The Iron Writer Weekend Quickie #4

hurricane

The Iron Writer

Weekend Quickie #3

One Image!

One Prompt!

 One Emotion!

200 Words

A Satellite Weather Image of a Hurricane

The Flora-Bama

     Sugar-Induced Hysteria

Please add your story in the comments below.

6 thoughts on “The Iron Writer Weekend Quickie #4

  1. “Max, you gotta stay, just for a mo.”
    He was about to leave but John the barman grabbed him. To be honest, he couldn’t watch his ex with her latest boyfriend any longer. Everyone else at the Flora-Bama Oyster Bar was having fun, except him. His ex-girlfriend was being extra-squeaky tonight, too.
    “Why, John?”
    “Something special.”
    John moved across the bar and put in a DVD.
    “I don’t do that Media class for nothing, Max. She deserves it, that two-timing bitch.”
    “What?”
    John flicked over the channel on the bar’s main screen so all could see.
    “Newsflash. This has just come in. A hurricane has just appeared off the Alabama-Florida coastline. Residents are warned to stay indoors…”
    The lights and power went out, followed by the windows and door opening with the force from a wind outside. Screams went up, especially Max’s ex.
    “What? What’s going on?”
    “Been filling her with extra-sweet Sangria’s all night. Sugar-induced hysteria, they call it. Should kick in right about now.”
    “I don’t…”
    Before he could finish, Max watched as his ex-girlfriend ran from the bar, screaming and shouting.
    “Got some of the lads to bring along their airboats. Great, huh?”
    “Fantastic, thanks.”
    “No problem.”

  2. “Ever tell you how I met my wife?” said Kevin.

    Kevin sat across from his partner, Javier, in the local doughnut shop.

    “Uh, dunno. Maybe. Tell me again.” Javier said, looking away.

    “Oh, yeah, sure. Okay, so… It was at The Flora-Bama. Know the place, right?” Kevin said. He paused after the question.

    “Yep,” said Javier. He blew on his coffee.

    Exuberant, Kevin continued.

    “Right. So, I was a rookie with Pensacola P.D. and had stopped there for a drink after going 10-42. Man, there she was. We hit it off and I bought her a few drinks. She really liked the syrupy sweet, girly ones.”

    “Uh huh” Javier said. Kevin was so into in the story he paid no attention to Javier paying no attention.

    “So around ten or so the news guy comes on and says there is this tropical depression coming up from the Gulf and… Anyway, Jenny freaks the hell out. She’s all hyped up on sugar and booze. So she thinks it’s a frickin’ hurricane and begs me to take her home in my squad.”

    “And of course you couldn’t say no,” Javier stated, rousing Kevin on.

    “Damn straight,” Kevin said, grinning like a fox.

  3. Another “Storm”

    Shawna flicked from photo to photo. The tropical storm heading south from Tonga was set to hit New Zealand soon. The tropical storm heading north to the USA was set to hit about the same time. She emailed Brent to make sure he was safe.

    He immediately came back, sent from his phone. It might be mid-afternoon back home but he was having a late business dinner at the Flora-Bama, some beach restaurant/pub/thing right on the beach. He thanked her for the warning and he’d head inland asap. He finished with, ‘In middle of business discussion. Bye.’

    She sat back and reached for her cup of hot chocolate and third donut and munched it down. “Late”? Yes, ten pm over there. “Business discussion”? She reached for her fourth donut. Must be a woman. Tall. Thin. Glamorous as only American businesswomen can be. Sexy. She reached for the fifth donut. “Bye”? Telling her to buzz off.

    Shawna looked through the window, her heartbeat pounding just like the surf. The wind was intensifying; the trees were straining against it. The storm was coming, almost upon her. Upon them.

    It had happened before. She didn’t think she could survive one more “storm”.

  4. “I toss my mullet while I toss my mullet, y’all!” Ronnie yelled through the rain and wind, in his typical Mountain Dew-induced, sugar-rushed hysteria.

    “I taught him to say that.” I said with some small amount of both pride and shame.

    My big brother Ronnie had Down’s syndrome. Billy Ray Cyrus had been his favorite artist since the days of Watermelon Crawl, and he’d grown and kept a magnificent mullet ever since becoming enamored with the man.

    Now here we were again, at the Flora-Bama bar for its famous Mullet Toss, throwing silvery fish from a circle drawn in the sands of our beloved Alabama, into the much-maligned sands of the Florida Gators. All for charity, of course. And beer. Or in Ronnie’s case, for the Mountain Dew.

    Ronnie threw his silvery fish shot-put style; spinning around in circles with the mullet under his sparsely-whiskered chin, the waist-length hair from the back of his head streaming out behind him in wild circles through the air.

    His fish made a satisfying plop on the Florida side. “Yeah! Take that, Gators! Chomp that!”

    Tropical Storm Joshua blew rain and sand in our faces, but still we cheered Ronnie’s good throw.

  5. Sugar Shock
    Danielle Lee Zwissler
    It was already the weekend and I had my first date with Cara Clark. I was taking her to the Flora-Bama, one of the hottest places around. Each year, this place was the home of the fishing rodeo, enough said. I put on my sexiest Hawaiian shirt, sans lei, and slicked back my hair with some VO5 gel. I looked into the mirror, and my reflection screamed “Sexy”. It was perfect. Cara Clark wouldn’t know what hit her!
    An hour later, Cara and I walked into the Flora-Bama and inhaled the scents of fresh fish and chips and heard the clinking of margarita glasses and shots being thrown back.
    “I’m parched,” I said as we walked back to our table. The hostess sat us in the back near a dart board and several flat screen televisions. Cara smiled.
    “Me, too. How about a round of margaritas?”
    “Would you like salt or sugar?” A waitress said as she overheard Cara.
    Cara grinned. “Sugar, and lots of it!”
    The waitress nodded and then looked at me. I thought that sounded good. “Ditto.”
    “Alright, if you’re sure.”
    I looked at Cara and then we both looked up at the television directly in front of where we sat. The news was on, and a storm was coming in. It didn’t look good, and since we were at a beach front restaurant near the coast, and the storm was heading right for us, I started to get a little nervous. “Maybe we should head home early tonight?”
    “Maybe we should,” Cara said nervously. “But, can we wait for our drinks first?”
    “Yeah, of course.”
    The waitress came back. Two huge margarita glasses with sugar filled rims were placed in front of us, complete with a sugar straw, an umbrella, and a strawberry covered with…you guessed it, sugar.
    “Looks great,” I said as I picked up the drink. I took a sip and could feel the sugar seep through me. My eyes widened. “Wow!”
    Cara did the same. “Holy crap!”
    “Yeah.” We couldn’t help it. We continued drinking, and drinking, and before I knew it, we were sitting there, three hours and 5 glasses later, while rain hammered the windows and the wind shook the building.
    “What if we die here?” Cara asked, laughing. She hiccupped on nearly every other syllable. “That would be…”
    “Hilarious,” I finished. “That…would…be…”
    “Oh my God, we’re going to…”
    “DIE!” I yelled. I looked around. Nobody was in the bar anymore. There wasn’t one person around us. I could feel my head pound, my body sweat. I started to shake.
    “What’s happening?” Cara asked, tuning in to my hysteria.
    “I don’t know.”
    ***

    The next day, Cara and I awoke in a pile of rubble with two margarita glasses in our palms.

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