He made sweet tea in
the mason jar he used to
catch lightning bugs those
childhood summer nights.
When we’ve finished it all, drunk
on honey, we lick
our tongues inside, reach
for the crystalized sugar
caked to the bottom,
fill our mouths with more
as the sun sets and our cheeks
glow like fire flies.
This is a revised version of the original poem, which was posted May 3, 2015.
The Mayor and the town manager waved as their next victim approached.
“City Hall, huh? Pass any legislation in this barn?”
“You some kinda lawyer?” Trip asked under a heavy Southern drawl.
“Private detective.” He held up a small 3×5 photo of a woman with crimpy, blonde hair wearing a tribal print mini dress. “Seen this lady around? She’s been missing a week.”
Walt sucked his teeth. “Pretty gal.”
“And pregnant. Her husband’s offering a $50,000 reward.”
Trip twirled a toothpick between his lips. “I don’t image he’d give us half for helpin’?”
The detective shrugged. “So, where is your little town of, uh . . . Sherman, anyway?”
“Jest over that hill.” Walt pointed to the road ahead. “Gotta truck ’round back. We’d take ya. Can’t make no promises you’ll find her.”
The detective returned the photo to his back pocket and followed them around the shed.
“Be careful of that tarp,” Trip said over his shoulder. “Ground’s really soggy there.”
word count: 150
Mondays Finish the Story: a flash fiction challenge where we provide you with a new photo each week, and the first sentence of a story. Your challenge is to finish the story using 100-150 words, not including the sentence provided.
Click the froggy icon to read other stories and add your own.