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March 18, 2009

Wednesday

A bolt, a colt, and a dolt.

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LJ: Paranoia

The pounding at the door came again, and Steve's hands trembled, spoiling what little aim he had as he pointed the .45 at the door. The knob jiggled, and there came a gentle "oof" from the other side as the bolted door held against whoever was throwing his weight against it.

"Don't do it!" Steve screamed, and squeezed off a shot. The bang echoed through the bare room, and with a muffled curse from outside, the handle quit jiggling.

There was silence for a time, then an all-too-familiar voice hollered through the door. "Steve! You idiot! I brought the pizza."

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Stacy: Legend of an Outlaw

Digging through saddlebags for a spare clip, a single goddamned bullet, ANYTHING to deal with this bastard when he finally made it past the flimsy lock.

No ammo at all. Shit.

How did Mama’s little girl Patience get into messes like these anyway?

Oh yeah… that guy in Rooster Gulch. And the other one in Tombstone. Probably the one in Silverland, as well.

Freaking double standards. I had just as much right as they did…

The cheap lock finally gave way and three men piled into the dingy room. I pulled twin stilettos from my sleeves and grinned.

“Let’s dance.”

Read more from Stacy's .

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Jeff R.: Not Just a Temple in Egypt

He carries his broom into the darkened stage. It looks like it hasn't been cleaned in quite some time. Something catches his eye. He bends down to pick up the discarded piece of pale blue cardboard. He sees writing on it, but while he can read the words, he can't make heads or tails of it.

'The answer is: One point twenty-one jigawatts of electricity, Eric Dickerson, and Dan Quayle.'

He shakes his head, then lets the card fall back to where he had found it. 'If that was the answer,' he thinks, 'What could the question have possibly been?'

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Dave: A bolt, a colt, and a dolt

He turned the door knob. It turned cleanly, but when he pulled, the door didn’t open.

“The hell?” Len muttered, and tried it again. Same thing. He tried it four or five more times.

“Dammit.” He set the can of malt liquor down, put both hands on the knob. It turned freely, but the door still wouldn’t open.

He tried pushing the door instead. Nope. “Naw, that’d just be stupid.”

Len shouted, “Honey! Damn door won’t open again.”

Kari’s tired voice drifted from the kitchen. “Did you open the second lock this time?”

Oh. “Yeah, that’s got it. Thanks, sweetie.”

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