Glad to be alive and got the shit slapped out of her sat together in the hospital emergency room; each dazed confused and mentally toying with the idea that maybe it was their fault this time. Glad to be alive knew she was playing with fire when she purposely said that one something she knew she should not. But this time she said it anyway. Got the shit slapped out of her was just playing grab-ass when he turned on her and a push away to escape dissolved into a slapping staccato of kicking and hitting. A volunteer from the welfare office now sat across from the women silently filling out a form that looked to easily be ten pages long. Welfare forms made both women nervous. Occasionally sighing as she checked boxes and filled in dates the volunteer took a moment and looked up at the ladies before diving back into the form hoping not to miss anything that could be used on their PFA’s. Her next look up came with a question. “Any children involved?” Glad had two. Slapped had four. Suddenly out of nowhere another volunteer from the hospital social-services department appeared carrying a clipboard with several papers on it as well and propped herself against the wall before the two abused. “ Which one of you ladies would like to go first?” Glad to be alive heard her speaking but in a kind of echo chamber, while got the shit slapped out of her looked up at the visitor with some mild confusion as to what she was asking. Again the second clipboard asked. “ Which one of you would like to go first?” When neither answered the second time, clipboard turned to the nursing station curtly asking “ Hey! Need some help over here?”

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The riverboat casino tied at city waterfront rocked slowly on moorings while passing speedboats made their way up river. In gaming parlor one Joker in full top hat regalia sat at the door welcoming guests while the Queen of Hearts handled drink requests in a cut way too low cocktail dress. The Ace of Spades in the same smoke filled room dealt stud from a worn out boot onto drink stained green felt. I having just bet my hard earned pay on a pair that could not loose waited for the turn of the cards; living out my life pursing dreams I did not choose. Two blocks away on Missionary Street Preacher Dan regaled at the altar, complaining he needed a new jet. The church pews luckily were filled with pocketbooks that would see to it he got the jet; while congregational forgiveness tediously walked a shaky rope stretched across the front of the church held up on each side by plastic figurines. The choir on cue sang of halleluiah moments as innocent children ran between the aisles of those pursuing dreams they did not choose. A mother alone just across the street stared at the closed church doors from her bare kitchen table quietly counting her prescriptions contemplating things she had done to score refills. In this zero sum game known as her life she watched the church spew out into the street and tears began running down her cheeks. Later as the Sunday brunch clientele filled restaurant waitresses would pour Sunday morning bloody Mary’s for the gambling, religious, opiated, alcoholic countless others filling out their the lives pursing dreams they did not choose. Is there any reason that we all wander never satisfied with what we do? How did we loose that satisfaction with everything we do

The New Year’s Day meeting of neighborhood yard inflatables and nativity characters got off to a very slow start. The Jacob’s Santa barely had enough air in him to call the meeting to order because their son had smeared peanut butter embedded with birdseed on the aging Santa Christmas Eve and birds had done more damage than duct tape could repair. Luckily Frosty the Snowman was able to take over as Santa slowly hissed away in his sleigh. First order of business was the big blowup, which had lead to some seriously poor Christian like behavior among the neighbors regarding animal droppings from a live Nativity scene. The ensuing arguments resulted in one neighbor adding to his display two Penthouse inflatables. A miss Betty Boobalicious and miss Sally Seaside Slut, that he positioned between Rudolf and Vixen on his roof display portraying the girls giving the deer the ride of their lives. Eventfully he placed the mademoiselles in the doorway of his RV parked beside his house with a sign telling passerby, “ Yawl come back,” directly underneath a large sprig of inflatable mistletoe. Christmas Eve his neighbor saw the display and called the police resulting in flashing lights filling the street for hours. Fred Ripley awoke Christmas morning to discover that a strong wind had unmoored his Ninja Turtle display and that one rolling Ninja had slain three quarters of his yard display with the authentic Japanese sword he had tied to it for realism! His yard looked like a massacre scene of deflated plastic and knotted cords. The biggest mess however was at the Steinke’s. Bill Steinke, freshly divorced, came back to find his wife’s new husband had trashed all his inflatables and gone with a spotlight on a door wreath! Oh the horror of it all!

 

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Geo 299's are works of fiction all in just 299 words. Most stories are stand alone, but sometimes three or four are linked together by a topic that has more story to tell. Feel free to comment and share with your friends. grantman
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