by Debora Geary
Well, when she saw Chip and Dale coming at her, she got scared, she started screaming and when they grabbed her… Yes, each one grabbed a wrist, she struggled to get away, so I tried to help them restrain her, and I’m sure some of the pictures of me and Marissa and Chip and Dale are, well, very compromising. Now it’s funny, but it wasn’t funny at the time, because I didn’t know she was on acid. Then her friends came and one of them, Brian over there, said “Let her go, she’s on acid, you’re flipping her out!”
So Brian helped me get her away from Chip and Dale and we calmed her down and got her dressed and now we’re all okay. No, there’s no need for the police. I mean, the outside police, I know that you’re handling security quite well here, Mrs. Melendez. … Oh, Miss Melendez. I think Brian and Marissa’s friends should just take her home and calm her down. I’d like to go out now and get my son, if you don’t mind. … Oh, yes, I’m sure he was impressed. He said, “Dad, I didn’t know you were such a babe magnet. I can’t wait to tell the kids at school about this.”
Oh, the pictures? … No, I’m not worried at all anymore. It’s quite a story, isn’t it? And it obviously wasn’t a setup. Hey, all publicity is good publicity, right?
… Yes, while I was trying to calm her down I did ask her about the tattoo, that’s what brought us together, after all, when she thought I knew the secret of her tattoo. I said, “Why do you have a pink bunny skiing in hell on your belly?” She said she saw it on Kindleboards. … No, I don’t know what that is. … I’d better go now, Miss Melendez, thanks. I think I’m going to have to calm my son down a little. He is twelve—you remember being twelve, don’t you—and he just saw a woman take off her top. He’s probably a little excited. … And listen, Miss Melendez… Okay, Nancy, that’s a lovely name… Maybe I could take you to dinner on your night off to thank you for helping with this? … Oh, you noticed, yes, I’m not wearing a ring, I’ve been a single dad for a few years now. … Thursday? That would be wonderful. I’ll pick you up here. … Yes, certainly, if I do win, I would love to have you visit us in Washington. … Ha, yes, Pink Snowbunny in Hell, it is an unusual tattoo, isn’t it?
Steve Silkin’s novel The Cemetery Vote, and his short story collections The Telescope Builder, Too Lucky and Forbidden Stories, are available on Kindle. http://amzn.to/e2vmAE.
Eulogy
By Suzanne Tyrpak
Today, I say goodbye to the deceased: my dearest, most intimate friend. When we met, I was recently divorced, lonely, bereft. I needed someone, desperately, on whom I could rely, someone to connect with deeply—willing to plunge the depths of me.
Then you showed up, signed, sealed and delivered.
One touch and, instantly, I responded. From that first moment, you proved to be a mover and a shaker, better than any man I’d ever known. You came on strong and filled the void inside of me. I swore I’d never give you up. Never in a million, trillion, zillion years. Cross my heart and hope to die! I often said, pink snowbunnies will ski in hell before I throw you out.
But now, in the hour of my greatest need, I must say adieu.
I blame myself for your demise, dear friend. Ignoring your needs, I thought only of myself. I could tell you were run down, overworked, exhausted. You deserved a rest, needed to be recharged. But, selfishly, I demanded your attention. In short, I used you, and now I suffer for your loss.
Nothing in this life is really guaranteed. No matter what they claim, you are not replaceable. Now, as I lay you in this box, preparing to return you to your maker, I say goodbye to the partner who never let me down, the friend I could rely on, no matter what—until today, when I burned out your battery.
You will be missed, dear Rabbit.
This eulogy was originally written for Red Adept’s Eulogy contest. Suzanne Tyrpak has published two short story collections, including Dating My Vibrator (and other true fiction) and Ghost Plane and Other Disturbing Tales. http://ghostplanestory.blogspot.com.
The Taste of Pink Snow
By Susan Helene Gottfried
They were driving from here to there when Gregor noticed it. A field. Perfectly white, pristine, undisturbed.
