RobinHood3000
07-07-2009, 10:01 PM
Being Friendly
"Hey, Herm. Hermes. HERMES!" Katie slapped the glass counter.
"Mmm?" The wizened gray eyes behind the counter blinked away the glaze, turning away from the 12-inch color dogfight in substandard definition to face the 8-year-old peering over the cigarette displays.
"Pay attention!"
"I'm 48 years old, Katie - paying attention isn't my strong point."
"Whatcha watching?"
"Just a movie about planes, boys beating each other up with them." Katie made a face. "You wouldn't be interested." Katie shook her head in agreement. "What can I do for you, Katie?"
She pointed, her purple stuffed rabbit swinging in her fist. "Why you always put the apple juice so high?"
"That's Wild Turkey, Katie. The apple juice is over... hang on a sec." Hermes J. Garrick turned off the television and hopped off his stool, stretching the sticky feeling out of his joints and indicating for Katie to follow him. The pair toddled together past three aisles of salts, sweets, and pharmaceuticals to the far end of the refrigerator cases. Hermes opened the door to let Katie poke her head into the refreshing space, the escaping fog a cool bath around his sandaled toes. "Apple juice or fruit punch?"
Hermes waved as Katie skipped back to her parents at Pump #2, fruit punch in hand - no one waved back. Nobody could see in through the dirt-sprayed glass of the façade, but Hermes waved, anyway. Watching the Allens piling into their minivan and driving into the midday dust, Hermes walked a lap around the room, poking the low ceiling tiles with his outstretched fingers. He let out a crooked yawn from the side of his mouth, then stopped in front of the fridge. Cocking his head, Hermes stared at the furry purple rabbit, perched innocently on a shelf with its arms hugging a bottle of Nesquik. Katie must have left him behind. Hermes shrugged and shuffled back to the counter, popping out his Top Gun VHS and flipping on the Discovery Channel.
Two hours and eighteen explosions later, the clatter of the worn-out chimes against the door jerked him awake. "What can I do for - aw, nuts." Watching a tall white-collar in a suit walk into his dinky little gas station would ordinarily be confusing for Hermes, but the revolver in his hand made the man's purpose unavoidably clear. "Wallet and register, please," said the man in the suit, trying to shrug the tension out of his shoulders and neck.
Hermes sighed as he placed his billfold on the counter and went to the register. "Nuts," he repeated.
"What's the problem?" The man in the suit jerked. "Are you giving me trouble?" He raised the gun at arm's length.
"No, no problem, just... I was having a pretty dull day. Serves me right for asking for some excitement."
"Well, you know what they say. Good things come to those who wait - "
"- and the squeaky wheel gets a kick in the head," Hermes said with a sigh. "Do you want to buy something?"
"...what?"
"I can only open the register for a cash sale." Hermes tapped the masking-tape-laminated notice on the counter. "You're going to get your money back, you might as well."
The man in the suit blinked, then gave a lopsided, apologetic smile. "If I had any cash on me, I wouldn't be here."
"We do take credit cards." The man in the suit raised an eyebrow. "Fine, I'll make an exception, just this once."
"Thanks, I appreciate it." The man in the suit began pulling bills out of the wallet as Hermes rang open the register, then paused to look at the driver's license. "What kind of a name is 'Hermes'?"
"It was the sixties, what can I say? I'm still not sure I've forgiven my parents for that." Both men laughed. "Still, could be worse. Got a nephew of mine, poor kid. His folks named him Homer."
The man in the suit leaned forward on the counter, engrossed. "They fans of Greek storytellers?"
Hermes shook his head. "Simpsons."
The man gave a sympathetic wince. "Ouch."
Hermes set a stack of cash from the register in front of the man in the suit. "You want the change, too? Quarters for the laundry?"
"Nah, I'm all right," said the man in the suit, waving it away. "Keep it."
"How magnanimous of you."
The two men were smiling now, the gun in the suit's hand relaxed, flat on the counter and facing elsewhere, towards the ice cream freezer. The man in the suit, looking at the shelves of liquor in the corner, finally went over to the fridge and opened it. "Wanna beer? It's on you."
"No, thanks - shouldn't drink on the job."
"Your loss." The man stopped in his tracks. "What the...?" The man in the suit pointed with confusion at the purple bunny.
"My last customer left him behind to cool his heels."
The man in the suit chuckled. "Poor bastard." He picked up the stuffed animal for further examination and brought it back to the counter, his beer in hand. "Got a bottle opener?"
