Monday, May 9, 2016

Not In This Place (short story, 750 words, David Russell)

Hello Grafted In Readers,

Today is Monday May 9, 2016, and this post is going to be an original short story of mine. The names are changed, and the plot is further developed here. However, this actually was a news story that occurred in my locale recently. The solution, leave your arguments at home or agree to settle the matter at an agreed on time. Thoughts welcomed in the comment section of this blog.

Not This Place

David Russell
750 words

"Want me to bring anything on Saturday?" asked Laurell.

"Just yourselves and a pasta salad for the four of us," replied Roxanne.

Laurell and Roxanne knew one another from their era as co-workers at the seat cover factory in Marine City. Roxanne's husband Bryan, and Laurell's husband, Gordon, went fishing together a couple times during summer over the past three years on the St Clair River just north of Algonac. Roxanne and Bryan lived in New Baltimore, MI and Laurell and Gordon in Port Huron about a 30 mile drive from one another.

It was Saturday morning, and Roxanne and Bryan had just finished breakfast. Roxanne had awakened feeling groggy and grouchy.
As she loaded the dishwasher she turned toward him and said,
"Bryan, you keep forgetting to drop the payment in the mail to the Utility. They are going to shut us off. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Nag, nag, nag. Just shut up."

Bryan was reading the sport page from the Detroit News.
"I won't shut up. Answer me." Roxanne's face displayed the anger that oozed out her pores like hand sanitizer.

"Look, we'll discuss this later," Bryan said.

"Just hope we can have a peaceful day with Gordon and Laurell," Roxanne replied.
"I'm going to go around the yard once with the lawn mower. Then let's get ready to go to Port Huron," Bryan stated exiting the house.
About an hour later, they were headed north to Port Huron. They stopped at a supermarket in St Clair and picked up the salad and some cold brews for their occasion. About another 30 minutes they would arrive at their friends' home on the north end of Port Huron.

"Hey Gord, how the hell are you?" asked Roxanne.

"Got these hotdogs just about grilled. Wanna eat first?"

"They sure smell good. Am ready anytime," Roxanne said. She conveyed a hint of flirtation in her expression. Bryan standing nearby, reached over and gave Roxanne's shoulder a firm squeeze.

"Have you been out on the boat lately?" Bryan asked Gordon.

"The other night, I was just south of Marysville. I caught a 10-pound bass."

"I guess someone got a 17-pounder on the Canadian side."

"I saw that in the paper. He won that Sarnia tournament."

A few minutes later, the foursome were at the kitchen table dishing up their plates.

"What do you think of this campeign stuff?" asked Roxanne.

"I never thought it would be Trump and Clinton. Surprised the hell out of me," replied Laurell.

"Just tell your woman who to vote for in November," Bryan said as he shot Roxanne the look. Momentary laughter ensued.

"Is that how it works?" Laurell inquired.

"He thinks so, but then he has always been delusional," Roxanne remarked.

A little while later, dishes were cleared and the couples were playing hands of Uno. Roxanne was having a bad day of it with the cards. Gordon or Laurell kept having her draw cards each round or so it seemed.

"Roxanne baby, draw 4," Bryan stated.

She had enough. The anger felt at home now came back with the intensity of a rushing torrent.

"Bryan, this is it. I have had it with all your crap!" From her pocket, Roxanne displayed a Derringer pistol and released the catch.

"Rox, you may not want to do this," Laurell said reaching for her friend.

"I do and I will - Laurell. This is between him and me."

Standing to her feet, Roxanne aimed the pistol at Bryan's tempo and pulled the trigger twice. Suddenly, Bryan fell to the floor with blood pouring out the fresh wound.

Laurell and Gordon sat stunned and in shock.

"I'll call 9-1-1, maybe they can revive him," Laurell said.

"Doubt it. She hit him right on."

"Yes EMS, would you send someone to 12345 Sixth Road right away. Someone has been fatally shot."

"A man, might be in his 40s," Laurell stated. Gordon removed the cards and drinks from the table setting them on the kitchen counter. Within minutes EMS and the local Sheriff arrived.

"Who shot this man?" inquired the sheriff.

"She did, her name's Roxanne," replied Gordon.

"Is that the truth?"

Roxanne shook her head yes, color drained from her face. She pointed to the Derringer pistol lying on the table.

The sheriff put Roxanne under arrest while EMS pronounced Bryan to be deceased.

"Next time, leave the arguments at home," the sheriff said as he prepared to exit with the assailant.

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