The band had been locked in the Winnebago for weeks now, maybe months. Every time they asked for a break, management whined. “Someone wants to pay you to play. More than you’ve been getting so far!”
At this rate, they might be able to afford a hotel. For one night. In the year 2592.
Gregor pulled the Winnebago over beside the field. The band piled out. “What’re we doing, dude?” Lucas asked, rubbing his eyes. Duvall took a mouthful of snow, sighing in delight as it melted on his tongue.
Lucas’s question could only be answered one way—Gregor nailed him in the arm with a snowball.
The battle was on: five men throwing snowballs like they were seven years old.
And then the earth moaned.
It groaned.
It split in half. Not quite down the middle of the field. Smoke and steam rose out of the fissure, and with it, a snowball. It hit Gregor in the arm, much as Gregor’s first had hit Lucas.
Soon snowballs were flying out of the hole in the ground with amazing accuracy. No matter how the guys ducked or dodged, the snowballs found them.
The band grew tired. They were, after all, a rock band. Used to spending hours in a Winnebago. Their only physical activity was their hour-long set. Endurance? Not so much.
The snowballs coming out of the hole in the ground changed as they became exhausted. The balls stopped flying and started… hopping. They grew… ears, big ears that stood straight up from their heads. The band could easily tell the new creations from the old because they took on a slight…tinge…of color. Of pink.
“Pink snowbunnies?” Lucas whispered. Duvall took a taste of one that had hopped too far from its friends and collapsed. He spat it out and reached for some plain white snow to scrub his tongue with.
Gregor watched the snowbunnies. They multiplied faster than he’d ever thought rabbits could. It inspired awe. And fear. It froze them in place.
The pink snowbunny army, packed together, advanced. If one got ahead of the others, it collapsed, just like the one Duvall had tasted. A front line moved ahead to gather the wilted snowbunnies. Not a single one missed its return to the fissure.
Gregor, Duvall, and Lucas exchanged looks with Xavier and Yves. No one found enlightenment from the others’ faces.
“Cue the Twilight Zone music,” Gregor said.
“Dude,” Lucas said.
Duvall reached for more clean, white snow. As he was licking it off his palm, the snowbunny onslaught stopped. The pink snowbunnies already in the field turned to the fissure. They bent forward until their ears touched the snow they’d trampled on their way to freedom.
Up out of the fissure arose another snowbunny. A special one that had only one erect ear. The other drooped over its right eye.
“Stylin’,” Lucas breathed.
The band remained stuck in place as the Leader Snowbunny, with skis inexplicably attached to the bottom of its snowball body, gave some sort of inaudible signal. The other pink snowbunnies marshaled their forces and began a hopping march.
Right toward the band.
They stood there, frozen, despite their best attempts to move. A casual observer might have claimed a spell had been cast, but all the locals in the area knew of the field. There was a reason it remained so white and pristine. It had everything to do with the lack of casual observers and pink snowbunnies and what was about to happen.
Xavier and Yves were the first. The snowbunnies flooded out of the crack in the ground, over each other, dancing across the tips of ears. They flooded over Xavier and Yves, swamping them, pulling them to the ground and dragging them to the fissure.
They slipped over the edge, never to be seen again. They didn’t even scream.
Gregor tried to break the spell. The pink snowbunny made its flopped ear point at him.
The flood swarmed his way.
Duvall le
aned forward, his tongue hanging out, ready to taste the pink snow. The snowbunny grunts shied away.
Gregor followed his bandmate’s lead. Lucas wasn’t so smart. He disappeared down the fissure, escorted by more bunnies than Gregor could count.
While Gregor and Duvall gaped, the snowbunnies began their march once more. Tongues came out. Snowbunnies retreated. Gregor and Duvall took two steps backward, toward freedom.
Lucas re-emerged from the hole in the ground. “Dudes! That’s the mouth of Hell! And these snowbunnies! They’re skiing in there! It’s a party!”
“What about Xavier and Yves?”
Lucas hedged. Duvall leaned forward and nipped at a snowbunny ear. He spat the pink snow out. The entire swarm flooded toward Lucas, away from Duvall and Gregor.
