Part 1 of 1
Read the full text, as well as the show notes, at http://flashpulp.com
Tonight, we present a brief tale of patience and impatience; of beginnings and conclusions; of marriage and death.
The Skinner Co. Network
214 - Slowpokes, Part 1 of 1
[music] Welcome to Flashpulp, episode 214. Tonight, we present Slow Pokes, Park 1 of 1. This week's episodes are brought to you by Asunder. 20 years after the American Civil War, former slave Marcus Riggs found himself trapped in a British harbor after the invaders came to enslave all mankind. They came, they conquered, they die. Out of the ashes, new orders struggle to rule the former empires of earth, but the invaders aren't completely beaten, only biting their time. Asunder, written and performed by John Mira, learn more at ServingWorld.com. [music] Flashpulp is an experiment in broadcasting fresh pulp stories in the modern age. Three to ten minutes of fiction brought to you Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings. Tonight, we present a brief tale of patience and impatience, of beginnings and conclusions, of marriage and death. Slow Pokes, Park 1 of 1. Written by J.R.D. Skinner, Art and Narration by Opoponax, and Audio Produced by Jessica May. Slow Pokes, said Janine, her words answered only by the steady ticking of the glass domed mantle clock. Otherwise, the Henderson house was silent. She tipped back the curtain again and scanned the street. Reginald had left a half hour earlier, and it was a five-minute walk to Hannah's house. It was just like that man to get distracted in the middle of a job. The Henderson's had been together for thirty-four years. It was the second marriage for both, but a largely happy one, and they'd brought up three children together. As she considered the fact, Janine teted to herself. In truth, she knew it was more that she'd raised the kids, who were now college age, while Reginald had funded the operation. Even if he was distant, however, his gifts were frequent, and she was sure he often spent his time while playing cards at gyms, bragging about their success. With a head shake, she let the train of thought drop and crooked the window shade. There was still no Reginald. She began to tread circles around the mahogany coffee table. As she shuffled her garden shoes over the beige carpet, Janine mentally walked the route to her daughter's house, attempting to pace the distance using only her imagination. The kids had left years ago, but she was happy to have them close at hand, although apparently five minutes away wasn't a short enough time for some. Her eyes wandered over the mantelpiece's family photo, taken four years previously at the funeral of Reginald's older brother. Instead of lingering there, however, her eyes drifted up to the sword, a major source of pride, and bickering within the greater Henderson family. When Nicholas had died, he'd left the Civil War relic unmentioned in his will, and a brawl had emerged. It had once belonged to a southern cavalryman that some forgotten relative had killed, and the five remaining siblings had fought bitterly to claim it. In the end, as Nick had been without children, and Reginald had been the second eldest, the inheritance had come to rest above their fireplace, where it was immediately forgotten by Reggie. It was much the case Janine reflected when they'd first had children. She was excited to get them home, but after that, care was generally left up to her. She recalled how pale Hannah's face had looked when she'd carried her limp body alone into the emergency room, twenty years previous. Her bicycle had run out from under her, and her belly and legs were speckled with road pebbles. Janine also remembered ten years later on, when her eldest son Patrick was attacked by a neighborhood dog, and had the majority of his pinky torn away in the beast's jaws. The memory of the rushed bandaging job she'd had to do, before again driving to the hospital, was all too clear, but the doctor had credited her work when Pat was able to keep the finger. The weapon, however, she was happy enough to tend the loan. Her first stop after its arrival had been to the Middletown Library, where she'd located a book that provided all the necessary details behind oiling the steel and maintaining its edge. She considered it a damn sight more interesting than polishing Reginald's mother's miniature spoon collection, at least. On occasion, she'd forgotten herself with the blade in her hand, had, in fact, taken it from its sheath when the living room was just this quiet, and swung it about like a mad brigand. If she was honest, she'd done it so often that she was quite comfortable with the weight in her hand. With a sigh, her eyes moved from the sword to the eternally chattering timepiece. "It's a five minute walk," she said. Frouning, Janine scooted over the ottoman, which sat in front of Reginald's easy chair, and used the added height to retrieve the scabbard. The hilt felt good under her palm. "Slow, folks," she said. It had been too long. She'd had enough of waiting. As she strode through the door, the first of the stumbling dead to catch sight of her began to raise a moan. But her saber was quick. Flashpulp is presented by flashpulp.com, and is released under the Canadian Creative Commons attribution non-commercial 2.5 license. Text and audio commentaries can be sent to skinner@skinner.fm, or the voicemail line at 206-338-2792, but be aware that they may appear in a future flashcast. We'd also like to thank the Freesound Project, found at freesound.org. For a full listing of effects used during the show, as well as credits for the users who provided them, please check this episode's notes at flashpulp.com. And thanks to you for listening. If you enjoyed the show, please tell your friends. [music]