Tag Archives: violence

Dropping a Dime – Another Short Story.

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Mr. Single Malt Monkey gave me a one line story challenge. I changed one word from his line. I replaced the word mat with coaster. For some reason a mat made me think of a tatami mat and a tea ceremony. The Al that formed in my imagination wouldn’t be staring at dime dropped on the floor at a tea ceremony.

The post “My Name is Inigo Montoya” was still fresh in my mind, so this story is dark and violent. Be warned – if you’re not in the mood for that, put off reading it for another day. I asked Mr. Husband to read it before I posted it because I’m trying out writing how a man would react to a situation. I also wanted to know if he was going to sit me down and say I needed help. He hesitated a bit and I promised to wait a while before writing a story about how to kill your husband.

Dropping a Dime

Al drained his glass and placed it right back in the center of the coaster, never taking his eye off the dime that had been dropped by the door. A low voice in his ear said, “Hello Al, it’s time to pay up.” “Excuse me?” “I warned you.” “Warned me about what and just who the hell are you?” The stranger chuckled and sat his drink down next to Al’s. Al reached out with one finger and slid the drink away from his.

Al, I know you remember our conversation about no such thing as coincidence. “yeah, sort of, so what’s your point?” The stranger stared at him, twirling a dime on the counter. He reached over and clapped Al on the back, hard. Then got up and walked to the jukebox. Al muttered, “What a jerk” and waved his empty glass at the bar tender. He looked down and saw the dime was still spinning. He slammed his hand down to stop it. Continue reading →

My Name is Inigo Montoya

inigo montoya

“My Name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die!” from Princess Bride

I have been compared to the Ferdinand the bull who prefers to sit in the meadow sniffing flowers, but will charge at a red flag. Mr. Husband refers to me as “his little terrorist.”  Before we go one step further, this does not mean that I bomb buildings, or threaten people. Ok, I swatted my dog with a newspaper after she crapped on the Persian rug for the 87th time because she refused to go out in the rain, but that doesn’t count.

The nickname comes from when we play computer games together and I forget that his character is the “tank” and I’m the artful dodger and barge ahead of him into the 7th level of gaming hell, guns a blazin’. But it’s a game Mkay?

Maybe it’s because I’m the oldest of 6 siblings in a 1 parent household and fell into the role of the family protector. Who knows? When I was 13 years old I looked out the front window and saw the neighborhood bully beating up my little brother. I charged out the door in a rage and slapped him opened handed across the back so hard that he went flying into a somersault. It didn’t occur to me at the time that he was almost twice my size. It was momma bear coming out. I saw that kid a week later and he still had a red hand print on his back.

I also have a big mouth, figuratively speaking. I tend to blurt the obvious when I should remain silent.  I vehemently object to the intolerable. I get up when I should stay down, even when bullets are flying. I know this because at 18 years old I witnessed my boyfriend gunned down and killed on the streets of New Orleans and ran towards him in the hail of bullets. Not so smart, but what was on my mind was to pull him down between 2 cars or stairwell for shelter. It’s a miracle I’m still alive and have all of my permanent teeth.

It’s surreal to see someone shot. Soldiers and gangsters know it. But the average American suburbanite usually never sees such a thing. It’s not at all like it is in the movies. People don’t go flying 15 backwards and slam against a wall. It happened at night, and to me it looked like a firecracker exploded out of his back. He went to his knees and then fell over sideways.  He said 2 words, “I’m hit.” Those were his last words.

Why do I dredge up these memories? I think it’s because I try to understand why people do the unthinkable. What is their motive? Sure some people are just stone cold killers for no good reason. I hope and pray that those are the minority. Perhaps it’s more of a morbid curiosity inspired by my need to write about everything that was ever thought, said or done.

Forgot to Wash My Body Armor – Damn!

grief

grief

Checklist for the movie outing. Keys- check, Sunglasses- check, ear plugs-check, 500 dollars for snacks- check, body armor? Oh damn, forgot to wash it again. Hun, get your clothes out of the dryer so I can put my laundry in there.

Screwed up 6 ways from Sunday is almost all I can say about the recent shooting at the Colorado movie theater. Saying that I’m shocked, horrified, grief stricken just doesn’t cover it. Mr. Husband has asked me if I wanted to go to the movie the last several days and I’m reluctant to go. Gee, I wonder why. Will I hit the floor if someone stands up suddenly to go to the restroom? Wait till it comes out on Blu-ray?

Maybe I’ll get it on the research to develop a personal force-field generator. Would it filter out sounds and smells also? Better to stay home? I don’t think so. OK, maybe for a few days or weeks to recuperate. It will take a lot longer for those poor souls in Colorado who lost loved ones. How do you get over that?

This incident is going to stoke the fires in the raging debates about the nature of violence, gun ownership, video games, TV, all the usual suspects. Will we ever know what went on in the mind of the man who did this? Will that help? I doubt it, it hasn’t in the past.

I’m still in the “right to own a gun” camp. But I ponder the implications. In the USA, it’s easier to buy a gun than it is to buy an over the counter medicine with a decongestant in it. Tap a few keys on my computer and I could have an arsenal big enough to protect a small country shipped over night to my doorstep.

If I want decongestants I have to go stand in the line at the pharmacy, show my identification and sign a form saying that I do not intend to use the medicine to cook up a batch of meth. I don’t cook for Christ’s sake. Anything that involves cooking and is also illegal is the last thing I’m going be doing, trust me.

Unfortunately, focusing on the weapons aspect of this tragedy is too narrow a focus. Disturbed groups and individuals will find a way to commit murder.

I have my own theory about what’s going on here in the USA. I think the “just do it” and the “anything goes” mentality has gotten way out of hand.  Am I attempting to cast blame on the “me” generation? Hell no. What I’m trying to say is that our collective reality check got flushed down the commode somewhere along the way. Being rude, hateful, ornery, thoughtless, selfish, mean, nasty and a danger to others is glorified daily. If you spend an hour on YouTube watching “funny” homemade video clips your hair will turn gray, if it’s not already.

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