“Xavier and Yves?” Gregor asked.
“Dude,” Lucas said sadly, trying to swipe at snowbunnies. He kicked at them. They swarmed his reaching hands and feet. Lucas got dragged back toward the fissure.
Gregor and Duvall looked at each other. The snowbunnies concentrated on Lucas, on returning him to their underground ski party.
Gregor and Duvall turned and ran. They vaulted the pasture’s fence as if they’d been doing it their whole lives.
Just as they got to the Winnebago, they heard Lucas’s voice. It sounded ripped from his chest. “Dudes!”
Duvall paused. Gregor fumbled with his keys and panted, “We can’t help. There’s too many of them!”
The doors unlocked. Duvall and Gregor jumped inside. They sat for a long minute, breathing hard, watching as the pink snowbunnies disappeared into the hole. Without a moan or a groan, the earth healed itself. A wave ran across the snow, as if a huge hand smoothed it.
In front of Gregor and Duvall sat the whitest, most pristine field they’d ever seen.
“Let’s name the next band Two Cowards,” Duvall said.
Gregor couldn’t argue with that.
Susan Helene Gottfried is the author of Trevor’s Song and the three companion Demo Tapes anthologies. Join the online fun and meet the entire cast of rockin’ characters at http://westofmars.com.
Revenge of the Peeps
By Camille LaGuire
“Pink snowbunnies will ski in heck before I—oh, hi, George.”
Karla Marquette paused as she entered the diner. She was forty, and wearing a plastic tiara and clown shoes, along with blue jeans, a T-shirt and a beach towel tied around her neck like a cape. No one in the diner, except George, gave her a second glance. It was a small town. People knew what to expect.
George Starling was quite the opposite. He lurked in the corner of the diner—conservatively dressed in a tailored suit, with a mysterious air, and an even more mysterious accent that wasn’t quite English. Folks around town were pretty sure he was a Canadian spy, when he wasn’t vacationing in Potewa County, and they weren’t far wrong.
George looked Karla over and cocked his head.
“All right, I suppose I should expect the clown shoes from you, but the tiara?”
“I was fairy godmother at a kids’ party today,” said Karla, who did odd jobs—emphasis on the odd—for a living. She clomped over to sit opposite him at the little table by the window.
“So what will you not do until after the pink snowbunnies ski in hell? Or was that heck?”
“Hell,” said Karla. “Definitely hell. I have to go to a wedding. Tomorrow. I hate family obligations. Did I mention to you how I hate them?”
“Endlessly, but usually you get out of them.”
“I’m not going to let Cousin Selia bully me into going, even if it is Jane’s wedding…”
George sat up with sudden interest.
“Jane?” he asked. “She’s the one I met, isn’t she? The timid one with the runaway dog.”
Karla nodded. She remembered the incident. George had rescued the dog from traffic—which is something he was wont to do. Rescuing, that is.
“Selia is her mother,” said Karla.
“We have to go,” said George urgently. “You have to take me along as a guest.”
“No!” said Karla.
“Why not? You like Jane.”
“And you hardly know her.”
“I rescued her.”
“You rescued her dog. You don’t have to look after everyone you’ve ever held a door for.”
“Yes, I do,” said George simply. “And you haven’t answered my question. Why wouldn’t you want to go to Jane’s wedding?”
“I don’t like the groom.”
“That’s no reason to—”
“I said pink snowbunnies will ski in hell first, and I meant it.”
George looked narrowly at her. “Are you sure that pink snowbunnies are all that unusual in hell?”
“They’re snowbunnies, George.”
“Could be metaphoric. What about those pink marshmallow bunnies at Easter?”
“You mean Peeps?”
“Consider how many Peeps humans have sent to hell via microwave. Angry, vengeful pink bunnies, slaloming along the flames of hell. I’m sure there are lots of them there right now. So you can’t get out of it. The bunnies have sailed.”
“This wedding is the revenge of the Peeps?” said Karla.
“Yes.”
