#FridayFlash “Mother”

Ok. I figured I should occasionally post something around here, so here’s an angry little flash fiction. I had the idea while watching a dirty child run amok at a local hamburger joint.

Anyway, next week I’ll be back to “Journey”

Oh, and as the stuff on my blog is usually all ages, I’d better put up a language warning. WARNING: Strong language ahead.

Mother

Kevin gritted his teeth, clenched his fists, and stared at his Chinese carry out. I would never treat a child that way.

The ratty haired pregnant woman jerked on the little boy’s arm again. “Come on, you little shit.”

The boy pointed a bruised arm at the McDonald’s sign again and cried. “Hungry.”

Kevin closed his eyes. That kid has to only be three or four. Right about where David would be.

Maybe when he opened his eyes, she’d be gone, and he could forget the sadness and anger that were boiling up his neck.

No such luck.

She parked it two tables down.

Two tables down.

A whole food court to choose from and the stupid cow sits two tables down from me.

The boy cried harder.

The woman slapped the kid across the face. “Shut up, you spoiled-ass brat. Mommy has business.”

When she spoke, Kevin could see her mouth chock-full of rotting teeth.

In fact, from her teeth to her stained clothes and sunken-in eyes, everything about the woman screamed “meth junkie.”

Why does she get to be pregnant? Why is it that a total waste like her can crank out kids? Kids that she won’t take care of and probably doesn’t even want. Shellie and I had to go through years of treatments and even then we lost our boy in childbirth.

A shifty weasel of a man appeared from out of nowhere and plunked a loaded Ziplock baggie on the table in front of the mother. “Why do you always bring the damn kid?”

She’s buying drugs? Kevin tried to look without being too obvious.

She leaned to the side, dug into her pockets and purse and pulled out a bunch of wadded up bills. “I got it all but one seventy five right now, but my disability comes in tomorrow and I’ll give you the rest then.”

The man scooped up the bag and rolled his eyes. “Natch don’t run no charity. Pay up or you don’t get shit.”

The mother slammed the bills on the table. “Come on, it’s only a hundred seventy five short.”

The drug dealer turned and headed for the door. “I don’t got time, bitch.”

Kevin watched her chase after the dealer, dragging the child along like a rag doll. He felt guilty that he had done nothing.

But what was he supposed to do? Kidnapping the boy in public was a good way to get arrested. He could call the police, but how long would they take? What would they do anyway? And it’s not like child protective services had agents to deploy at a moments notice. The best the authorities could ever do would be to bounce the kid around foster homes until he was eighteen. That’s not what the boy needed. He needed a home, one with real parents.

Kevin didn’t even think to clear his tray. He wasn’t really thinking at all. He hurried over to the ATM and didn’t even notice the seven dollar convenience fee. He just hoped it wouldn’t be too late and ran for the door.

He could hear the yelling before he even pushed open the exit. They hadn’t even made it thirty feet.

The addict mother was leaning over with her clenched fists behind her back. Her face was red and seemed tuning purple with her screaming. She also shook from head to toe like an angry Chihuahua.

Kevin could tell the greasy dealer was trying his best to look cool and unembarrassed despite the fact that there was a crazy pregnant lady’s screaming face not six inches from his own.

The boy cried and tugged at his mother’s leg.

She backhanded him without even looking down.

He fell onto his bottom, hung his head, and sobbed.

Kevin’s will set itself in concrete. This had to be stopped, now. He had no choice but to act. She was never going to hit that boy again.

He marched over and stepped directly between the woman and her drug dealer.

She slapped him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The dealer tried to push him away. “Yeah, what the hell, man? Can’t you see we’re busy?”

Kevin flared his nostrils and sucked in. “You need two hundred dollars right?”

She gave him a quick glance up and down then slapped him again. “I ain’t your ho, bitch.”

The dealer slid around to Kevin’s right. “Yeah, she ain’t your bitch.”

Kevin took it like a statue. “Not for sex. I’ll give you two hundred bucks for your son. You’ll never hear his complaining again, never have to drag him around or hit him while you try to take care of business, and you’ll have the cash you need.”

Her breath reeked of decay. “Buy the brat? Screw you. You ain’t funny. Go to hell.”

“I’m saying I’ll give you two hundred bucks and solve two of your problems.” Kevin dug the twenties from his pocket and held them out.

She stared with hungry eyes from the money to the greasy dealer and back again.

The dealer threw up his arms.

Kevin could have sworn that he actually heard the tiny gears in the druggie’s head grind to a halt.

She licked her lips.

He waved the bills. “Two hundred.”

Her sunken eyes widened.

He waved the bills again. “Two hund-”

She snatched the cash from his hand. “Fine, but he’s a damn brat.”

Kevin took a step back.

She didn’t even bother to look down at her son. “Scott, you go with him. He’s gonna get you your stupid little happy meal.”

The little boy just stared up at Kevin.

What did I just do? Kevin reached down and picked him up.

The mother turned away and oozed over to the dealer.

“Let’s go get you something to eat.” Kevin carried the boy back into the food court and wondered what exactly he was going to tell his wife.

