and you never shave. Before you go I’ve got a few things you need to pick up at the grocery store.”
“Okay.”
“Now ... shampoo. Here’s the coupon. It’s the pink jar, and it says right on the front for dry and damaged hair. We need milk too, skim milk, not the two-percent kind. Get me some prunes, the pitted ones.”
“Okay.”
“And get something for dinner. You decide. If you weren’t so preoccupied you’d pulled something out of the freezer for dinner.”
“Okay, I’ll get a pizza. I’m leav’en.”
“Wait a minute, take a check. Don’t use the VISA, they charge a dollar for each transaction. You’d know that if you cared about the money instead of spending your time in those books of yours. Buffalos, I declare.”
“They’re a fine animal that’s not appreciated.”
“Stop. You and your trivia. Who cares about buffalos? Now don’t forget it’s the pink bottle shampoo. And make sure you write the correct amount for the check. I declare last time it took me two hours to get the bank statement balanced because you were a penny off on the check you wrote.”
“Okay, I’m leav’en.”
“Get going, you’ve already wasted enough time.”
* * *
“I’m sorry what’d ya ask?”
“I asked”, said the law enforcement officer. “Tell me what you remember.”
“Okay. I remember stand’en in the women’s section of the grocery store look’en for that pink shampoo. A man shouldn’t do that ya know. Makes ya feel wrong. Like look’en up a woman’s dress or something. But she made me.”
“Then what”, the middle aged policeman asked the confused man sitting in the back of his car while he in the driver’s seat was taking notes.
“Then I went to the hardware store. Now that’s a place a man belongs. All them tools, nuts and bolts and the help is all men. Not like the grocery store with all them fat, women who kept reminding me what a lucky man I was being married forty years. Anyways, they had a sale and I needed a new ax. Hell, just sixteen-ninety-nine, for a triple folded steel blade with a five-foot clean grain hickory handle. I couldn’t pass it up, even if I had to use the VISA card and get charged that extra dollar. figured she understand. I needed a new one. She’s always complain’en I never have enough split firewood and winter’s coming on. Then I went home.”
“Then what?” The law enforcement officer asked, turning around in the front seat of the cruiser, glaring at the man.
“She started in on me. I told her I’d return it but she wouldn’t stop. Kept screaming how could I and how stupid I was. All I wanted was for her to me alone. I bought the stuff for her and I came directly home. Was going to finish paint’en them closets before eat’en our pizza. After that I don’t remember much. I do remember it was hard to pull the ax out, it kept stick’en and I remember the blood. Lot’s of blood. Then I called you.”
“So your saying you did it.”
“Guess so.”
“You hit her twenty times with that ax you know.”
“I don’t remember twenty. I’m sorry, maybe I’ve asked before, but is there some where’s I can clean up? This blood’s beginning to smell, afraid I’ve ruined my cloths.”
“Tell me”, invited the curious law enforcement man. “Was she screaming about the ax you bought?”
“No”, responded the blood covered, seventy-two year old, unshaven, Ford assembly plant retired man. “She was scream’en I got the wrong shampoo. Not the one in the pink bottle.”
