beer run

The following post is another one of my stabs at fiction.  The prompt is to write about having something of tremendous value stolen.  I had no idea what to write, so Cort gave me the scenario and I made up the story around it.

Oh, and also? there is a poll on the left side bar if you want to vote for me to move my fiction to Exploded Moments instead of here.

This post went crazy.  And so I dedicate it to my college years.  And to Todd.



“Think, think, think,” he told himself.  “Now what?  Now what do I do?”

Burger rubbed his eyes with the ball of his hands.  He was slumped down on Davis Street a block from the party.

He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and looked down the street half expecting them to come back.  Not that he had anything left for them to take.  Not only had they taken his empty wallet, but they had jacked the keg he had been rolling down the road from the party store.

It was a dumb idea, but he had lost the bet.

He had to be in charge of the beer.  Even with no car.

Luckily everyone had chipped in.  Barely.

Burger had spent his entire utility payment on that keg, and now he wouldn’t even get his deposit back.

Those jerks even took the tap, so there went that deposit too.


He ran his hand over his goatee and tried to figure out what to do.  He could still smell the cigarette on his hand.

He would love another one, but they had taken those too.

“Focus,” he said out loud.  He immediately looked behind him.  What if they were waiting for him?

He shook his head and tried to focus his eyes.

He didn’t feel very good.

“See…it’s their fault.  We didn’t even NEED that third keg.  This whole thing is THEIR fault.”

He stood up suddenly with new determination.  And immediately regretted it.

Burger decided right then and there that he couldn’t show his face.  He was too mortified.

A band of crazy drunks had run up on him, tackled him, and rolled his keg away.  And taken his smokes.  Which he needed right now.  He couldn’t tell that story to the party–even it if was the truth.

He would look like an idiot.

And he was too messed up to think of a believable lie.

He took one more look down the street toward the party and turned on his heel and started running.

Burger had only gone about a block when he stopped,  panting and sweating and leaned into a yard.

As he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, the headlights of a slow approaching car snapped on.

Burger squinted into them, his heart pounding.

“Dear God, they’re back,” he thought.

“Hey Burger!  What the hell are you doing?  Where is the beer, ya moron?”

Burger just stared, gasping.  What was going on?

“DUDE!  Can you hear us?  WHERE IS THE BEER?”

“uh…” Burger stumbled. “well…um…”

“Get your stupid ass in the car, dude.”

“but…the beer…those guys…they…” Burger wasn’t sure where his friends had even come from.  Who was driving?

Dude. WE took the beer.  Those guys were us.  We thought you knew.”


“IT WAS US, knucklehead!  The keg?  It’s at Gator’s place.  Back at the party.  IT WAS US.”

“Wait.  Wha…”

“Just get in the car, ya drunk.”

Burger still didn’t know what had happened, but he let his friends pull him into the back seat of the car where he promptly passed out.


The following post is my first attempt at fiction. Ok, it’s my first attempt at fiction here on Sluiter Nation.  Everything is completely fictional.  That means not true. Any resemblance to real people, places, and/or events is completely coincidental.  Or not.  Whatever.

The prompt is to write from the perspective of someone who annoys you.


There was already a chill in the air.  Winter would be here soon and he had to get busy.

The boys wanted to come help and he wasn’t about to turn away free labor even if they would do more to annoy  than assist him.

He lumbered out to the backyard with the oldest running ahead with a baseball bat.

“Come on, Nathan!”

The middle one was trying to drag something out of the garage, but came running out to his dad at the sound of his name.

The little one was already sitting in the sandbox.

“Matthew, get off the wood pile.”  The oldest was already bouncing off any surface he came into contact with.  He needed to redirect this energy.

“Take the bat and go in the shed.  Start banging out those dents.”

rat tat tat tat tat tat tat

He scratched his head as the neighbor rounded the side of his house with a spreader.

That guy?  Was ALWAYS working on his lawn.

“Hey,” he offered.

“How’s it going?”

“Just doing some winterizing,” he said as he nodded toward his shed where the oldest had abandoned the baseball bat and was now throwing sand on his youngest brother.

The snobby neighbor seemed confused.  “Yeah, me too,” he said tapping his spreader filled with fancy shmancy winter fertilizer.

He gave the neighbor the obligatory dude nod and turned to his shed.

What did he care about the yard?  That guy spent way too much time on grass.  Although he mowed every week like clockwork which was a good reminder that after it got dark, it was time for him to fire up his trusty Craftsman POS.  The baby always fell asleep best that way–riding on the mower with him.

Anyway.  Back to the shed.  He had to get it winter ready.

Since all three boys were now out front jumping on the car, he was going to have to do this himself.

He grabbed the baseball bat out of the sandbox, and went into the structure.

He began banging at the roof…attempting to pound out what had collapsed yet again before the snow began to fly.

Maybe he should have followed the directions when assembling it.

Maybe those extra parts went to the roof.

like I said, totally fiction. ahem.