A New Year’s Revolution – Flash Fiction

Author’s note:

Here’s just a little diversion. This could be the opening scene to a novel I’d like to write someday. You don’t get to meet the main protagonist, or even the antagonist, but it should leave you wanting to read more. I hope.

If you missed it, I posted a Journey of St. Laurent chapter earlier this week. Check it out.

Also, you those of you who like to write, I’m playing with a POD magazine platform, and so I’m putting together a silly little literary magazine. I’m paying for stories, too. (Albeit not a lot.)

Oh, and is it #FlashFriday or is it #FridayFlash?

Dwayne only had about an hour left in the year. He wasn’t going to reach his goal. His New Year’s resolution was a bust. Granted, it had been a pretty lofty goal – to change the nation for the better. The charitable foundation had collapsed within months, and his run for office was a dismal failure. The silver lining was that before sunrise he would get his chance to make a difference.

He pulled on the black gloves and wondered if he’d be able to go through with it.

He shook his head. Of course he’d be able to go through with it. It’s not like he even had a choice anymore. The decision was made weeks ago.

Could he even back out? He shook his head again. No, of course not. It’s too late.

Besides, the rest of the jury would never let him get away with that kind of cowardice.

He threw the rope, duct tape, and heavy duty zip strips in the little pack on top of the note he was to leave behind. The revolver he shoved in the front of his pants.

He fiddled with the remote and ordered the longest pay per view movie on the list. It wasn’t much, but it was some sort of an alibi.

If having affairs were the senator’s only crimes, Dwayne wouldn’t be staying up so late tonight. Infidelity couldn’t be excused, but it didn’t need to be punished like this. And Senator Jeremy Lither wasn’t just a philandering cheat, he was a traitor to his country, plain and simple.

Even with that knowledge, Dwayne’s hand trembled on the door knob. He had never murdered anyone before.

But is it even murder if you kill a traitor? It’s merely dispensing justice were the system has failed. Anyone with half a brain can see he’s guilty of treason.

Still, it was a tough thing to do.

The other jurors had all acted like it was some great honor to be the first to carry out a sentence.

Dwayne knew the truth; it is always hardest to go first.

The others would be relying on this one to go smoothly. It would give them confidence to keep up the fight.

Dwayne hated the thought of letting them and his country down when the stakes were so high.

On his way to the truck, he reviewed the plan.

The senator’s wife was a party lightweight. She would leave shortly after midnight, head up to their room, and take her sleeping pill. The senator would leave the hotel probably an hour after that. He’d go to the seedy motel where he had prepaid for a room in cash that morning.

In the motel room he’d meet with his latest hard bodied intern.

Dwayne would wait outside until the senator was done. It wouldn’t be too long. The three other times he had followed the senator during one of these encounters, the whole thing had lasted less than forty five minutes.

Once the senator came out of the room, Dwayne would do what he needed to do.

Even though the truck was cold, Dwayne noticed that he was sweating up a storm. He was a lot more nervous than he had expected to be.

The whole ride he had to tell himself “I am not a murderer. I’m a patriot. I’m a soldier, not a hit man. A patriot soldier that’s not afraid to do what’s necessary for his country.”

The senator’s crimes were legion. He had authored four laws which whittled away at the freedom of speech. He had worked very hard trying to phase out private ownership of firearms. He had abused military and police connections in efforts to squelch his political adversaries. The list went on and on. Both American soldiers and American citizens were now dead due directly to Senator Lither’s actions. He had abused his power again and again, each time with the apparent goal of weakening the nation. He was a power hungry traitor steeped in corruption. One that the legal system would never touch.

It was time for a great change in Washington. Time for the government to respect the people again. That was why Dwayne had to follow through. There had to be justice. Senator Jeremy Lither had to be held accountable for his actions.

Reviewing the Senator’s traitorous acts gave Dwayne the strength he needed.

At last he reached the seedy motel where fourteen hours earlier the Senator had rented a room.

Normally, night hides the dirt and the debris and generally helps a motel look a little better. Not this place. Night just made it ooze even more. Very little of the big neon sign actually worked, with most of the functioning tubes flickering at odd intervals. Many of the walkway lights were out. The dim shadows made the dirt and dust on the walls look like grease and tar.

Sure enough, the intern arrived first. It wasn’t quite one o’clock yet. The senator arrived about half an hour later.

Everything was going perfectly according to schedule.

It must be sign.

As soon as the senator’s door closed, Dwayne grabbed the little bag with the supplies and set everything up.

Once that was done, he crouched in the shadows behind the overflowing garbage can that sat underneath the window to the senator’s room.

Dwayne could hear every dirty thing that was going on inside. Fortunately, the senator was not exactly a great lover, and he’d be done and cleaning up in no time.

At length, the door squeaked open and the senator stepped into the night.

It’s finally time. No weakness.

As soon as the door clanged closed, Dwayne jumped up and pulled out the revolver.

“Senator, you are guilty of treason.”

The senator spun around. “Who do you think-” His eyes went wide.

“Just make this easy on yourself and come with me.”

Yes, last year Dwayne had failed at his New Year’s resolution. This year, however, he would start the revolution.