Strawberries
Title: Strawberries
Rating: PG-13, for a bit o' violence.
Length: 432 words
Summary: The challenge was to use a burnt match, a playing card, and a strawberry in some 'creative way.' The result: One thinks of the most curious things when one is doing something illegal.
Harry flipped the card between his fingers, "King," he noted, smirking.
"And I suppose you fancy yourself a king?" Lola inquired dryly. She was not looking at him, but he still managed to get the message she was trying to send.
"No, no," Harry assured her. "But, that's gotta be a good sign, right? King pin and all that?"
Lola struck a match against the book she had been holding. It filled the car with a bitter smell before she lit her cigarette. Then, in one fluid motion, she tossed the match out the window on Harry's side and picked up a card from the pile on the dashboard. "Ace," she showed him. "Now that's a good sign."
Harry rolled his eyes before sitting back in his seat and looking at the store fronts. Lined up in a row, were a dry cleaner's, a video rental store with a large white banner, a grocery store with fresh strawberries outside that Harry could smell even in the car, and the bank. "We ready?" he questioned.
"Always," Lola responded, before picking up her gun, cocking it, and exiting the car headed toward the bank.
As Harry got out of the car, for some reason he couldn't explain, the strawberries reminded him of some distant memory of a picnic he had taken with his family when he was much younger. He couldn't remember the details of where they had been--though he remembered that it was very green--but his mother had prepared a great deal of food. His family had eaten it slowly, carefully, as though to memorize every scent that filled their nostrils and every flavor that flooded their mouths. They had kept silent. Harry remembered thinking that the noise of conversation would distract him before the meal that lay before them. For dessert, his mother had brought strawberries and cream. She opened the tub of cream first and they had all leaned forward to get a good look at it. It was as white as a cloud, but looked softer somehow. Closer to perfection. She opened the container of strawberries, but frowned. Every last one was ruined, and she had no idea why.
"Oh well," Harry whispered to himself as he entered the bank. "That's life sometimes, I suppose."
He shot the bank guard in the chest.
Rating: PG-13, for a bit o' violence.
Length: 432 words
Summary: The challenge was to use a burnt match, a playing card, and a strawberry in some 'creative way.' The result: One thinks of the most curious things when one is doing something illegal.
Harry flipped the card between his fingers, "King," he noted, smirking.
"And I suppose you fancy yourself a king?" Lola inquired dryly. She was not looking at him, but he still managed to get the message she was trying to send.
"No, no," Harry assured her. "But, that's gotta be a good sign, right? King pin and all that?"
Lola struck a match against the book she had been holding. It filled the car with a bitter smell before she lit her cigarette. Then, in one fluid motion, she tossed the match out the window on Harry's side and picked up a card from the pile on the dashboard. "Ace," she showed him. "Now that's a good sign."
Harry rolled his eyes before sitting back in his seat and looking at the store fronts. Lined up in a row, were a dry cleaner's, a video rental store with a large white banner, a grocery store with fresh strawberries outside that Harry could smell even in the car, and the bank. "We ready?" he questioned.
"Always," Lola responded, before picking up her gun, cocking it, and exiting the car headed toward the bank.
As Harry got out of the car, for some reason he couldn't explain, the strawberries reminded him of some distant memory of a picnic he had taken with his family when he was much younger. He couldn't remember the details of where they had been--though he remembered that it was very green--but his mother had prepared a great deal of food. His family had eaten it slowly, carefully, as though to memorize every scent that filled their nostrils and every flavor that flooded their mouths. They had kept silent. Harry remembered thinking that the noise of conversation would distract him before the meal that lay before them. For dessert, his mother had brought strawberries and cream. She opened the tub of cream first and they had all leaned forward to get a good look at it. It was as white as a cloud, but looked softer somehow. Closer to perfection. She opened the container of strawberries, but frowned. Every last one was ruined, and she had no idea why.
"Oh well," Harry whispered to himself as he entered the bank. "That's life sometimes, I suppose."
He shot the bank guard in the chest.