Flash Fiction: Summer Heat
Summer . . .
It wasn’t supposed to be this hot; certainly, not at this hour. It’s not even seven-thirty in the morning and I’m wide awake. The damned dog had the indecency to start barking for no apparent reason. Even now, he hasn’t stopped. He’s staring at the upper-left corner of my room, barking. I wish he’d just shut up, but I know he won’t. He’s too damned stupid to do anything else but bark his furry head off.
Sighing, I flick the butt of my cigarette into the air and move away from the balcony. Hunger pains are gnawing at the pit of my stomach, but I’m not sure what I want. God knows I’m too lazy to cook right now and with this heat, it’s not damned likely. Marching down the hallway, I yank the bathroom door open and prep myself to take a piss. Vaguely, I realize Rory has stopped barking.
To my surprise, he trots inside and plops himself down amongst the mounds of dirty laundry sitting in front of the washer machine. He opens his maw as wide as it can go and yawns while giving me one of his best ‘I’m bored’ looks. Rolling my eyes at the little fucker, I flush and wash my hands, giving my teeth the attention they need before guzzling a shot of Fresh Mint Scope. I’m in the process of snapping the cap back onto the bottle when Jilly makes an appearance and shoves me aside to swipe her hand beneath the spray of running water and gulp a bit of it down.
“Thirsty?” I ask as I slap the bottle down upon the counter.
“Yup,” she replies, wiping her mouth dry with the edge of her sleeve. “Got any plans today?”
“Maybe.”
She quirks a brow in my direction, patiently waiting for me to say more. When I don’t bother to reiterate, she taps her foot against the floor with impatience. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“What’cha doin’ today?”
“Told you. I don’t know.”
“You said maybe.”
“So?”
“So you didn’t say you didn’t know.”
