Flabbergasted
I just finished reading a book called Flabbergasted by Ray Blackston. It's a really good book; you should check it out. I would like to share with you my favorite part from the book:
I slapped my forehead during the night, near the same spot where the marshmellow had splattered. The faint buzz grew louder and only a pale splotch of moonlight shone through the window. I backhanded the blackness but missed again.
Soon it brought friends, some still faint, others withing inches of my head. I tried the forehand and the overhead smash, the but mosquitoes flew closer, teasing, lurking, suspended above me until I heard the sudden thud of a heel hitting the wall.
"Jarvis?"
"Hmmm?"
"They're everywhere." whispered Steve. "Got any bug spray?"
I hated whispering to a guy but did it anyway. "I thinkI saw a can under the kitche sink. Those guys are sleeping in the living room, so don't step on them."
Another thud, maybe his toe ramming the door. He said ouch under his breath. I heard skeeters circling my head and Ransom snoring in the corner.
Groping in the dark for a shirt, a towel, anything I heard the door open and the sound of a can shaking. Steve was silhouetted against the window, spraying with abandon, the buzzes converging from all corners of the bedroom.
"I think there is a hole in the screen," he said.
"Just kill them."
"I'm tryin'". The whistling hiss of bug spray muted the snoring and the buzzing. I saw the outline of his arm swinging back and forth and up and down the window. My next swat also missed. The pale light of the window went dim.
Steve turned at said, "Here's a shot for ya."
The smell was overwhelming; my eyes burned and a stickiness lingered in the air. "What kind of bug killer is that?"
He flipped the light on to reveal long white streaks, still wet and shiny arcing across the window screen, the sea-green curtains and the sea-green wall. A smattering of tiny white dots were drying on my sleeping bag.
Steve stood motionless, blinked twice. He looked down at the can and began reading to himself, wide-eyed.
"Whatsa light on for?" mumbled ransom, finally waking.
"Steve just killed a platoon of mosquitoes with Krylon," I said. "White semigloss."
I slapped my forehead during the night, near the same spot where the marshmellow had splattered. The faint buzz grew louder and only a pale splotch of moonlight shone through the window. I backhanded the blackness but missed again.
Soon it brought friends, some still faint, others withing inches of my head. I tried the forehand and the overhead smash, the but mosquitoes flew closer, teasing, lurking, suspended above me until I heard the sudden thud of a heel hitting the wall.
"Jarvis?"
"Hmmm?"
"They're everywhere." whispered Steve. "Got any bug spray?"
I hated whispering to a guy but did it anyway. "I thinkI saw a can under the kitche sink. Those guys are sleeping in the living room, so don't step on them."
Another thud, maybe his toe ramming the door. He said ouch under his breath. I heard skeeters circling my head and Ransom snoring in the corner.
Groping in the dark for a shirt, a towel, anything I heard the door open and the sound of a can shaking. Steve was silhouetted against the window, spraying with abandon, the buzzes converging from all corners of the bedroom.
"I think there is a hole in the screen," he said.
"Just kill them."
"I'm tryin'". The whistling hiss of bug spray muted the snoring and the buzzing. I saw the outline of his arm swinging back and forth and up and down the window. My next swat also missed. The pale light of the window went dim.
Steve turned at said, "Here's a shot for ya."
The smell was overwhelming; my eyes burned and a stickiness lingered in the air. "What kind of bug killer is that?"
He flipped the light on to reveal long white streaks, still wet and shiny arcing across the window screen, the sea-green curtains and the sea-green wall. A smattering of tiny white dots were drying on my sleeping bag.
Steve stood motionless, blinked twice. He looked down at the can and began reading to himself, wide-eyed.
"Whatsa light on for?" mumbled ransom, finally waking.
"Steve just killed a platoon of mosquitoes with Krylon," I said. "White semigloss."
posted by Andi at
7:40 AM