“Well, I’ve never microwaved any Peeps in my life. I’m not that mean.”
“Original sin. All of mankind must pay.”
“Maybe we should invite PETA to the wedding. They could protest.”
“Does PETA have a confectionary chapter?”
“They ought to,” said Karla. “They could throw powdered sugar and food coloring on the groom.”
George paused. “He’s really awful, you say?”
“He’s a creep and a bully. Just like her mother. Jane really deserves better.”
“Perhaps we should stage an intervention.”
“Mom and Dad already tried, with ice cream and everything, but it didn’t work.”
“Oh,” said George. “If she’s in love—”
“She isn’t! She’s afraid of her mom. And she’s afraid of Dickie, too.”
“Dickie?” George sat back in astonishment. “You mean the guy who beat up that workman for spilling paint on his sidewalk?”
“Yep. Dickie Wenswyck.”
“And her mother approves?”
“She recruited him.”
George was silent for a moment, and then said, with an air of finality, “I must stop this marriage from happening.”
Oh, crap, thought Karla. She’d triggered his hero obsession.
“How?”
“I’ll… kidnap the bride. Right from the altar.”
“That’s a felony, George.”
“I promised to help her if she were ever in a jam.”
“You can’t commit a felony. You’d be deported.”
Karla looked hard at George, and he settled back and looked sullen. They both thought for a minute, and then suddenly George cocked his head.
“Has anyone tried an intervention on Dickie?”
“Nice idea, but I think he’s immune to ice cream.”
“I was thinking more of a dark alley.”
“Aggravated assault is a felony, too.”
“He has a penchant for picking on people. I could lure him into picking a fight with me…”
He drifted off, thinking. Karla thought about how nice it would be if someone like George could intimidate Dickie. Or maybe someone not like George. Someone sweet and little and fluffy and… Then Karla smiled.
“I have a pink Easter Bunny suit in my closet,” said Karla suddenly.
“Somehow I’m not surprised,” said George. “But I don’t—”
“Did you know that tonight is Dickie’s bachelor party?”
“Not surprised about that, either.”
“He’ll be drunk, and he’ll probably be very high by the wee hours of the morning. And if he isn’t, everyone will think he was. Nobody will believe him.”
“Believe him ab
out what?”
“The Peeps!” she said, grinning. “Imagine a dark alley, he’s stumbling home, and then BAM, something hits him. It’s cold. A snowball on a warm summer night. He’s freaked out—”
“Where do we get snow?”
“I have a snow-cone machine. Then, two furry monsters with floppy ears and large incisors step out of the dark. They proceed to convince him to skip the wedding. Or they break his knees if he doesn’t. Do you break knees? Or just fingers?”
“I can do either, but isn’t it still a felony?”
“Sure, but they’ll be looking for pink snowbunnies from hell. It’s the perfect crime!”
Camille LaGuire is working on the first cozy mystery about Karla, who has a tendency to solve mysteries, and George, who has a tendency to… well, get into trouble with spontaneous rescues. Check out The Man Who Did Too Much, coming this Fall, or visit her blog, The Daring Novelist. http://daringnovelist.blogspot.com/.
Love in a Time of Bunnies
By Coral Moore
There wasn’t much I wouldn’t have traded just then for a drink. I wrapped a bandage around the burned fingers of my right hand, gritting my teeth at the pain from the cloth rubbing against my blistered skin. “Fluffy pink snowbunnies will ski in hell before I try that again.”
Jeremy looked up from the hole he was digging. A crease wrinkled his dirty forehead. “Is that like a snowball’s chance in hell?”
“No.” I made a disapproving sound and gestured for him to continue. “It’s more like when pigs fly.”
He muttered, “That doesn’t make much sense.” The muscles of his tanned back flexed as he lifted another shovelful of dirt out of the four-foot-deep hole.
“Because everything about this situation makes sense.” I scanned the area around us. Nothing but bare earth for twenty yards in every direction, thanks to my exploits with the flame thrower. We’d see them coming this time. I flexed my scorched fingers and winced.