Written for Sunday Photo Fiction. A story, about two fathers sending a clear message, begins after the photo.
Genre: Speculative Fiction/Humor
At thirteen years of age, Desmond was taking over a large part of his father’s business: dealing drugs on the street corner. He was learning quickly, and one of the important lessons was protecting one’s turf. “Watchoo doin’ here, boy?” said Desmond to the skinny 8-year old kid passing by, wearing a cap.
“Nothing,” said Joon, visibly frightened by Desmond’s practiced, intimidating glare. “Just walking home.”
“Did I say you could walk here?”
“Uh no, but it’s a public…”
“But nuthin’!” shouted Desmond. He had already gathered cronies around him at his father’s direction, and now he ordered them to steal Joon’s shoes. Joon fought as hard as he could but he was no match for the older boys. Soon, they had Joon’s shoes off and tied together. Desmond threw them over a power line. He laughed at the bruised and bleeding Joon. “You want ’em back. Go get ’em!”
Joon backed away. “My Dad’s an alien. He’ll get them back for me!”
Desmond snorted. “So bring him. I’ll kick his ass!”
Thirty minutes later, Joon returned with his father, both wearing caps. Desmond was grimly accepting face slaps from a man in a wife-beater tank top. “You gotta put more shoes up there, boy!” growled Desmond’s father. “You gotta send a message: we open for b’ness!”
“Excuse me,” said Joon’s father. He pointed up at Joon’s shoes hanging from the wire. “Your son put those there. I need you to get them down.”
“WHAT!” Desmond’s father spat. He bristled menacingly.
“That’s the one. He say his daddy, alien.” said Desmond.
“Watch this, boy. You gotta send a message ’bout folks on yo’ turf.” He advanced on the pair.
Joon and his father removed their caps and their antennae sprung forward. Desmond’s father stopped, “Damn! You is alien.” He advanced again, undeterred. “So now you a dead alien!”
Joon’s father pulled a curved object from his pocket…light flashed.
Desmond and his father awoke hanging upside down. Their feet had been tied together and they were draped over the power line. Joon’s father said to them, “Where I grew up, we hang drug dealers up like this to send a message to the other dealers: ‘don’t mess in our neighborhood.’ Got the message?”
As the two walked back home, Joon said, “Dad, do they really do that where you grew up?”
Joon’s dad scoffed, “Don’t be silly. I just made that up to scare them away from you.”
“Oh okay,” said Joon, slightly disappointed. For a moment, it seemed his dad was pretty tough.
“Usually, we pulled out their intestines and hung them up by those. It sends a stronger message.”
Each Sunday, the talented Alastair Forbes offers up an original photo, sometimes with a little background. Lucky authors like me use the photos as a prompt for flash fiction stories. Find more stories in answer to the prompt right here: http://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2014/06/01/sunday-photo-fiction-june-1st-2014/