Good morning and Happy Hump Day ! If it's Wednesday, then it must be time for more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! We're a group of authors who bring you our finest flash fiction every week, 500 to 1000 words, inspired by one of our prompts.
As you'll recall, Vinnie and Ethan had said good night to Uncle Benny and were engaged in serious... conversation in their room when all hell broke loose. See what's happening in this week's chapter of Rose and Thorne 6. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!
“Guys, come on, fire alarm!” Benny continued to
pound on our closed door, his voice rising above the sound of the alarm. Ethan
and I pulled on our clothes in record time. We holstered our weapons as well
and emerged fully dressed to find Benny had had the presence of mind to do the
same.
“You get used to dressing quickly in prison,” he
explained as we three bolted toward the exit. “You never know when you’ll be
turned out for something.”
One of the first things I remember being taught in
training in Illinois was that in any given situation Don’t panic. Keeping a level head could mean the difference between
life and death. I imagine that had been ingrained into Ethan as well during his
similar training in Georgia. To be honest, though, my boy didn’t tend to panic
no matter what. Being by his side was an inspiration to me to stay calm as
well.
We moved cautiously into the hallway, unsure of what
we might find. There was no visible sign of a fire, neither smoke nor flames. Maybe
a dozen or so guests were in the hall, most of them staying close to their
rooms, as if unsure what they should to, as if they wanted someone to take
charge and give them direction. When I noticed a few of the guests had broken
away from the others and were headed toward the elevator, I yelled out, “Take
the stairs!” One of the worst places to be during a fire was an elevator, for a
number of reasons. What if the power went out? You’d be stuck inside an
immobile metal box, with no way out, and you could very possibly die. Stairs,
although more work because you had to climb them, were safer and didn’t require
electricity.
Ethan and I automatically took charge. We began to
herd everyone toward the stairs in as orderly a fashion as possible. An old man
in his pajamas grumbled about people making a fuss in the middle of the night, moaning
that he wanted to go back to sleep, but his feisty little old wife smacked him
and told him to get his skinny ass down the stairs before it got roasted. He
mumbled something that might have been yes
dear and meekly followed her out.
I glanced at Ethan, whose glance was fixed on me. I
knew just what he was thinking, without having to ask, and I shook my head
vehemently. “That is not us!” I
protested. “Never will be.” That produced a smile from him.
“That is exactly
us, in fifty or sixty years, Vinnie.”
“You have a high opinion of yourself, Mr. Thorne, if
you think I intend to put up with you for the next fifty or sixty years.” The
last of the guests on our floor had just disappeared down the stairwell, and
Benny held the fire door open, waiting on us.
Ethan’s smile only grew bigger. “Don’t worry, I’m
gonna love your skinny ass forever,” he swore before giving that same ass a
quick swat. “Even if it gets fat.”
“Get fat? What?” I complained. “I’ll have you know—”
But whatever I’d intended to have him know was lost
in the kiss he laid on me, just before he slung his arm about my waist and we
made a quick exit of our own.
to be continued
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