INDIE 500: Second Week.

Posted: May 6, 2012 in dark, fiction, INDIE500, writing
Tags: , , , , , , , ,


Here we go again. This week we pick up where the prompt posted this past FRIDAY left off. Please post your submission of 500 words or less to your blog, then in the comments below share the link to your submission here. Readers, please use the RATING stars to vote for the story or stories they like, the story with the highest rating as of WEDNESDAY will be kept and used as the prompt for the coming week.

Below the line of asterisks is my submission. If you find it worthy, please vote using the comment section below where I too will place a response.

I’m looking forward to reading your work!


Homeward Bound

“Jesus. Belch. What the fuck?” Jacob stepped forward palming his forehead with a sweaty hand, then stepped back again, his eyes shifting focus.

“Howdy, Jacob.” Norman Belcher, business partner of Jacob’s father, Cornelius MacManus, and family friend, tongued the salty split in his lower lip.

“Why were you inside that bag?” Jacob began to wheeze as he often would whenever he was nervous or overly stressed.

“Slow down.” Belcher raised up on an elbow and tried to manage a seated position without success. He settle back again, pain clearly evident upon his usually handsome face.

“Who put you in there?”

“Breathe, kid. One thing at a time.”

“Your wrists are taped up. It looks like someone beat the shit out of you.” Jacob fumbled inside his pocket and retrieved a tiny aerosol cylinder. He sucked on the plastic mouthpiece and pumped, his face contorted in a grimace.

Belcher held his hands before him, as if in prayer. “Jacob. Keep your shit together and get this tape off me.” Jacob quickly obliged.

“Listen Jacob, we need to get out of here. They’re probably watching us. Now help me up would you, because as a matter of fact, I did get the shit beat out of me. You should see the other guys.”  Smiling, Belcher reached up one bludgeoned hand which Jacob accepted.

“Who? I’ve got to call my father. Shit. What’s all this about? What are you into?” Belcher stiffly bent over and grabbed the canvas sack. As they ambled toward the car he tested a couple teeth for stability. Pressing his thumb to his nose, he occluded one nostril and cleared a blood clot as the two men, this odd pairing, one more child than man, opened the Saab doors.

“It’s not just me, kid. It’s you too.” Belcher tossed the sack into the back seat; a bound stack of hundred dollar bills spilled out.

“That’s a lot of money.”

“It is. Seed money. Now, get in and drive.”

Belcher adjusted the passenger side mirror.  On the rise behind them idled a black sedan with tinted windows. Its passenger door opened. “Drive, Jacob.”

“Seed money for what?” Jacob pulled the door closed and reached for his shoulder strap.

Sun light glinted off a shaved head and mirrored glasses.

“Let’s go, Jacob.”

Belcher watched as a long matte finished barrel was leveled across the upper frame of the sedan door.


There was a flash as the passenger mirror exploded.

Jacob stepped full on the gas; the Saab fishtailed spitting gravel then straightened when rubber bit asphalt.

“Do me a favor, Jacob.” Belcher turned his head to face Jacob who was hunched before the wheel like a ninety year old driving after dark.

“What’s that?” Jacob chanced his head high enough to scan the rear view and found no one in pursuit.

“Don’t tell you father. Not yet, anyway.”

  1. Fay Moore says:

    Hi, J.K. I am pasting my entry here, since it would be a re-run (slightly edited) on my blog. It’s fun to throw my hat into your ring. Sadly, the italics to help sort out the self-talk don’t translate here.


    The voices in Jacob’s head chatter.

    Jakey Boy, any plans you had to visit that cute redhead tonight are out the window if you don’t get back into your car. Now.

    You can’t do that! This guy is hurt. You’ve gotta help.

    Are you kidding me? His face is all over the news. This smells like trouble. Move your ass now while you still have a chance.

    Oh, god. Is that a gun in his hip pocket? Whoever beat him up wouldn’t leave him with a gun, would they?

    Are you fricking stupid? Run. Now.

    Something in that last thought rings true to Jacob as the man’s eyes fly open, locking Jacob in his sights. Jacob feels ice form around his heart, threatening to shut off his blood flow. His face pales and his body draws into itself. Rather than follow his instinct to bolt, Jacob backs slowly toward his car as he speaks. He watches for any movement from the man on the pavement.

    “Hang in there, Buddy. I got a first aid kit in the back seat. Lemme get it.” He walks faster now, backwards, as he continues. “You need to call somebody? Let me get my cell phone. You can call whoever you want to.”

    The man straightens out his legs and begins to roll over to his stomach as Jacob turns and runs the last couple of feet to the car. He jumps behind the wheel, shoves the car in gear, and stomps the gas. He ducks his head, raking the gears, as he hears gunshots ring out behind him. The driver’s door swings loose. There is no time to pull it shut.

    “Jesus,” he pleads, concentrating on keeping his head low and putting as much distance as he can between the gunman and himself. He runs the Saab close to the red line before shifting. When he hits the first right hand curve, the driver’s door swings out, away from him. Only then, does he dare to slide upward and check his rear view mirror. He sees nothing because the curve in the road obscurs his would-be murderer from sight. As he grabs the door handle and yanks the door shut, he feels his hand shaking. The shaking travels up his arm to his shoulder, spreading on to his torso. His teeth ricochet off each other so violently, he thinks the teeth will chip.

    “Dammit,” he shouts after looking down. The front of his pants are wet, the warm dampness spreading across his lap and down between his legs.

  2. […] of the story, based on the prompt of JK Bradley on his blog. I desperately need you to go to  and open the comments. (Click on the cartoon-style balloon with numbers in it. It’s near […]

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