Bernard looked up from the grill.

“You’re late.”

“I know, I know.” Sally ran through the diner door, grabbed an apron, and slid behind the counter, tying it as she went. “I’m sorry.”

“Your car again? I told you I know a guy—”

“No. Not my car.” A smile crept onto her face. “Spider interrupted my shower.”

Ted snorted into his coffee.

“Did you kill it?”

“What? No—”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of spiders,” Bernard said.

“Guys, you don’t understand.” She pulled her hair back into a ponytail.

Bernard slid a plate in front of Ted. “It’s just a spider. Squash it.”

Sally opened her mouth to explain, then closed it again.

“I can’t do that.”

“The hell you can’t. Use a washcloth.”

Ted pointed with his fork. “Or the bottom of the shampoo bottle.”

“That’s disgusting.” She quickly washed her hands.

“Then rinse it down the drain.”

Bernard placed a roll of burger patties on the grill in preparation for the lunch rush.

“You women act like they’re grizzly bears.”

Sally shook her head as she dried her hands, grabbed the silverware tray, and started wrapping silverware.

“You guys really don’t get it.”

“I get it. You’re scared of an itty-bitty spider.” He mocked.

Sally bit the inside of her cheek.

“I’m not scared of this one.”

Ted took a sip of coffee.

“Then what’s the problem?”

A grin tugged at the corner of Sally’s mouth.

“Actually, I’m kinda crazy about him.”

Ted lowered his mug.

“Him?”

Sally shrugged.

“I might be in love.”

Bernard looked up from the grill, where the patties sizzled away in their own juices.

“Hold on.”

“Yeah,” Ted said. “Back up.”

Sally focused hard on wrapping silverware and not cracking a smile.

“What?”

“You just said you’re in love with a spider.”

A snort escaped before she could stop it.

“No. That’s what you said.”

Bernard pointed his spatula at her.

“Then who the hell are we talking about?”

“The guy I’m dating.”

“The guy you’re dating is named Spider?”

“Nickname.”

Ted leaned back.

“Oh.”

Bernard frowned and flipped the burgers.

“Then why’d you say you found a spider in the shower?”

“Because that’s where I found him.” She blushed. “And why I’m late.”

The two men exchanged a disgusted look.

Sally burst out laughing.

“You idiots thought I meant an actual spider.”

Bernard turned back to the grill.

Ted picked up his coffee.

Neither said a word.

Finally, Ted shrugged.

“That’s what she said.”

Bernard scowled a nod.

They say the death rattle is harder on the family than the dying. But who, I wonder, came back from the dead and reported that dragging in and forcing out each wet, ragged breath was a piece of cake?

Unresponsive, her delicate neck stretched taut, her jaw thrust forward, her round face now resembling Munch’s The Scream.

Suck in, thrust out.

Suck in, thrust out.

For days she struggled for air.

Suck in, thrust out.

Suck in, thrust out.

It didn’t seem like a piece of cake to me.

Then—

Suck in, thrust out.

Thrust out.

Thrust…

Then…

Gone.

Serialized Novella

Delmar Hickey is a foul-mouthed, sharp-eyed screwup navigating grief, loyalty, and temptation in a dead-end town where every bad choice sticks.

He storms off again.

As his truck rumbles away, I liberate my cigarettes from their hiding place on the porch.

He hates it when I smoke. I hate it when he storms off. Yet, here we are, again.

Our counselor says it’s a fight or flight thing. Apparently, he’s all flight, and me?

If we divorce it doesn’t matter.

His Chevy limps to a stop in the driveway.

Well, what do you know?

He sits down on the step. “I thought you quit smoking.”

“I thought you quit running away.”

“Yeah, I’m trying.”

I tap out my cigarette. “Me too.”

Published in The Drabble 2021

Check out my Novella here

Jack and Jill struggled to climb the rocky slope. At the site of the well, Jill squealed and scrambled ahead. A weathered wooden bucket dangled above the well’s crumbling mouth. She tossed it in and heard it splash.

