Welding #Six Sentence Story

I swear, I did not see this one coming. I mean I knew that the Six Sentence Story prompt word from GirlieOntheEdge this week is “flash”. In fact I wrote a six sentence story for that prompt a couple days ago. This is not it. 

Welding            by D. Avery

Ernest leaned against the open door of the garage watching Marge work the welding rods, sparks leaping around her, until finally she flipped up the shield of her welders mask to look critically at her work.

“Marge, I didn’t know you were an artist.”

“I’m not, Ernest, but it’s Wednesday, what else is there to do? In addition to her course work, Ilene’s joined a writing group to do more of that flash fiction stuff, Lloyd’s disappeared into one of his poetry writing streaks, and Kris has Nard off doing ‘pints and paints’, and all this on what used to be our poker night, so the hell with them, I’m a goddamn sculptor.”

Marge abruptly slammed her face shield down and went back to welding so Ernest took up art too, hammering and grinding a bit of discarded brake line until it was smooth and shaped to his satisfaction. He then pulled Marge’s gauntleted leather glove off before slipping the ring onto her finger, hopefully, expectantly, looking into her eyes that now glistened underneath the awning of her upturned shield, taking a blow to the forehead as she tried to kiss him with her welders mask still on.

***

 

The link up for Six Sentence Stories is Thursday, which often means Wednesday. Join in to read and write. It’s just six sentences.

For Ernest and Marge click CLICK.

Here’s the six I was going to post; it’s from a whole other story:

Risings                                                        by D. Avery

Dan watched the western sun flow like lava over buildings and treetops, its lingering orange-red embers backlighting the view from his third story fire escape. With the darkening sky came cooler air, but Dan remained for the encore without going in for a jacket. He watched as the moon rose, the golden crescent a benediction. How many of these settings and risings had he missed, he wondered, taken for granted? Inspiration flashed like the stars overhead. Tomorrow he would watch the sun rise; then he would quit his job and take up living.