Hermes pulled out his pocketknife. "Knock yourself out."
"Thanks." Popping the top with a moist "krrssh," the man in the suit took a long draw from the bottle and tossed the pocketknife over his shoulder. The knife clattered against the linoleum and slid to a stop against the back wall.
"What, you don't trust me, even when you're drinking my beer? What kind of a host do you think I am?" Hermes feigned indignation.
"Can't be too careful. If you knew who I worked for, you'd understand."
"What are you, a spy for the CIA?"
"A gofer at a law firm. Much scarier."
Hermes shuddered. "Bone-chilling."
"Like you wouldn't believe." The two men shared another laugh, ending in a sigh. After a minute, the man in the suit stood up straight and put the money in his pocket. "Well, not that it hasn't been nice chatting, but I should get home."
"Are you heading back for the missus or for the television set?"
"Neither, I'm going to bed. Low-level larceny makes me sleepy. Catch you around, Hermes."
"I hope not," Hermes replied with a smile. The man in the suit stretched out his hand, and Hermes reached to shake it...
The crackling crunch of tires on gravel drew their eyes to the door. A minivan drew itself up to a parking space. Hermes could see Mr. Allen's head dropped on to the headrest, his palms rubbing his eyes in exasperation. "Did you call somebody?" asked the man in the suit, raising his gun hand, his eyes sliding together in suspicion.
"What? No!" Hermes held up the bunny. "Katie's just coming back for this guy. Relax."
Seeing Katie hop out of the side of the car and begin skipping towards the front door, the man in the suit backed out of sight between the pretzels and the granola bars. "All right, Hermes. I'm trusting you." He kept his gun trained in Hermes's direction, while Hermes wondered in his mind how sensitive the man in the suit was to the bottle of beer in his hand. Looking back out the window, Hermes watched Mr. Allen slap his hand to his face in exasperation, stretching his cheeks as he pulled it down towards his chin. Hermes imagined that two very bloodshot eyes lay behind Mr. Allen's closed eyelids, as he brought his forehead forward in a tired arc... and slammed it on the steering wheel. The sudden blare of the car horn sent Katie, Hermes, and the man in the suit jumping. The gunshot was lost in the horn, but the muzzle flash burned a hole in Hermes's vision.
"WHOA!!" Hermes looked around, a perforated stack of lottery tickets over his shoulder and bits of floating scorched animal stuffing confirming that he was still alive. "What in the name of Great Caesar's ghost?!"
"I'm sorry!" The man in the suit reached out in concern.
Hermes glared at the man in the suit, furious. "What are you doing, carrying around a loaded gun??"
"I'm a robber!" The man in the suit shouted back. "What was I supposed to load it with, M&M's?" He grabbed a bag of Jelly Bellys off the shelf and chucked them at Hermes.
"There's an eight-year-old girl out there!" Hermes pointed out the door at Katie, now standing by the minivan window and stomping her foot at her father for frightening her. "She needs to get hurt like this guy needs a hole in the head!" Hermes shook the stuffed rabbit at the man in the suit, a charred entry wound next to the button nose leaking fluff. "Get out! Take your money and get out!" Hermes jabbed his fist at the back door.
The man in the suit, the shock in his raised eyebrows pulling his eyes wide open, bolted out the door as Katie stormed inside, sending the chimes swinging. "I forgot Wally," she said with a huff.
Hermes drew a deep breath, then let it out with a jitter. "Hi, Katie. I'm sorry, but Wally had an accident." Hermes set the bunny down on the counter.
"Wally!!" Katie dropped a fist on the glass. "What happened??"
Hermes held his hands up. "I'm sorry, Katie. He got in a fight."
Katie pouted, hugging the rabbit close to her. "Aww, poor Wally. Did he win?"
"He had a tough time of it, but he took a bullet for me, and that counts for something." Hermes tugged lovingly at one of Wally's ears. "If you want, I can help fix him up for you."
Katie grinned. "Okay!"
Hermes walked around the counter and cracked open a first-aid tin, curious as to what Mr. and Mrs. Allen would think if they saw the bullet hole. While he was sticking a pair of bandages on Wally's face, Katie smiled up at him. "I like you, Hermes."
"What, me?" asked Hermes as he ruffled Wally's head. "Why?"
"You're nice," she said. "Friendly."
Hey everyone - this was mine, from the last elimination of the short story competition. One of my favorites - I wrote it for a college class, and learned a great deal about how to write a proper story that I didn't know before. I'm dying for more feedback, if anyone is feeling generous enough to offer their opinions. :)
"Hey, Herm. Hermes. HERMES!" Katie slapped the glass counter.
