Below is my entry for #MenageMonday. The prompts were this photo:
This phrase: “You’re joking.”
And this concept: a lucky day.
“Oh, Danny Boooooy!”
I laughed. I couldn’t help the burbling guffaw — or the note of bitterness. I tried to take a step and bit back a scream. Broken.
“‘He’s down there,’” I mimicked Fred’s voice. “‘They’ve got green beer — Danny planned a sewer party.’”
“It’s not a sewer; it’s a culvert.” Fred shot me a sour look and picked her way forward through the muck. Her feet made sucking noises, like giant leeches.
“You’re joking.” This was what I got for following her. My lucky day — she trips and grabs me in time for the fall. “He’s not here, Fred.”
“He said he would be.”
“I need help. I can’t walk.” Again I tried, and the broken bone screamed its protest.
“You stay here, Adrianne. I’ll get help.”
I didn’t have much choice. I winced at the pain in my leg, gritting my teeth as her footsteps vanished.
“Oh, Danny Booooy!”
I froze. “Fred? Danny?”
“When I am dead, as dead I well may be…” A chuckle. “My lucky day.”
Teeth piercing. It made a sucking sound like Fred’s feet in the muck as it hummed the strains of an Irish lullaby against my neck.
Get every new post delivered to your Inbox
Join other followers