Welcome to Flashes of Sanity! Your daily dose of flash fiction on 500 words or less.
This week’s entry: Coconuts
Phil cleaned the glass with his apron. His eyes hadn’t left the TV in 20 minutes.
“Can you believe it? It has to be some kind of joke, right?”
“I don’t know Phil…” One of the dancers leaned over the bar and poured herself a glass of beer. “It happened to my cousin too. Dead in some kind of drug deal gone wrong. Buried like if he was a saint, and now… well.” She points in the direction of the TV. “He lives with grandma’”
Phil sighed in disbelief before turning back to the TV and the young girl being interviewed.
“It was fire,” she sobbed. “Fire everywhere. And all the screams. All the pain.”
The interviewer leaned over to her. “You don’t have to continue to that place, child. Instead tell us about what happened when you got to see your mom again.”
“Suddenly everything stopped and I woke up underground. And then I got to see my… We hugged.” The girl crumbles and all becomes an uninterpretable mess of sobs and mumbles.
“Well…” Phil continued with cleaning the next glass. “This will mean more customers, right? You know, the dead arising got to mean business will be booming.”
The dancer smiled and sipped her beer. “We sure would need some right now, don’t you think so?” She glanced at the empty beach. “I would love for a reason to put on the coconut dress once mo…”
She stopped and turned towards the ocean.
“Phil, isn’t that someone floating by the beach?”
Phil covered his eyes from the sun. “You are right.” He jumped over the bar and the both of them ran towards the body drifting up the beach.
“Hey!” Phil shouted even though a body floating like that should not be able to hear him. The back up, and the face in the water, that was death in a nutshell. “Are you okay?”
The dancer quickly turned the half naked body around. The face was pale from the time in the water. The two eyes scanned them. The body convulsed and the man threw himself to the side just before the ocean came pouring out his mouth.
“Yummy,” he said with a shrimp still locked inside his mouth. Then he threw up some more.
Phil put his hand on the man’s shoulders. The dancer’s glances showed the same confusion he himself felt. The man began laughing.
“Look,” he wheezed and pointed to his grey underwear. “At least it didn’t take my boxers.”
He then quickly locked his eyes on the dancer. “Do you like them? They are in shades just like me.”
Copyright © David B. Johansson 2021