“But It’s a Dry Heat” By Raymond Roy
Dylan’s face had turned a pale shade of an old sock.
3 hours earlier as the aircraft door opened in Yuma Az, Dylan thought he had steppedinto an oven. He was blinded by the reflection off the tarmac and could feel his eyes dry out as if they were being blasted by a hair dryer. “It’s a dry heat alright,” he thought “but son uva bitch! It’s one hot Mutha! Thoughts wandered to his favorite movie “Cool Hand Luke” “Wiping it off here boss., Yeah wipe it off there Dragline”.
Exiting baggage claim he caught sight of an overweight balding man holding a sign reading “Mr. Dylan.”
Dylan gave an assuring nod. “Mr. Dylan?” the man said.
Dylan said “That’s me! “I am Arturo your driver. Welcome to Arizona. “Arturo replied.
Dylan said “Glad to know you Arturo, Vamos! “
One hour later passing through the compound gates, the trailing cloud of dust blanketed the car as it came to a halt. Dylan stepped out. “Fine day to make a cool 20 grand,” he thought to himself.
As the dust cleared what appeared to be a 60 ft tall triangle-shaped spaceship stood gleaming in the desert sun. In shock, under his breath, Dylan whispered “What the holy hell?”
A galvanized ramp dropped from the spacecraft. Dylan hesitated for a moment thinking “Let’s get nuts” and walked up.
“Welcome aboard Mr. Dylan” a message over the PA system announced. We’ve been waiting for you”. “Hold on there Klingon-boy or whatever you are. Marrying an illegal alien for citizenship is one thing but holy sheep dip”! said Dylan. “I am Kubrick, the matchmaker “the voice replied.
“Well, Captain Kirk, the price of poker just went up to 100k.”. “No need to be patronizing. The name is Kubrick, and agreed Mr. Dylan, consider it done. “
Present day:
“Dylan, are you alright”? the Pastor asked. Standing at the altar with his knees locked had reduced the blood flow to his now clammy brow. “Never better padreeeeayyy”! Dylan squeamishly said. And down he went.
Dylan felt a cool rag on his forehead. The cocktail of cheap cologne and hair product mitigated the need for smelling salts as he came to. “Easy son, just take it easy for a minute”.. the pastor reassured. “Man, what a nightmare, I dreamt I was getting marriedto a space creature, you were there padre, and oh shit!” Locking eyes with his shotgun wedding bride-to-be for two seconds his gaze was interrupted by the blur of her clenched “The Hulk”-sized fist… and down he went.
Dylan felt a cool rag on his forehead and smelt the familiar cocktail of cheap cologne and hair products. Licking his swollen lip, he could taste the iron of his blood… “Hey Padre, what are you doing here? Man, I had such a nightmare… “
-Goroyboy
Had some fun with this one. Thank you to my WordPress mentor and muse Carol, for suggesting participation in this short story competition..
Peace
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