Friday, September 7, 2012

Thick as a Brick!

“Excusez.”  Fiona spoke louder than social convention considered acceptable in order to gain the attention of the burly man wielding the ax.  His hold on the handle appeared firm as he raised it up, over his head and swung, changing the large pieces of wood to small.

She wondered, not for the first time, if she should really be here in the middle of nowhere seeking assistance from a stranger.  What choice did she have though with a broken down rental car.  The salesman was nothing but a big, fat fabulist telling her the auto was in perfect working order—hateful, hateful beast.

“Ah, excusez-moi, gentle sir.”

“Howdy, what can I do ya for, missy?”

Oh lord, could this be the yokels she’d been warned about at boarding school?  Each girl had been given an earful of the dangers they faced when confronting the country folk here in America.  Bear-like and stinky, they said.  However, this man, while tall and wide, certainly didn’t emit a bad odor.  He was earthy, tangy with a fragrance that called to the woman inside.  He certainly wasn’t inept with his lumberjack skills and not a spit of tobacco covered the ground.

“I-I, ah, how you say…”

“Look parched.  Would you like something to wet your whistle?”

“No thank you.  My auto is not running back on the expressway.  Do you know which way is closest to town?  Might I be able to ring for a taxi or a, ah, chariot de remorquage?”  His lost look, while somewhat cute, frustrated her to no end.  “Tiens, c'est comme parler à un mur. Mignon, mais très solide.  You know, to pull the auto.”

She was, for sure, in one of the realms of hell.


Tiens, c'est comme parler à un mur. Mignon, mais très solide.—Geez, it's like talking to a wall.  Cute, but quite solid. 

Brock held on to the ridiculous smile he’d pasted to his face when Miss Fiona Pontain had strolled so sexily up his drive.  Clearly, she didn’t recognize him from the party she’d played compère at last fall, but he remembered her.  In fact, he was the reason she was here in Talbot’s Peak.

That she thought him thick as a brick was surprising considering he’d barely spoken to her, but he knew of her tightly leashed education and the idiotic thoughts held by the schools directeur and assorted proviseur.  She’d been fed falsehoods and small-minded attitudes from a gilded spoon. 

Brock swung the ax one more time and embedded the iron into the tree trunk he used as a table.  He took her arm, gently, and directed her to his truck.  The jokester inside added a large dose of twang to his speech to cover up his highly educated nature.  “Darlin’, your chariot awaits…” 

Well. I could only place two of last weeks words, so I'm calling the big winner of the week...The Awesome Savanna!  She used them all.  :D

Have a wonderful weekend!



Pat C. said...

Love that opening.

Yah, Savanna! She is terrific, isn't she? Let's get her to write faster so we don't have to. (Cracks whip)

Serena Shay said...

Thanks Pat!

I agree, Savanna is awesome. Since your supplying the whip, I'll bring the eye candy to taunt her with...hehehe ;D

Savanna Kougar said...

Oh, you two... you know how to make a gal writer feel real dang good!

Serena, I'm liking Brock, especially, and Fiona -- as well as the direction and tone of your flash scene.

Serena Shay said...

Heh heh, thanks Savanna...Brock has a wacky sense of humor which is gonna be fun to write more about. :D