The Confrontation

Two street-wise punks entered the fast food restaurant looking for trouble. With food loaded on trays, they turned to the seating area. One of the two nudged the other and nodded toward a table for six with an elderly lady alone. SLAM! She jumped when they slammed their trays onto the table. A sneer toward the young men said it all.

“Bobby, do you know who your father is?”

“Nope. You?”

“Me neither.”

Smiling, they were sure they had her goat.

Finally, the elderly lady spoke to the two young men. “Would one of you bastards please pass the napkins?”

From Guest Contributor NT Franklin

Comparison

He stood mesmerized by the depth and variety of the spice-stall’s palette; deep reds to yellows that hurt the eyes so much he had to close them, having to be satisfied with inhaling the melange of aromas.

The taste of burger was still in his mouth from the fast food outlet around the corner. It felt cheap and nasty in such company. He felt shame.

Then he felt a piercing violation of flesh and fell forward, arms failing to move to cushion. The chain securing the briefcase was snipped. Bolt cutters, he thought as his brighter red smothered the fruit.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

Final Instructions

My toes wrap precipitous edges. Points of shale and limestone gouge my feet, painting blood trails. Struggling to stand, I traverse the narrow path. Black canyons rise below-- inviting me to swim in their depths. Immense. Cold. My hands flutter through gray smoke, displacing sacred dancers who vanish in gasping silence.Our last meal rustled as we pulled cardboard food from tattooed paper bags. You scrawled the plan across my brown napkin, freezing me.

I thrust myself into blankness, crystal ice. I discard hope, the weak’s weight. Growing lighter, I embrace your last etching, scratched upon my fading horizon. Goodbye.

Karen Burton recently received her MFA from Lindenwood University in St. Charles, Missouri. She currently serves as the managing editor of The Lindenwood Review.

The Hamburger Joint At Closing Time

Mr. Brand walked into the fast food joint just as it was closing. He could tell by the cashier's defiant look they were going to exchange words.

"Why don't you take your business elsewhere?"

Mr. Brand punched the cashier in the face, then pulled out his gun and pointed it at his eye. But rather than fear, the boy stared back at him with hatred.

"I guess you didn't realize I'm your son."

"I know who you fucking are. It's says Tony Brand on that stupid name tag they make you wear. It's a fucking disgrace to your grandfather's name."

The Daily Theme from Figment for March 19, 2012

On Friday, we gave you this theme:A person walks into a restaurant, orders a meal, and has a fight with the server. Let the setting (time of day, kind of restaurant) guide your telling of the story.

For today, revisit that story, but now set it during a different time of day and in a different type of restaurant. How does the change in time and place affect your telling?