I know that everyone politely skips the OC fic in folks' posts, so I'm just putting these here for...vanity? continuity? Who knows? I just feel a need to post, so here goes. Behind the cut, there be some (not all *shudder*) of the oc fic I've posted as my alter ego. BTW, these were all written for an original drabble community, so they're all exactly 100 words.
Minding the barbed wire, Greg carefully scaled the fence. These weren’t his good jeans, but Mary would still want an explanation if he tore them. Once over, he looked around. All clear. A quick dash across the yard, and he had what he’d come for. He stuffed his quarry into a sack and ran like hell. Lights blazed into life as he cleared the fence but it was too late. He was home free. Back in his car, Greg breathlessly snuck a peek into the sack – at one highly displeased chicken. Next poker night he’d be establishing some betting limits.
It never failed. Just before quitting time, the boss brings a new case to process. Well, why not? Since Carol left, what was left but work? Rick dragged the file over to check the damage – down here, it was always damage. The hopeful cases came in upstairs. Downstairs, the story was over.
The first page told him most of what he needed for the report. Massive trauma to face and torso. Car wreck. Well, it was Friday – night of a thousand DUI’s, so no surprise. He flipped the page for identification. With a shaking hand, he closed the file again.
Why Uncle Nate Didn't Fight In the War
The sky was still dark, but Nathanial was awake. He’d heard that men were needed to defend the northern states. He didn’t understand the politics, but he was honor-bound. Packing provisions for the two-day trip, he left. The going was difficult – rocky here, marshy there, and steep all around. Even if he’d owned a horse, he wouldn’t have subjected the beast to this. He stopped only for a few hours at night before resuming his travels. Finally, dirty and exhausted, he arrived. The man inside looked up from a plate of stew. “Sorry, son. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
They were playing cowboys and Indians, and her brothers always made her the Indian. With a whoop, they caught and bound her. Soon, she was standing on a milk crate with a rope around her neck. Indians got hanged, and she was the Indian.
Someone kicked the crate, and everything grew hazy. She heard a yell. Daddy! He pulled her down and set to whipping her three brothers. Then he reached for her. “Your turn, missy.”
Huh? “But Daddy, what’d I do?”
His voice shook as he answered between swats. “You were dumb enough to get on the damned box!”
Sweat dried, raising gooseflesh between his shoulder blades in spite of the blazing desert sun. Moments ago, he’d been a dead man – or at least he was scheduled to be so. He’d been sentenced to die for slaying another. He couldn’t argue with that, but this sudden freedom was welcome indeed. His plan? Beyond the next drink and the next whore, he had none. Just to put as much distance between himself and this land as he could. Barabas didn’t know why everyone wanted this Yeshua guy dead, but it gave him his freedom, so he really didn’t much care.
With a jaunty salute, Craig grabbed his briefcase and bid his assistant farewell. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
Lynne gave the obligatory chuckle. He’d been using that line since she’d started working for him, and she was hard-pressed to point to anything he wouldn’t do.
Porn sites at his desk? Check. Theft of company property? Check. Sex in the copy room? Double-check. All of that and more was on good-old Craig’s dance card.
But Lynne wasn’t raised that way. She could never do those things. She smiled as she opened a new email. Blackmail, though? That she could do.
Spring in the Valley
"What are you staring at?"
"Him. Isn't he something?"
"Oh yeah, he's something, alright."
She ruffled her leaves in agitation, causing white blossoms to powder the ground like snow. "You're just jealous. I mean, look at him – standing all alone over there, branches reaching almost to the sky…"
"Yeah. Alone and unkempt. I can barely contain my jealousy." He paused, tried to stand a bit taller. "We have it pretty good here, you know – regular prunings, plenty of water, and humans to take the fruit off our limbs before it gets too heav—"
"Oh, you're such an orchard brat!"