Society’s Tourniquet By Raymond Roy #FFFAW

Rattle Rattle, “spare change?” , “help a brother out”? 
Pan handling, it’s not so bad. You never have to worry about making eye contact with anybody. Although the concrete IS hot in the summer and sucks the life’s blood out of you in the winter. My knees ache, and butt gets numb at times. Don’t have to worry about feet getting cold since I left those back in Afghanistan. 

Hard concrete flashback: snapping in honing our marksmanship skills in the Marine Corps. The circle was asphalt, the rifle sling was tourniquet tight. We knelt facing a target, not firing, just developing muscle memory. Bam!! I saw stars as the DI slapped the rifle against my face, “tighten it up maggot”.

 Bam!! Back to reality, a car backfires. 

A long legged fur coat wearing high society type approaches the entrance to the high rise apartments with her fru-fru K9. She stops momentarily, takes out a tissue and wipes the dog’s arse. 

What’s wrong with this picture? 
Rattle Rattle, “spare change?” , “help a brother out”? 

Word count-174

Written for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers 

Semper Fidelis to all my Marine brethren. 

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Chaman’s Garden by Raymond Roy #FFFAW

As Chaman sat on the patio, I would hear him talking to his petalled friends, encouraging them to grow, thanking them for their beauty. As a new tenant, with the patio immediately outside my front door, it was hard not to hear Chaman my landlord’s peculiar activity through my single paned sliding window. 

Leaving for work the next morning, the proprietor was already at his “post”. Awkwardly, I blurted out “Good morning Chaman, what is your secret to such a beautiful floral display”? “Oh how very kind of you, but I cannot take all the credit, the other tenants contribute as well”. “You might contribute as well if you are ever late on rent.” Stunned I headed out. 
That evening in the laundry room, I met one of my neighbors. “Pleased to meet you” she said. Shaking hands, I noticed she was missing two fingers. I jerked back. “I am sorry, that was rude of me”. Dear girl, what….” before I could complete my question, tearfully she cried, “Two months late”. 

Wordcount: 171

Note: Chaman (means flowering garden in Bengali (East Indian))

Deep somewhere in my grey matter, a Bing Crosby movie  Dr. Cook’s Garden deserves credit for a similar gardening tip. 

Written for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. #FFFAW 

Fear No Evil by Raymond Roy. #writephoto

Shackled to a 4×4 beam.  Shoulders ached. 12 hours earlier, The Pharisees had returned a verdict of guilty. Guilty of not following doctrine. For daring to question ritualistic antiquited practices. Immediately, they strapped the timber behind my neck and across my shoulders sent me off into the desert. Feet raw, and head throbbing, I approached what seemed a porthole, I could see a green valley on the other side. You could hear the bubbling sound of a stream. Just to the left of the entryway, a prominent hieroglyph was etched. “With burdens of the world, no man shall pass and enter… “. 
There was no way the large timber would pass through the porthole. Digging deep, I proceeded to bang the beam against the granite walls. Skin rubbed raw, freshly burst blisters stinging from salty sweat and blood. One final thrust and I was free. Finding my balance, I reapproached the portal and dusted away the remaining portion of the hieroglyph.  “With burdens of the world, no man shall pass and enter into the valley of the shadow of death. “

Written for Sue Vincent’s  Photo prompt  #writephoto Special thanks to Sue for Hosting! 

The Pact By Raymond Roy #writephoto

The Pact
Just as he reached up for the knocker, the door eerily swing open. Deep into the remote cottage yellow sunshine cut into the pitch black recesses. True divided lites in the aged handcrafted wood windows created a checkerboard pattern on the terra-cotta tile floor. In the beams of light, elongated dust particles danced, almost suspended like mosquito larvae in long forgotten stagnant pond. 
 “Enter, I’ve been waiting for you”. 
A sulphur-like scent hung in the air. “Would you care for something to drink?, We have allot to talk about”. 

“Yeah sure,,Scotch on the rocks would be great”

“Scotch? Not a problem,as I am sure you can appreciate, Ice is difficult to keep around here.”
With a nervous dry response, (stuttering)”yeah, I guess forgot about that.” 

“So,,,,,,well done on the Paris agreement”…. “the warmer the world is that you promised to deliver to me, the better.”
“Hey, ya mind if we crack a window open? Getting a little toasty in here.” 

Written for Sue Vincent’s Photo Prompt Thanks Sue! 

The Appointment by Raymond Roy

Window sample packed so tightly into my coupe, I had to lean the front seat forward just to squeeze it in. 2pm in home demo appt. 

