He knew the restaurant closed at midnight. It said so on the sign on the front door. He knew that for a fact because he had spent the last two nights across the street observing that even if there were no customers the place closed promptly at midnight.
Tonight would be a busy night. There should be plenty of cash on hand. He knew they did not have a safe because he used to work there. Once he entered the place he knew he would not have much time to accomplish his mission.
He waited until tonight because he knew Karl would be closing the place. Karl his previous manager. Karl who had fired him. Karl the prick. Karl needed to die. It was payback time. Karl would not make the next opening of the store. He hoped there would be no collateral damage.
Look out Karl he said to himself as he waited patiently in the parking lot as the sun went down. It would be worth the wait. Thoughts of how Karl would die drifted through his mind as he fell as he into a deep sleep.
The telephone call came at 6:04 p.m. I remember the exact time because the national news was beginning and the ringing of the telephone irritated me.
It was Sara. “Jeff passed away last night,” she cried.
I was speechless. My mind going from full speed ahead to a full stop in a nanosecond.
Jeff was diagnosed with frontal lobe dementia four years ago. I was a witness to this disease’s rapid progress through his mind and body.
We were both terrible golfers. But Jeff started to have difficulty keeping his score. As the disease progressed we would tell him what he scored. He would say, “That sounds about right.” At one point he took a swing at an imaginary ball. He went through all the motions: put the ball on the tee, took a practice swing, then took a full swing with a beautiful follow through. But he forgot to take the ball out of his pocket. “Mike, you forgot the ball!” Mike went through the same procedure again without the ball.
As this terrible disease progressed he would lose the ability to recognize family and friends, forget how to use eating utensils. Four years from diagnosis to death. Jeff was 62 year old.
His carving could wait. Irving was late for service. Entering the parking lot he heard gunshots.
Rushing into the building he saw David and Cecil face down inside the entrance. The brothers were always first to meet worshipers when they arrived. Twenty feet in front of the brothers was Rosie. “Rosie, Rosie, 97 years young sure to make 101” was the familiar chant that we sang to her. This can’t be happening. To his right were Bernice and Sylvan. They were married in this same synagogue 60 years ago.
According to the dashboard clock on his car it was 7:09 p.m. when he entered the motel parking lot. He had driven over 400 miles today and he was weary. Even the sunset looked dull to his tired eyes.
Their marriage had been deteriorating for the last year so it didn’t surprise him when she ordered him to leave their home early this morning.
He took out his cell phone. No new calls or messages. He realized that he did not know if that was bad or good. He knew one thing. She had expressed her anger by flinging his phone across the room where it hit with a dull thunk against the kitchen cabinet.
The phone had caused his troubles. He had left it home when he went for his morning walk. Upon returning his wife informed him he had a message, which she had overheard, from Pauline, describing in detail their last time in bed.
The Handly Cup Style finals of lawn darts was the Super Bowl of Godly sporting events. Both Zeus and his Indian counter part Indra had made it to the finals. Greece vs. India in the finals. The crowd was going wild in anticipation. On his final underhand toss Zeus had stuck the old junk car halfway into the ground inside the old NASCAR oval track. “Take that!” he thundered. Indra, never one to be intimated, tossed his highly colored junker into the air and it landed just inside of the one Zeus had just tossed. “Rematch” roared the wounded Zeus.
This post is written for Mondays Finish The Story. This is a unique flash fiction challenge where we are provide with a new photo each week, and the first sentence of a story. Our challenge is to finish the story using 100-150 words and using the first sentence in bold below.
The Mayor and the town manager waved as their next victim approached.
Well they weren’t really victims.
The couple approaching was there to get married.
Jack, the town manager and local minister, always preformed the ceremony, and Matt, the Mayor of Sherman Montana was always the witness. Together they had performed over 146 marriages over the years.
As Bruce and Will approached they were a bit apprehensive about how they would be received in this part of the country. After all they reasoned that gay marriages were not a very common event here.
The event went off without a hitch. As Bruce and Will were leaving both the mayor and pastor wished them well.
“We wish you both happiness in your future together. May you be together as long as we have. We celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary tomorrow.”