Grave conversations

©2023 michael raven

“Whatcha doin’?”

“What’s it look like I’m doin’? I’m sitting.”

“With your hood over your head and on someone’s grave, using the stone as a backrest.”

He flicked the cigarette into the dirt by his feet. Char opened her mouth to add an observation that it was a freshly filled grave Tom was sitting on, but closed it. It seemed highly likely that Tom was aware of this bit of trivia.

“Yeah, so what’s it to ya?”

Continue reading “Grave conversations”

A hotel outside of Miami

©2019-2022 michael raven

“Where is that bastard? I know he’s here!”

Karla ignored her husband’s question and instead continued to dress herself at the bedside as if she hadn’t heard. To get her attention, he made a grab for her wrist. She broke his grip easily with an oft-practiced twist and responded with a slap.

“I told you before and I will not repeat myself after this final time. You will not touch me that way again. I am not your chattel, and I will not be treated as such.”

Henry talked spoke to her slowly, as if English wasn’t he first language.

“Where. Is. He? Imma gonna kill him.”

Karla laughed with her oh-you-silly-little-man laugh that infuriated him as she stood.

“For chrissake, Henry. Do you want to go out to dinner like we had planned, or would you rather chase a ghost? I have no idea who you are looking for or why.”

She didn’t wait for his response, but walked to the door of their hotel room as if she had all the time in the world.

Henry scanned the room again and had to admit the the man he suspected Karla kept as a lover was nowhere to be seen.

“Fine, let’s eat. But I’m on to you, Karla and I will find that little fucker if he’s around,” Henry said as he followed her out of their room

Lucas, lying doggo under the bed, breathed a sigh of relief as the door clicked into place behind them.

It had been a close one this time.

Another one of my social media flash fictions from 7 July, 2019 that I migrated here. The prompt was OED’s Word of the Day, “doggo”. More significant changes than most of my short fictions that get moved over, but the gist of the vignette is the same and mostly intact. Just a bit of cleanup in aisle six.