Hello, and welcome to the seventh issue of
Tales from Snippettsville
, Short Stories From A Small Town.
If you want to know what it's all about, go to
Snippettsville Group
If you have any feedback, and let's face it, as writers we all love feedback, just click on the author's name, in blue at the head of their piece. If you want to make a general comment on the group, click on the group link above.
Contents of Issue 7
Liz
by wildsweetone
Hopes for Greens
by Quasimodem
Abbreviated Shower
by Champagne1982
Packing The Post
by Wantonica
Illustrations
Header Picture, (c)Quasimodem, 2003
Footer Picture, (c)Perdita, 2003
Now read on...
* * * * *
Liz
by
wildsweetone
Liz looked around as she stepped down from the bus. The choking cloud of blue smoke smothered her as the rickety bus continued its long journey westward.
She picked up her backpack, slung it over one shoulder then walked towards the nearest building. The nearest building just happened to be the only pub in town. The smell of stale smoke, beer and steak seeped through the double doorway but she snorted the stench from her nostrils as she walked into the bar.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. The only lighting in the place seemed to come from the bar at the back of the building and was reflected back towards her in the mirror that covered the back wall.
A couple of people stopped talking as she trudged to the bar. One, an older man, wolf whistled low under his breath. Most probably because her high-heeled boots did look great with her skin tight stretch jeans and skimpy white cotton and lace top. Or it could have been because he'd not been with a woman in the last year. But Liz didn't really think it was the latter, after all, his wolf whistle sure managed to ruffle the fine hairs on the nape of her neck.
She dropped her backpack onto the floor beside the stool at the bar, lifted one lean leg over the seat and sat down gingerly. The bus ride had been a ride from hell, she'd almost left the bus at the last town, but decided to hang in with it until Snippettesville. After all, Snippettesville was where she needed to be.
"Gin and tonic," she told the bartender as he slipped on drool along the length of the bar towards her. She didn't encourage his obvious interest. Instead, she turned and eyed the other occupants of the bar.
The wolf whistler was deep in conversation, with what appeared to be his dog. And the dog, to all intents and purposes, appeared to be answering his Master back.
The only other people in the building were a young couple sitting in the darkest corner of the bar. The young girl sat forward on her seat, her hand in the hand of her lover. Their eyes never left each other's faces, not even for a moment. They whispered softly, secretly.
"Here ya go sweet thang." The bartender's twangy accent grated along her backbone.
"Thank you," she turned around but did not meet his eyes. "How much?"
"The first one's on the house honey."
"Oh, but that can't be riβ¦"
"Nope, I'm not taking your money honey. Like I said, the first one's on the house. Enjoy it." He wandered off with his lecherous eyes almost concentrating on the cloth that wiped the already polished bar free from stray droplets of water.
Shrugging her shoulders, she picked up the glass and drank deeply of the icy liquid. The lemon slice bobbed up and down tapping her slightly upturned nose. The tonic's bitterness slipped down the back of her dry throat and she sighed in pleasure as she placed the wet glass on the cardboard coaster.
Through the mirror, she watched the young couple. They were still talking in low voices. The man with the dog seemed almost to be falling from his chair. He was staring across at the young couple. It took Liz a few moments to understand. When she did, she laughed loudly.
The man's eyes were in a direct line with the young couple's knees. He was not looking at their knees though.
* * * * *
Hopes For Greens
by
Quasimodem
Wisteria wished Wilberforce would gather up his manhood and pop the question. Playing a waiting game had never been her forte. If only they were alone!
"Ante up, Wilberforce," Arthur directed. "This is another hand."
"This isn't a hand," Wilberforce objected, "It's an unlikely organ. I think I'll just fold."
"Wilberforce has folded his organ," Arthur announced to the room at large.
Wisteria hated when the boys played stud, they became so unruly.
"Come wiff me Will-Burr," Beatrice commanded boozily. Grasping Wilberforce's elbow, she dragged him onto the dance floor. "We can waltsh to your or-gone music."
"It'll be The Minute Waltz," Wisteria sniffed. "Any bets?"
Arthur merely observed the half-drunk couple's perverted display.
"Damn all women to hell!" Arthur exploded. Lightening his scowl, he added, "Wisteria, dear, let's get some fresh air."
That was the trouble with stud, Wisteria thought. Even a nebbish like Arthur Drutts might suddenly turn macho.
Without knowing how it happened, Wisteria found herself trotting through the brisk night air in the Snippettsville Country Club parking lot. That did not last for long.