Warning: This story contains rude words.
It was hand-written at the Friday Flash Fictioneers' workshop at Eastercon. I then promptly lost it. I've rewritten it from memory and polished it up a bit.
I find with flash that I'm more willing to dive in and see where the story takes me, and trust that my brain knows it's got 1000 words (or fewer) to pull something into shape. With this one I also managed to get a terrible joke into the title, which always makes me happy.
A Stupid Place to (Jurassic) Park (656 words)
“What kind of arse-brained idiot parks a steg next to a T. rex?”
“Maybe they just popped in for some milk or something,” says Alison.
“Look at this shit-awful mess! I hope their insurance covers this.” I wave at where the stegosaurus is placidly chewing the cud and still swinging its club-ended tail, scattering a few drops of blood. Rover’s snapped chain and the stamped-flat scrubby carpark bushes were no doubt just the first steps on a trail of destruction.
“Oh dear. You can’t blame the steg for defending itself. Our boy’s had a go again,” says Alison. “We really need to put a stop to that.”
Alison just doesn’t get it. If I left it up to her, we’d be plodding around on a triceratops. Safe, solid, oh so slow. Give me a carnivore every time.
“It’s in his nature,” I say. “He’d be fine if some cock-knocking moron didn’t park a stupid herbivore next to him. And now I’ll have to try and catch him.”
“Have you got any spare Trexie treats?”
“Of course I’ve got spare Trexie treats. I’m not the cock-knocking moron. But the spare Trexie treats are where they always are. In the glove compartment, strapped to Rover’s back. For crying out loud Alison!”
“Sherbet lemon?” She pops open the bag and holds it out to me. “If you’re going to work yourself up into one of your rages, you’ll need the sugar.”
“I don’t want a fucking sherbet lemon! Do you hear that? That din is Rover rampaging down the High Street, destroying our credit card balance. Come on!”
I sprint off, glancing back to see Alison sauntering behind me, sucking ruminatively on a sweet. As I scramble round the corner, I tot up the damage in my head. Broken glass, flattened bins, scattered brooms and buckets, a butcher waving a gnawed haunch of something at me. “Shut your door next time,” I shout as I sprint past.
I teeter at a road junction and look around. For fuck’s sake! There’s Alison down the street outside a shop, standing in a plastic avalanche of laundry baskets, exercise balls, storage boxes. She’s handing some cash over. I can’t believe she’s actually shopping! That woman just does not understand the concept of immediate action.
Looking the other way, I see Rover bounding down the street and I take off after him, full tilt. He skids to a halt at the mall doors, scrabbles round, tail windmilling madly, then charges back past me. I spin on my heel, flailing my arms for balance, and follow. Alison waves as I run past. She waves again as we repeat the maneouvre at the other end of the street. Rover’s tail is bouncing half-time now. He’s a hunter, a sprinter, not an all-day plodder like the pathetic herbis. The third time we pass Alison, Rover’s breath huffs out in hot gales. He staggers to the end of the road and flops, sides heaving. I lean on an unbroken lamp post, red-faced and gasping.
There is the spanging sound of over-inflated plastic smacking off pavement. Alison wanders up the street, bouncing her just-bought exercise ball. Rover’s head snaps up and he clambers to his feet.
“Good boy,” said Alison. “Who’s got a new toy then?” Rover tilts his head and trots towards her. “Let’s go home and you can play with your new toy. Come on, it’ll be nice.” Our T. rex follows Alison, placidly as you like, tail waving happily.
“Are you alright?” she asks me.
“I’m worn out. You could have helped.”
“Sorry,” says Alison. “You know I’m not as quick as you. Let’s go home and I’ll make you a big steak dinner. Come on, it’ll be nice.” She smiles her wide sunny smile.
And I smile back, secretly pleased. Of course I’m the cleverest, but it’s nice to have it acknowledged once in a while.
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