Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: Story must be contain a yardstick, a spider web and a rocking chair
Men in Black
The two men in black suits did their best to stay in control of the situation, but old Jeb Crenshaw was unimpressed.
“Like I said, I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ till I see some identification,” he grumbled from the safer side of his overly large shotgun.
As they fumbled for their wallets, a slight movement off to his right caught the old man’s eye. Thelma had just placed a huckleberry pie on the window sill for cooling. Multitasking, Jeb tried to keep the gun trained on the two men as he reached carefully over to get a sampling. A yardstick shot out of the window and wacked his hand a good one, causing the old man to pickle off a quick round towards the G-men thereby inducing one to wet his pants on the spot.
Holding out his badge for inspection, one said carefully, “Please Mr. Crenshaw, we just want to find out what happened here.”
Satisfied, the old man lowered his gun and made his way to a rocking chair; his gait reminded the taller suit of Walter Brennan.
From his perch, Jeb pointed over toward the south forty and said, “Some fancy flying machine came by and tried to catch my prize heifer with some sort of spider web thingy.”
The taller agent looked over his shoulder at the bus-sized metallic object smoldering in the field behind them then said, “So you shot it down?”
“Damn straight!”
“Mr. Crenshaw, did you happen to notice if there were any survivors?”
“A few fellas tried to climb out but … you know.”
“Shot them too did you?” The agents were starting to realize this was going to be less productive than they had hoped.
“Sure did. Case you haven’t noticed, we don’t cotton much to strangers in these parts.”
The prompts: Story must be contain a yardstick, a spider web and a rocking chair
Men in Black
The two men in black suits did their best to stay in control of the situation, but old Jeb Crenshaw was unimpressed.
“Like I said, I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ till I see some identification,” he grumbled from the safer side of his overly large shotgun.
As they fumbled for their wallets, a slight movement off to his right caught the old man’s eye. Thelma had just placed a huckleberry pie on the window sill for cooling. Multitasking, Jeb tried to keep the gun trained on the two men as he reached carefully over to get a sampling. A yardstick shot out of the window and wacked his hand a good one, causing the old man to pickle off a quick round towards the G-men thereby inducing one to wet his pants on the spot.
Holding out his badge for inspection, one said carefully, “Please Mr. Crenshaw, we just want to find out what happened here.”
Satisfied, the old man lowered his gun and made his way to a rocking chair; his gait reminded the taller suit of Walter Brennan.
From his perch, Jeb pointed over toward the south forty and said, “Some fancy flying machine came by and tried to catch my prize heifer with some sort of spider web thingy.”
The taller agent looked over his shoulder at the bus-sized metallic object smoldering in the field behind them then said, “So you shot it down?”
“Damn straight!”
“Mr. Crenshaw, did you happen to notice if there were any survivors?”
“A few fellas tried to climb out but … you know.”
“Shot them too did you?” The agents were starting to realize this was going to be less productive than they had hoped.
“Sure did. Case you haven’t noticed, we don’t cotton much to strangers in these parts.”
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