“You wait right here young man, I will be right back”. The lady of the house went in to the kitchen. The house smelled old. As I heard her clanking around, I couldn’t help but notice the city citation letter sitting on her coffee table. It listed specific home repairs in lieu of condemning the property. Windows was one of them. As I understood her husband was on the road driving tractor trailer. 

Clanging in the kitchen continued, muffling out what sounded like voices. 

Sitting patiently, tap, tap, tap, an iridescent house fly pummeled its exoskeleton against the plastered wall. Suddenly it dive bombs down into to corner of the room on to what appeared to be a matted rug sticking out from behind an ottoman. Like John Coffey in “the Green Mile” opening his mouth to release the evil he had sucked out of another being, a flurry of flies swarmed out from behind the foot rest. Much like a flock of starlings swirling in the windy autumn day, the flies orchestrated their way toward my side of the room gathering on the unkept glass of the south facing picture window. Looking closer at the matted rug, I realized it wasn’t a rug at all but sadly was the tail of a once beloved family pet. Hmm, 

“Ma’m, everything okay in there? Ma’m? ”

Walking toward the arched doorway, I struggled to get my footing as the well worn shag rug offered little resistance to the soles of my dress shoes. To the left, the front door was to the and to the right a narrow hallway leading to the kitchen. Her back was to me as she continued to bang dirty dishes around. As I walked closer, the voice I had heard was hers, spewing out a series of expletives so graphic it would make a sailor blush. “Ma’m? ” Approaching the rooms threshold, I understood what the clanging was loud, the was no water in the sink nor was any coming out of the tap as she repeatedly went through the motions. 

Through the kitchen window I could see the overgrown back yard. 

“Ma’m”?  

She looked up, put down her pots, as if to surrender, her shoulders sank. I reached out a hand and gently placed it on her back. It was if she had never experienced a human touch. Heavy teardrops rolled down her face ashen cheeks, splashing on the chipped porcelain sink. The last thing she needed was windows. 

The Longing by Raymond Roy : Stones #writephoto

The Longing 

Nails clicking waiting. Joelle’s heavily lipsticked full crimson lips stuck together, slowly separating as her jaw dropped. Her warm breath gently billowed into the cool sea air. Finally he had arrived. The loud exhaust of the dilapidated truck deflected and echoed against the stone arch. Turning off the ignition, the engine sputtered on, ending with a small backfire. Not being of similar pedigree, it was obnoxious incidents and sounds like this,in her world would be deemed uncouth but made him all the more interesting. 

He sat in the driver’s seat looking at Joelle with a crooked grin. His thin lips quickly pulled back to a display a toothy smile. He reached with his right hand to the outside handle, unlatched his door and stepped out. She had been waiting two long years for his return. Now he was only feet away and it was if she were standing in clay unable to move. He moved towards her, seeing her shiver, removed his woollen dress uniform coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. With his right hand he lowered the tailgate. They sat down looking off into the ocean as they had so years before. He held her close saying, “I told you I’d be back”. She didn’t say a word but took a long deep breath as if to breathe him in. As the wind picked up, his pinned up left sleeve flapped in the breeze reminding him of what he had left on the battlefield. “I told you I’d be back”, he whispered. 

Written for Sue Vincent’s Photo Stones #writephoto Thank you Sue:) 

Dedicated to all those who served and those that gave those men and women, hope, love and understanding. Amen. 

Corporal Roy USMC 1981

The Attendant by Raymond Roy: #flashfiction #shortstory #humor #humour

Opening the men’s room door, his down feathers swayed with the slight change in air pressure. 

Dropping my trousers and taking a seat, “Hey”

While Spinning his head away from me, he looks to see the fly that landed on his feathered back. With a quick shiver, shakes it off.”Hey yourself, where you been, ”

“Looking away when you talk to somebody, You know that’s rude.”
Yeah? Tell me about it “Mr. Can pivot his eyes without turning his head”. 

“Can you use your talent to look the other way while I do some paper work? “And I didn’t say talons. ”

“You are a riot! How long you been saving that one? And I’m not talking about that missile you just fired off.” “Crimeny! At least turn the fan on. ”

“Aren’t you going to wash your hands? That’s better, here’s a towel. ”

“Hey Thanks”, See you around.” Two quarters clink in the tip jar.
“Yeah see you around”

Door closes.

…..

Door opens, down feathers sway with the slight change on in air pressure. 

“Hey”

Hey yourself, how you been? …….