Three Kate drabbles
Three Kate drabbles (altho not exactly 100 words) for the lostsquee prompt, "Fire."
Spoilers for "Left Behind"
FIRE 1
“You can’t just keep fillin’ in for your mom.”
“She’s sick.” Kate averts Bob’s shrewd stare. “I don’t see how it makes any difference to you, as long as someone’s here, working.”
Bob shrugs. “Last time, okay? Tell her to come herself tomorrow. Or she’s fired.”
Kate nods; that sick feeling in her stomach has nothing to do with the smell of greasy hamburgers and burnt coffee. There’s no way Diane’s bruises will heal by tomorrow. No way she can show her face. But Kate works the whole shift anyway, smiling as wide as she can at the customers because she needs every extra dollar from those tips.
FIRE 2
He’s drunk, stumbling out of the truck like he does every night.
You’d think that driving drunk like that, he’d wrap the truck around a tree sooner or later. No such luck. She’s lain awake at night, praying he would, swearing she wouldn’t be sorry even if he took a carload of innocents with him on the road to hell.
He smells the gas but he’s too drunk to care.
“You are beautiful.” It’s the last thing he ever says to her. Right after, “Aren’t you gonna take my pants off?”
She revs the bike. For a second, she thinks there’s still time to go back in, time to shut off the gas. But the second passes, and with it any regrets she might still have. She drives off, not looking back as the house explodes into flames.
FIRE 3
She doesn’t even look at Jack.
The whole walk back, she keeps her focus on the back of Juliet’s head. When Juliet leans closer to Jack, laughing, she shifts her gaze. A head shot would be too quick. She focuses instead on the space between Juliet’s shoulder blades. Even with the backpack, the rifle Sayid is carrying would stop her dead. Not quite dead. She’d have time to cry out, time for that impassive face to freeze in permanent confusion. There’d be time for Jack to try to save her, take her in his arms as she gasped blood.
And then Jack would turn to look at her; his hurt and shock proof that he’s still Jack and not the zombie who doesn’t even acknowledge her.
With each step closer to camp, she imagines pulling the trigger, lets the command play over in her head. Fire.
Spoilers for "Left Behind"
FIRE 1
“You can’t just keep fillin’ in for your mom.”
“She’s sick.” Kate averts Bob’s shrewd stare. “I don’t see how it makes any difference to you, as long as someone’s here, working.”
Bob shrugs. “Last time, okay? Tell her to come herself tomorrow. Or she’s fired.”
Kate nods; that sick feeling in her stomach has nothing to do with the smell of greasy hamburgers and burnt coffee. There’s no way Diane’s bruises will heal by tomorrow. No way she can show her face. But Kate works the whole shift anyway, smiling as wide as she can at the customers because she needs every extra dollar from those tips.
FIRE 2
He’s drunk, stumbling out of the truck like he does every night.
You’d think that driving drunk like that, he’d wrap the truck around a tree sooner or later. No such luck. She’s lain awake at night, praying he would, swearing she wouldn’t be sorry even if he took a carload of innocents with him on the road to hell.
He smells the gas but he’s too drunk to care.
“You are beautiful.” It’s the last thing he ever says to her. Right after, “Aren’t you gonna take my pants off?”
She revs the bike. For a second, she thinks there’s still time to go back in, time to shut off the gas. But the second passes, and with it any regrets she might still have. She drives off, not looking back as the house explodes into flames.
FIRE 3
She doesn’t even look at Jack.
The whole walk back, she keeps her focus on the back of Juliet’s head. When Juliet leans closer to Jack, laughing, she shifts her gaze. A head shot would be too quick. She focuses instead on the space between Juliet’s shoulder blades. Even with the backpack, the rifle Sayid is carrying would stop her dead. Not quite dead. She’d have time to cry out, time for that impassive face to freeze in permanent confusion. There’d be time for Jack to try to save her, take her in his arms as she gasped blood.
And then Jack would turn to look at her; his hurt and shock proof that he’s still Jack and not the zombie who doesn’t even acknowledge her.
With each step closer to camp, she imagines pulling the trigger, lets the command play over in her head. Fire.