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Spirit Intoxicating Babe in the Woods-Flash Fiction by Monique Saier
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Dark Tales from Gent's Pens

77_ym_spiritintoxinthewoods_richey.jpg
Art by John Lunar Richey 2019

Spirit Intoxicating Babe in the Woods

 

by Monique Saier

 

 

Eddie startles, sitting half-asleep on the porch with his buddy, Milton, in the weak winter sun, as Serita pulls up with her SUV.

She peers over to them, her cheeks flushed. The heater in the car had been on full blast, the entire way home. Stupid rain had caught her when she left the mall, soaked her arms and legs.

Eddie scrambles out of his chair.

“Aw, there she is!”

As usual, her cue to go into shut-off mode. He’s been throwing his weight around the house since Irvin, his cousin, left her. Ran off with that social media editor floozy at the local sports bar.

Swiftly Serita opens her door and swings her curvy legs out of the scorching cockpit, wearing tight jeans and thigh-highs.

“Hey, Lady Godiva!” he calls out, scowling, his eyes hooked on her high heels crushing the immaculate snow. He elbows Milton, watches her dab the sweat from her forehead and cleavage. “She’d better have some chicken wings. I’m starving.”

He gets a hard look. Come hell or high water; she had to return with that flat-screen, especially if it was only going to be the three of them for Christmas.

  Stuffing the hankie into her bra, she jumps out of the SUV, paces towards Eddie.

“Well, is it working now?”

“What?”

“The washing machine?”

“Was Rome built in a day?”

“Can I wash now?”

“Patience is the virtue. Got somethin’ to eat?”

“Did you look at it, yet?”

“Not yet,” Milton chips in, with Eddie giving him a dirty look.

Bravo, guys, 2 PM already!”

Eddie stretches out his legs; Milton looks down to the ground.

“Low sugar levels, ya know.”

“Really? Low sugar levels? Both of ya? Getting that flat-screen was a miracle, ya know!”

Eddie folds his arms, pretends to be distracted by the neighbor’s car pulling in across the street.

Serita paces back to the SUV, with their eyes glued to her legs. From the passenger seat, she grabs a tub of KFC, slams it down in front of them.

“Bon appetit,” she grunts, before snatching her shopping bags.

Eddie opens the KFC tub, inhales the smell of freshly fried chicken wings.

“Whoa, nice and hot. Now, for a couple of Budweisers.” He pushes his luck, while she slams the boot hard and drowns out his voice.

Turning with her shopping bags slung around her arms, she heads for the kitchen, fed up with Eddie.

Her heart suddenly stops, and she lunges back, like a cornered cat.

Dan, her estranged neighbor, is suddenly standing in front of her.

“Hey,” Dan greets her, wearing an unbuttoned shirt, his six-pack peering through a sweaty T-shirt underneath.

“Hey . . . yourself,” she says, battling to look straight at him. Thanks to Jax, Irvin’s Jack Russell. The little troublemaker had dug up Dan’s beloved dead cat, straight after they moved in here.

“Who’s this?” Eddie demands, his mouth full.

“Thought you might need a hand with that.” Dan grins at her.

Gnawing on his chicken wing, Eddie gets up.

“Aren’t you the guy with the dead dug-up cat?”

“Lay off, Eddie,” Serita says.

Milton gets up, wiping his hands on his pants, and pulls Eddie away.

“Washing machine is in, now, Dude.” He burps lightly.

“All right, already! Just keep your grubby paws to yourself.” Eddie scowls, sizing Dan up, all the way to the laundry.

 As Serita watches Dan unloading the flat-screen, she regains hope that they can bury the hatchet, after all. The coldness between them is truly regrettable.

After all, he appears to be really nice. If the spirit of Christmas was waving its magic wand around her, for a change? Could she rectify that unfortunate incident?

“Something to drink?” she asks, upon reaching the kitchen.

Dan just pants, embracing her flat screen.

“Um, the two chicken-wingers finished all the beer. I only got some schnapps left.” Serita sighs, looking through the cupboard.

“No worries; something strong’s good.”

Smiling, she scrambles for a proper glass, pours him the old peach schnapps.

Quickly, he downs it.

“All fixed up,” he gasps, with glazed eyes, and passes out.

When looking down at the label on the bottle, she startles: “Rectified Spirit.”

 

 

Once upon a time, Monique graduated in communication science and developed corporate communication strategies and concepts. Today she aims to instead paint vivid pictures with her words, rather than creating insincere narratives for corporations in her hitherto unpublished fiction, poetry, and songs.

John Lunar Richey has writings published in Rolling Stone, Genesis, The Mammoth Book of New Erotica, The Journal of Erotica, and The Best of the Journal of Erotica (the latter two published in the UK). Lunar also works with Lunar Ensemble (word & music projections).

In Association with Black Petals & Fossil Publications 2019