December 12, 2009

The Steve Weddle Memorial Airport Flash Fiction Challenge



You can find the challenge here


My step up to the plate can be found below:


My Airport


“What’d I tell you?” Mickey asked.

Jaime switched off the faucet and looked in the mirror. “It’s a big airport.”

“I know how big the airport is. That’s not what I asked.”

Jaime smirked, picked at a pimple on his jaw line just below his left ear, and said, “You told me to stay away from the airport.”

Mickey exhaled slowly and slid both his hands into his dark jeans. “And here the fuck you are.”

Jaime stood back and fussed with the frosted tips of his razored bangs. “Here the fuck I am.”

Mickey’s fist came out of his pocket, fingers all brass knuckle gleam. Jaime’s mouth O’ed. Mickey shoved him with his left and cracked him on the back of the head. Something exploded by Jaime’s eyes and he went down, clutching for anything to stay standing.

Mickey crushed the fingers clutching the sink rim. Jaime started to scream, but Mickey smothered it under his smooth palm, driving the blond head to the floor and unleashing another punch on the muscled abs beneath the tight, baby blue t-shirt.

“Now,” Mickey said, “my next punch…” He didn’t finish; just removed his hand and brushed Jaime’s big lips.

“No, please…”

“Just one more punch? Come on. It’ll improve your abilities.”

“Please…”

“What are you going to do?”

Jaime sniffled. “Get up—get up and walk out.”

“Why?”

“Because—“

Mickey raised his fist again, the brash knuckles smeared with scarlet.

“Because it’s your airport.”

Mickey helped Jaime up, handed him a paper towel and patted his ass on the way out.

****

Mickey followed the older man wearing the pressed suit into the bathroom. He sat his briefcase down on the white tile and stepped up to the urinal. Mickey paused for a moment before taking his place beside him.

He felt the man look over as he unzipped. Suit’s eyes quickly found a spot on the wall. Slowly, Mickey moved his foot over to the polished wingtips. The aged eyes found the gleam in Mickey’s blues.

Mickey pointed his chin to the closest stall.

To his stall.

It was his airport after all.

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