More Flash Fiction

Thirsty (#lock)

Jeff and Buddy Smith toiled under the broiling midday sun. Their pickaxe and shovel were no match for the hard red clay soil. Even the insects that normally sang in the Smith's meager tobacco field had shut up and burrowed themselves away out of the tortuous North Carolina summer heat. Jeff had removed his shirt and tied it over his head in an effort to keep the sun out his eyes and his long unkempt hair from sticking to his face and shoulders. His pale back quickly burnt a rosy pink. 

Buddy's pudgy middle strained against his sweaty T-shirt–his favorite T-shirt–from Smokey's BBQ Shack. On it a pig dressed as a chef wore sunglasses and a wide toothy grin below the words 'The BBQ rocks and so do most of the tables.' Ma had taken him there on his 30th's birthday three years ago and he'd worn the stained T-shirt most days since.

Physical labor didn't really suit Jeff and Buddy, but Ma had demanded they work on the irrigation ditch and it was better not to argue with Ma. After three-quarters of an hour, though the Smith brothers would have sworn up and down on a stack of bibles it was considerably longer, Jeff paused, leaning against his shovel. "Dog gone-it, I'm thirsty. I sure could use a cold drink," he said.

"Even that bottle of piss beer Norm left at our house last night would taste good 'bout now," said Buddy half-heartedly swinging the pick axe into the earth. It bounced upon hitting the ground without making a dent. 

"The swill Norm drinks!" declared Jeff wrinkling his nose. "Only reason to drink that stuff is so you don't have to share it with no one. Bet that bottle's still there when he comes round again." 

"I sure am parched," said Buddy looking up from his pick axe and locking eyes with Jeff. The dirty, smelly brothers stared at each other for a split second. Nothing moved under the relentless beating of the sun. 

They took off simultaneously hauling so fast they were part way up the hill to the house by the time their tools hit the ground. The brother's clawed at one another trying to get to the house first. Jeff grabbed the back of Buddy's shirt, but Buddy twisted and wiggled away and the back of his beloved T-shirt tore away, but he didn't care. They reached the driveway to the house and Buddy tripped Jeff. Jeff grabbed Buddy's leg on the way down and the two brother's tussled in the dusty road punching and pulling at each other. 

Reaching the front steps, they scrambled up them and squeezed together through the screen door. Jeff was in the lead upon reaching the kitchen door. Buddy lunged and grabbed a hold of the back of Jeff's shorts. The brother's tumbled onto the kitchen floor with Jeff's butt cheeks on display. 

Before them sat Ma in her wheelchair in front of the open ice box. Wisps of cool air flowed over her wrinkled skin. Head tilted back, her gnarled fingers pressed a frosty can to her lips. She drained the last of the beer, wiped her mouth and belched loudly. 

"What're you boys fight'n about now?"