Laughing, Jill pulled the rope until the bucket reemerged. She greedily scooped handfuls of water into her mouth.

When Jack caught up, she asked, “No one else knows?”

With his sleeve, he wiped sweat from his forehead.

“Nope.” Jack snatched the bucket and gulped loudly before dumping the remaining water over his head. “Survival of the fittest, I say.”

His watery blue eyes slid over Jill.

“And now,” he sneered, “it’s pay-up time.”

He lunged.

Jill swung the bucket wildly, knocking Jack to the ground. His head struck the well’s rocky rim with a dull thud.

He lay still for a long moment. Jill hoped he was dead.

Then he moaned.

She watched as he struggled to his hands and knees. Blood dripped from his face and the thirsty ground devoured it.

Jill stepped closer and placed a foot on Jack’s rib cage. She smelled blood and fear as he looked up through hair matted with red.

“Like you said, Jack—survival of the fittest.”

She shoved him with her foot and watched him roll toward the hill’s edge. Panic flashed across Jack’s face as he clawed at the dirt, trying to stop himself.

A small boulder halted him at the crest.

Jill charged forward and kicked him hard.

Jack tumbled down the rocky slope.

Jill stepped after him—too fast.

Loose gravel shifted beneath her boots.

For a moment she hovered.

Then Jill came tumbling after.

—

If you enjoyed this quick read please check out my serialized novella-Delmar Hickey.

https://llchandanais.substack.com/p/delmar-hickey-bfa

Snore Monster

There’s a bear in my bed—a growling grizzled bear who snuggles up and snores in my ear.

No, wait, it’s a hit and miss engine, like the old-timers display at the fair. Sputter, choke, sputter sputter, with intermittent bursts of et-et-et-et-et, delivered sharp, hard.

Now, a gentle purr, low and slow, pleasant, mesmerizing even. A cat or a tiger, perhaps. Or a cougar. The feline purr lulls me to sleep.

Then—jerk, thrash, gasping shriek, followed by a dozen deep, delicious breaths. Jerk, thrash, gasping shriek...

I jab my elbow to his ribs, “Rollover.”

Published in Friday Flash Fiction 5/2/21

If you like rough edges and characters that don’t clean up nice you’re going to love Delmar Hickey.

Rom/com drama with a ❤️

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A Serialized Novella

“Good morning, Molly,” Mrs. Stevens calls from her front porch. I wave and watch as she and her four-footed cane totter over.

Last night we had a flash flood. In only minutes water swallowed the road and the yards on the low side of the street. Almost as quickly, it gushed away, leaving sticks and soggy ditch litter.

As I stand on Mrs. Stevens’ lawn, across the street from ours, I can’t help thinking Mama’s mood swings are like a flood; rapid, violent, and the clean-up left to me.

Mrs. Stevens leans on her cane, pushes her glasses up her narrow nose.

“I’ve lived here for over forty years, and that’s the first flood. Did you and your mother have any damage?”

I want to tell her about the rec-room flooding and the carpet smelling like dirty socks, but Mama says the old bat better keep her nose out of our business.

“No.” I lie and instantly feel bad. I like her; she’s always been nice to me.

When Mrs. Stevens’ four-legged cane starts to wobble she grabs my arm.

I flinch.

Pulling her hand away she asks, “Child, did that hurt?”

“No, you startled me, is all.” Another lie.

Her mouth tightens. “I thought perhaps you fell down the steps again.”

“Nope.” I lie for the third time.

I look up and down the street to keep my eyes away from hers. I’m not a good liar.

That’s when I notice a gap between the drawn drapes in our living room. Did they move?

“I gotta go.” I blurt and begin snatching up wet fast-food wrappers and soggy sticks as soon as my foot hits our lawn.

by LL Chandanais

First appeared in Spillwords 10/10/22

If you enjoyed this flash, please check out my serialized novella- Delmar Hickey