Brandonia - The Writing of Brandon M. Humphreys

Flash Fiction! The black Jag pulled up to the curb and the Hyundai followed.  The sun shone and made a brilliant glare of both vehicles.  Charlie Finkeberger got out of her Jag and quickly walked around to help the young couple out of the Hyundai.   The man mowing the lawn next door looked at the aging real estate agent.  She definitely paid a lot for that airbrushing , he thought, after comparing the visage now in front of him with the one captured in the FOR-SALE sign on the curb.  He waved at Charlie and she waved back. “New prospects, huh?” He said, shutting the mower off. Charlie smiled contemptuously.  She could swear that old bastard just loved every minute of her not selling this god-forsaken house.  It was like he waited for her to show up.  Every time.  “No, Mr. Kramer,” she straightened her dress and looked at him with a polite smile. “They’re buyers.  These nice young people are going to be your new neighbors...

Fiction. Randall drank of his coffee and folded the newspaper to the next page.  Chiefs won, he thought.  He missed the game last night on account of the fight.  News anchors blabbed on in the background, but he was ignoring it until they said something about construction on the Maple St. bridge.  Great, traffic’s gonna be a nightmare .  He had another sip and then went back into the bedroom to get his work uniform on.  By this time Lynda was out of the shower.  “Still pissed at me?” He asked. “What do you think, asshole! ” That answered that.  She stomped around, not saying anything else. He was too hung over for this shit.  He yelled back toward the hall, “You can be pissed all you want, Lynda, but I can’t change the past.  At least I told you about it right away instead of tryin’ to hide it.” “Yeah,” she said.  “And it doesn’t change what happened.  I hope you enjoyed yourself.” Randall rolled his eyes and ...