Shred of Evidence

The usual collection of tale mongers had their tongues in hyper overdrive when Randall Weeks walked into Sid’s Diner. He weaved his way through the chatter, sitting down in his regular spot, just as Sid’s wife, Ruby, placed a cup of coffee on the counter in front of him.

“What’s got everyone in an uproar today?” asked Randall, shaking a cigarette out of his pack. Flicking his lighter, he watched the flame torch the end, then grinned as he saw Sid clutch his stomach and run to the men’s room.

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I’m getting tired of making lemonade. You know, if God hands you lemons, make lemonade? Maybe my life would take an upward swing if He’d choose to toss a few apples my way. I know I’d enjoy easing a big forkful of apple pie into my churning belly right about now, maybe with a little vanilla ice cream dripping down the sides. There’s just something about the scent of cinnamon and the sugary taste of warm apple pie that calms the nerves in a tense situation.

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Sandra’s flash stories have appeared in Futures, Mysterical-E, and one upcoming in the summer issue of Demolition.