Flashes

Here I will post short short stories:

Her First Rodeo

“It’s a bad plan, but if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s making bad plans work!” said Joe.

The Cantina was dark place that reeked of stale beer. Horrid country was barely audible over the drunken shouts of ranchers–exactly the kind of place their quarry would hide.

“We’re gonna get killed,” muttered Molly. She was rookie, fresh out of the academy.

“Every man in here is carrying a gun.”

Molly wasn’t wrong about the guns, but Joe was unconcerned. They were a crucial part of his plan. He walked straight to the the counter and order a shot of whisky before shouting, “I’m looking for Greggor Tams. First one to give me intel gets fifty bucks.”

The men froze. Conversation ceased. The automated singer crooned about losing his wife, truck, and hamster while the click of safeties switching off improved the melody.

“We ain’t snitches,” said a man whose face resembled a raisen.

Joe grinned. No face matched his quarry’s, so he examined each gun and hand carefully, focusing on a gleaming silver pistol, held by a blue-tinted hand. Alien magic could create some good illusions, but the flaws always showed closest to objects from their home-worlds, especially laser-pistols.

He knew Molly had spotted it when she fainted.

“I ain’t askin nobody to snitch,” shouted Joe. “Just wanted to see how my apprentice held under pressure.”

“She didn’t hold at all,” laughed raisin face, putting his gun away.

“Next round’s on me.” Joe slipped three bills to the bartender, picked Molly up and carried her to his truck, careful to bump his quarry on the way out and plant a tracking device.

Molly sat up as the pulled onto the road. “I can’t believe that worked. The fainting act is the oldest trick in the book.”

“Her First Rodeo” was originally published on Cracked Flash

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Overdose

By Sara Codair

Scrolling through the feed, my mouth hangs open and my eyes water from a lack of blinking. I know there is something else I should be doing, but I just can’t get up. I hear thuds, scratching claws, meowing, but I can’t look away. I refresh the screen, hoping to see another like, waiting for a notification, a comment, validation.

A red box with a two inside raises my pulse. Glass shatters behind me. A cat hisses. I click the notification:

Liza Sullivan likes your photo.

Jack MacGregor commented on your photo.

The fire alarm blares. Smoke makes me cough. Another red box appears.

I click.

 

 

© 2016 Sara Codair

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