What a Beautiful Day
Flash Fiction
“What a beautiful day for an auto-da-fé.” The wizened old man hummed it under his tired lips with baccy juice. He mumble over and over again by heart: “You nix, new nork.”
The dog looked up. It was a white Scottie mutt. The dog had a quizzical look.
“Because it was verboten.” The old man said the the dog. The old man sneezed. Ka-chu. Then he looked down at his dog. “What are you looking at my little ghost? Only one earthquake per day unless we have a blat or guanxi for a ticket or to crash the party.”
The dog shook his head the hid his eyes beneath his paws until punch before the execution.
The old man looked at the dog all curled up.
“I have been out of the old boy network since some dog very kindly shows il somaro on the 11th of September.”
The dog sorted his backend and tarred.
“Don’t get a touch cute with me.”
The dog bashfully yapped and piped it to the shell.
The old man looked out the barred window and started to rapidly count the sails on the ships.
“Not enough to get high.” He then spat into a pot.
How much nicer to be outside and enjoying the celebrations of massacres of all the little people who can’t pay the taxes on their levee for the tithe. If they wanted to pay less taxes, they should have more money.
Then the door had a slat. It opened, then closed, and then opened again, like spamish repetition.
The old man looked at the jailer: “Defenestration or decapitation?”
The jailer on the other side said: “It is time for your guillotine a quine.”
The man looked the shard of a mirror, in 50 shades of gray. He wanted to look good on the block.
“Can you just take a little bit off the top? A month ago, it took me two weeks to get the entire head to grow back.”
The jailer opened the door. “I will see what I can do.” The squidgy his left fingers together for remuneration.
The old man merely laid out 50 qian and followed the jailer to the stop.
The dog barked waiting for his master to return.