"Mmm?" The wizened gray eyes behind the counter blinked away the glaze, turning away from the 12-inch color dogfight in substandard definition to face the 8-year-old peering over the cigarette displays.
"Pay attention!"
"I'm 48 years old, Katie - paying attention isn't my strong point."
"Whatcha watching?"
"Just a movie about planes, boys beating each other up with them." Katie made a face. "You wouldn't be interested." Katie shook her head in agreement. "What can I do for you, Katie?"
She pointed, her purple stuffed rabbit swinging in her fist. "Why you always put the apple juice so high?"
"That's Wild Turkey, Katie. The apple juice is over... hang on a sec." Hermes J. Garrick turned off the television and hopped off his stool, stretching the sticky feeling out of his joints and indicating for Katie to follow him. The pair toddled together past three aisles of salts, sweets, and pharmaceuticals to the far end of the refrigerator cases. Hermes opened the door to let Katie poke her head into the refreshing space, the escaping fog a cool bath around his sandaled toes. "Apple juice or fruit punch?"
Hermes waved as Katie skipped back to her parents at Pump #2, fruit punch in hand - no one waved back. Nobody could see in through the dirt-sprayed glass of the façade, but Hermes waved, anyway. Watching the Allens piling into their minivan and driving into the midday dust, Hermes walked a lap around the room, poking the low ceiling tiles with his outstretched fingers. He let out a crooked yawn from the side of his mouth, then stopped in front of the fridge. Cocking his head, Hermes stared at the furry purple rabbit, perched innocently on a shelf with its arms hugging a bottle of Nesquik. Katie must have left him behind. Hermes shrugged and shuffled back to the counter, popping out his Top Gun VHS and flipping on the Discovery Channel.
Two hours and eighteen explosions later, the clatter of the worn-out chimes against the door jerked him awake. "What can I do for - aw, nuts." Watching a tall white-collar in a suit walk into his dinky little gas station would ordinarily be confusing for Hermes, but the revolver in his hand made the man's purpose unavoidably clear. "Wallet and register, please," said the man in the suit, trying to shrug the tension out of his shoulders and neck.
Hermes sighed as he placed his billfold on the counter and went to the register. "Nuts," he repeated.
"What's the problem?" The man in the suit jerked. "Are you giving me trouble?" He raised the gun at arm's length.
"No, no problem, just... I was having a pretty dull day. Serves me right for asking for some excitement."
"Well, you know what they say. Good things come to those who wait - "
"- and the squeaky wheel gets a kick in the head," Hermes said with a sigh. "Do you want to buy something?"
"...what?"
"I can only open the register for a cash sale." Hermes tapped the masking-tape-laminated notice on the counter. "You're going to get your money back, you might as well."
The man in the suit blinked, then gave a lopsided, apologetic smile. "If I had any cash on me, I wouldn't be here."
"We do take credit cards." The man in the suit raised an eyebrow. "Fine, I'll make an exception, just this once."
"Thanks, I appreciate it." The man in the suit began pulling bills out of the wallet as Hermes rang open the register, then paused to look at the driver's license. "What kind of a name is 'Hermes'?"
"It was the sixties, what can I say? I'm still not sure I've forgiven my parents for that." Both men laughed. "Still, could be worse. Got a nephew of mine, poor kid. His folks named him Homer."
The man in the suit leaned forward on the counter, engrossed. "They fans of Greek storytellers?"
Hermes shook his head. "Simpsons."
The man gave a sympathetic wince. "Ouch."
Hermes set a stack of cash from the register in front of the man in the suit. "You want the change, too? Quarters for the laundry?"
"Nah, I'm all right," said the man in the suit, waving it away. "Keep it."
"How magnanimous of you."
The two men were smiling now, the gun in the suit's hand relaxed, flat on the counter and facing elsewhere, towards the ice cream freezer. The man in the suit, looking at the shelves of liquor in the corner, finally went over to the fridge and opened it. "Wanna beer? It's on you."
"No, thanks - shouldn't drink on the job."
"Your loss." The man stopped in his tracks. "What the...?" The man in the suit pointed with confusion at the purple bunny.
"My last customer left him behind to cool his heels."
The man in the suit chuckled. "Poor bastard." He picked up the stuffed animal for further examination and brought it back to the counter, his beer in hand. "Got a bottle opener?"
Hermes pulled out his pocketknife. "Knock yourself out."
