Chupacabra and the Yrad Sale
Title: Yrad Sale
Characters/Fandom: Original
Rating: G
Word Count: 319
“Yrad sale” is what this one reads, the cardboard ripped and shredded and flapping awkwardly on its lopsided, stapled position on the metal-scarred telephone post.
“Yikes,” I say.
Alicia, from the backseat: “I bet Chupacabra got to it.” Chupacabra, who she saw on a National Geographic special on mythical monsters. Chupacabra, Spanish, a conglomerate between “to suck” (chupar) and “goat” (cabra). Goatsucker is a fitting name, despite the fact there are no goats in the sage-furnished desert outside Alicia’s window. The sky glowers in lightened gray steel and rain hovers on something’s bated breath.
Brian is two-minutes older and therefore has a vastly superior intellect. “We’re in Nevada, “ he points out.
Alicia shrugs serenely, looks at me in the reflection of the rear view mirror. “Who says Chupacabra doesn’t go on vacation?”
“But why would he go after a yard sale sign, Alicia?” I ask her, turning on the blinker to follow the second sign, a lonely, upside-down UHAUL Box with neon-green presentation paper taped to it and two large, anonymous Nevada rocks stuck on top.
“Yard sale,” it says, from its position on the ground. The Sharpie-drawn arrow points west, to one “Azalia Lane.”
“Yard sale isn’t spelled right,” she responds after a thoughtful moment. “I bet Chupacabra doesn’t like misspelled words.”
“But he speaks Spanish,” Brian pointed out. Again.
“Chupacabra goes on vacation a lot,” she retorts confidently. “He learns other languages.”
“Not a bad idea, Lish,” I tell her, trying to smother a smile as Brian crosses his arms and glares his sister, short black hair.
From the left, Azalia Lane opens to three neat houses, old-sixties trim and one particular one with an old Covair straddling a blood-red curb and furniture sprawled on the hay-yellow and dying hair of the front yard.
“Yup,” she responds, then, turning to her brother. “I bet Chupacabra doesn’t like you, either.”
“Whatever,” he snaps.
18:28.
Word: "Box"
Characters/Fandom: Original
Rating: G
Word Count: 319
“Yrad sale” is what this one reads, the cardboard ripped and shredded and flapping awkwardly on its lopsided, stapled position on the metal-scarred telephone post.
“Yikes,” I say.
Alicia, from the backseat: “I bet Chupacabra got to it.” Chupacabra, who she saw on a National Geographic special on mythical monsters. Chupacabra, Spanish, a conglomerate between “to suck” (chupar) and “goat” (cabra). Goatsucker is a fitting name, despite the fact there are no goats in the sage-furnished desert outside Alicia’s window. The sky glowers in lightened gray steel and rain hovers on something’s bated breath.
Brian is two-minutes older and therefore has a vastly superior intellect. “We’re in Nevada, “ he points out.
Alicia shrugs serenely, looks at me in the reflection of the rear view mirror. “Who says Chupacabra doesn’t go on vacation?”
“But why would he go after a yard sale sign, Alicia?” I ask her, turning on the blinker to follow the second sign, a lonely, upside-down UHAUL Box with neon-green presentation paper taped to it and two large, anonymous Nevada rocks stuck on top.
“Yard sale,” it says, from its position on the ground. The Sharpie-drawn arrow points west, to one “Azalia Lane.”
“Yard sale isn’t spelled right,” she responds after a thoughtful moment. “I bet Chupacabra doesn’t like misspelled words.”
“But he speaks Spanish,” Brian pointed out. Again.
“Chupacabra goes on vacation a lot,” she retorts confidently. “He learns other languages.”
“Not a bad idea, Lish,” I tell her, trying to smother a smile as Brian crosses his arms and glares his sister, short black hair.
From the left, Azalia Lane opens to three neat houses, old-sixties trim and one particular one with an old Covair straddling a blood-red curb and furniture sprawled on the hay-yellow and dying hair of the front yard.
“Yup,” she responds, then, turning to her brother. “I bet Chupacabra doesn’t like you, either.”
“Whatever,” he snaps.
18:28.
Word: "Box"