by Michael Seese
My Flash Friday entry "Con Dolore" complete, I turned my attention to the "Nobody Moves to NYC for the Weather Flash Fiction Contest," brain-writing it during a lunchtime jog with the dog.
As Janet said:
We had about three weeks of the AC off but still warm enough to not need the heat. That changed a couple days ago, but the heat isn't on yet. So I'm wearing mittens, a hat, a scarf and my coat IN my apartment.
In the afternoon it's warmer outside than in. Soon enough, I'll be throwing open the windows cause the steam heat will turn this place into an oven. Every winter I understand why people move to Florida. Not that I'm moving to Florida but I get it.
Our words were:
sox (and yes, you MUST use this spelling. NO socks!)
I wanted to use "sox" in a creative way, and came up with "It's Oxford." I originally imagined some tale of two bluebloods arguing about their college rivalry.
But sometimes magic happens. In this case, I came up with the sentence "But only saints resist the twist of a shiv," and the story took a turn from there.
Magic, part 2... After writing that, I said, "Hey, SHIVer is one of our words."
Without further ado, I give you "Where There's A Will...."
"You graduated Cambridge, right?"
"It's Oxford," he said coldly, steely eyes bluer than his blood.
I knew full well the old fox was no Cantabrigian. But only saints resist the twist of a shiv.
"Erat quid demonsterdom."
"It's quod erat demonstrandum, you half-wit."
I mulled a few choice piss-and-vinegar comebacks. But why pile on bloke when he's in a bind?
"Look, mate, you're under the gun here."
"What do you want?"
"Just sign the will. Then you and the missus can go."
The ink not yet dry, I pushed the shiv in to its hilt.
Something no sinner can resist.
I have this scheduled to post a few minutes before Janet posts her daily blog, usually around 7:00. She may or may not have the results today. (It's usually weekend-activity dependent.) So by the time you read this, it may (or may not) be a winner.