"Thanks." Popping the top with a moist "krrssh," the man in the suit took a long draw from the bottle and tossed the pocketknife over his shoulder. The knife clattered against the linoleum and slid to a stop against the back wall.
"What, you don't trust me, even when you're drinking my beer? What kind of a host do you think I am?" Hermes feigned indignation.
"Can't be too careful. If you knew who I worked for, you'd understand."
"What are you, a spy for the CIA?"
"A gofer at a law firm. Much scarier."
Hermes shuddered. "Bone-chilling."
"Like you wouldn't believe." The two men shared another laugh, ending in a sigh. After a minute, the man in the suit stood up straight and put the money in his pocket. "Well, not that it hasn't been nice chatting, but I should get home."
"Are you heading back for the missus or for the television set?"
"Neither, I'm going to bed. Low-level larceny makes me sleepy. Catch you around, Hermes."
"I hope not," Hermes replied with a smile. The man in the suit stretched out his hand, and Hermes reached to shake it...
The crackling crunch of tires on gravel drew their eyes to the door. A minivan drew itself up to a parking space. Hermes could see Mr. Allen's head dropped on to the headrest, his palms rubbing his eyes in exasperation. "Did you call somebody?" asked the man in the suit, raising his gun hand, his eyes sliding together in suspicion.
"What? No!" Hermes held up the bunny. "Katie's just coming back for this guy. Relax."
Seeing Katie hop out of the side of the car and begin skipping towards the front door, the man in the suit backed out of sight between the pretzels and the granola bars. "All right, Hermes. I'm trusting you." He kept his gun trained in Hermes's direction, while Hermes wondered in his mind how sensitive the man in the suit was to the bottle of beer in his hand. Looking back out the window, Hermes watched Mr. Allen slap his hand to his face in exasperation, stretching his cheeks as he pulled it down towards his chin. Hermes imagined that two very bloodshot eyes lay behind Mr. Allen's closed eyelids, as he brought his forehead forward in a tired arc... and slammed it on the steering wheel. The sudden blare of the car horn sent Katie, Hermes, and the man in the suit jumping. The gunshot was lost in the horn, but the muzzle flash burned a hole in Hermes's vision.
"WHOA!!" Hermes looked around, a perforated stack of lottery tickets over his shoulder and bits of floating scorched animal stuffing confirming that he was still alive. "What in the name of Great Caesar's ghost?!"
"I'm sorry!" The man in the suit reached out in concern.
Hermes glared at the man in the suit, furious. "What are you doing, carrying around a loaded gun??"
"I'm a robber!" The man in the suit shouted back. "What was I supposed to load it with, M&M's?" He grabbed a bag of Jelly Bellys off the shelf and chucked them at Hermes.
"There's an eight-year-old girl out there!" Hermes pointed out the door at Katie, now standing by the minivan window and stomping her foot at her father for frightening her. "She needs to get hurt like this guy needs a hole in the head!" Hermes shook the stuffed rabbit at the man in the suit, a charred entry wound next to the button nose leaking fluff. "Get out! Take your money and get out!" Hermes jabbed his fist at the back door.
The man in the suit, the shock in his raised eyebrows pulling his eyes wide open, bolted out the door as Katie stormed inside, sending the chimes swinging. "I forgot Wally," she said with a huff.
Hermes drew a deep breath, then let it out with a jitter. "Hi, Katie. I'm sorry, but Wally had an accident." Hermes set the bunny down on the counter.
"Wally!!" Katie dropped a fist on the glass. "What happened??"
Hermes held his hands up. "I'm sorry, Katie. He got in a fight."
Katie pouted, hugging the rabbit close to her. "Aww, poor Wally. Did he win?"
"He had a tough time of it, but he took a bullet for me, and that counts for something." Hermes tugged lovingly at one of Wally's ears. "If you want, I can help fix him up for you."
Katie grinned. "Okay!"
Hermes walked around the counter and cracked open a first-aid tin, curious as to what Mr. and Mrs. Allen would think if they saw the bullet hole. While he was sticking a pair of bandages on Wally's face, Katie smiled up at him. "I like you, Hermes."
"What, me?" asked Hermes as he ruffled Wally's head. "Why?"
"You're nice," she said. "Friendly."
Hey everyone - this was mine, from the last elimination of the short story competition. One of my favorites - I wrote it for a college class, and learned a great deal about how to write a proper story that I didn't know before. I'm dying for more feedback, if anyone is feeling generous enough to offer their opinions. :)